Kaine snorted. "Where have you been? Dhasson's at war. 'Course, now, they're not saying that, but war's what it is, all the same," he said, dropping his voice. "Some of the people coming through from that direction have some mighty strange tales. Mighty strange," he said, taking another draught.

"How strange is 'strange?'" Tris asked, leaning forward.

Kaine finished his ale and set his mug aside, then tilted his head to look at Tris. "How's unnatural things from out in the Blasted Lands for strange, huh?" he asked. "Word is that there've been some creatures sighted up near Dhasson that aren't the making of the Goddess, if you take my meaning," he said broadly. "'Twas a deserter through here that told some stories would stand your hair on end. Thought Dhasson's army was taking a beating and didn't fancy being eaten, or worse, so he lit off, or so he said," the tent rigger continued, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"The tribes' mages couldn't conjure things like that," Vahanian said thoughtfully and Tris turned. By the Lady's breath, Tris thought, he looks like he's taking this seriously!

"Don't know about the past, but they sure seem to now," Kaine replied. "And there were other stories. About day turning to night and lightning that wasn't the right color. About locusts coming up out of nowhere and disappearing just as fast. And about whole plains that were dry as a bone turning into mud right when the army went to cross them, and there weren't no rains for days, either," Kaine added. "Now if that's not magicked, what is it?"

"Certainly sounds like magic to me," Vahanian replied. He got up, headed for the barrel of ale, and scooped up another mugful.

"You're a cautious one," the tent rigger said to Tris as Vahanian walked away. "There're lots that don't hold with magic, but I've been around. I've seen strange things can't be explained no other way. Here's another piece of advice. Watch your back around that one," he said with a barely perceptible nod toward Vahanian, who was out of earshot at the ale barrel. "No count of the men he's killed or betrayed. The Eastmark army doesn't hang men lightly, but there's a death sentence on him. Betrayed a whole platoon, he did, at Chauvrenne."

"I'll certainly keep it in mind," Tris replied, as Vahanian walked back toward them. His thoughts lingered on the reports of magic far more than on Kaine's dark warnings about Vahanian's past. Certainly magic was no stranger to any of the Winter Kingdoms. And the grandson of Bava K'aa ought not to be surprised at arcane works, he thought, remembering the many times he saw his grandmother work spells at the palace. Some of them were workings of convenience, the sorts of things that any hedge witch might have done, like lighting a candle without a spark. But there were other times, Tris recalled, when as a young boy he hid in the shadows of his father's warroom, hoping to be overlooked so he could watch the exciting bustle of preparations for war. Then he saw some of Bava K'aa's true magic, as she scryed for the location of enemies or divined the weather or learned something of an enemy from captured belongings.

So it should not be unusual for magic to be at hand if Dhasson really were at war, he thought. Except that the kind of dark magic the tent rigger gossiped about was unusual. There were legends about a time when dark magic was as common as locusts, and the people of the Winter Kingdoms suffered for it. Then the Light mages banded together and fought the Mage Wars up in the sparsely populated far north.

That was many years ago, when Tris's grandmother was just a young woman. But anyone who ventured into the Blasted Lands did not doubt that strong magic had been loosed. There were creatures and plants that existed nowhere else, nightmare things that survived on the magic left in the area, magic which made it unsuitable for use by normal folk for long. For every story about monsters in the Blasted Lands there was at least one story of some fool who ventured in and never returned. The stories of lost treasures ensured a steady supply of fools, and kept the legends alive.

Dark magic like that was not supposed to still happen, Tris thought, watching the fire. After the Mage Wars, a secret society of the most powerful female witches formed, the Katae Canei. The Katae Canei combined their powers to suppress knowledge of the dark arts, to discover and root out any mage bold enough to try to learn them, and to destroy the runes and spellbooks of the dark masters. For a generation, they were successful. Bava K'aa was rumored to have been the chief of the Katae Canei Sisterhood.

Who had taken the mantle in the years since his grandmother's death, Tris did not know. The Sisterhood did not announce such things. Without a court mage, there was even less such information in Margolan. One thing was certain: if there were magicked creatures loose in the Northern Lands, someone was dabbling in the dark arts. And the return of the dark mages would be a disaster, unless someone could do something to stop it.

Just then, Soterius ambled up and dropped down beside Tris, warming his hands around a hot mug. "So what am I missing?"

Tris glanced from Kaine to where Vahanian stood and back. "Just talking about the trip north. Kaine here doesn't like the idea of crossing into Dhasson."

Carroway made a dismissive gesture. "Dhasson doesn't bother me. But the forest on the way to the border, that's another matter," he said, taking a long draught. "You know, the natives call it Ruune Videya, which means 'ghost trees," the minstrel said, warming to his subject.

"Stories say," he recounted, leaning forward, "that Jaq the Damned slaughtered peasants there two hundred years ago over a rebellion." He paused to sip his drink. "They say bodies are buried everywhere, which is why the forest grows so thickly," he added, glancing at Kaine and Tris. "They say that the spirits walk, restless from their unjust deaths, waiting to avenge themselves." He looked pointedly at Tris. "Not that I put much stock in ghost stories."

"Well, if you're too darn lazy to fight tonight, I say we turn in." Vahanian said as he walked back toward the group, draining his mug in one draught. Tris nodded and stood, ignoring Kaine's warning glance.

"If tomorrow's as long as today, I don't imagine there's enough time to rest before Winterstide," Tris replied. "Thanks for the stories," he said as he fell into step beside Vahanian.

"Keep them in mind," Kaine replied darkly. "All of them."

Tris and Vahanian walked halfway across the camp before either spoke. Finally, Tris broke the silence. "I get the feeling you two know each other from somewhere?"

Vahanian snorted. "You could say that. Kaine's a lying son of a whore and always has been. I met him a long time ago, right after he slipped the Nargi border with an angry captain at his heels. Seems Kaine helped himself to the captain's gold. I'm rather surprised he's still alive."

"He seemed a bit surprised to see you, too." "I hope so," the mercenary replied. Tris heard concern in his voice. "Because otherwise, someone sent him here, looking for me. While there are more than a few people with a reason to find me, only one has a recent grudge. In which case, Kaine's only looking for me because someone told him that I'm with you," Vahanian said, looking out over the dark horizon as if he expected to see more bandits, or worse.

"Good night, Jonmarc," Tris said as they reached their tents.

"Sleep lightly," the mercenary replied. "And keep your sword in reach."

Vahanian made it his business each night to check on his traveling party's mounts. They began the journey with better than average horses, and although most places hanged horse thieves, a surprising number of the beasts still managed to go missing. When the horses were accounted for, Vahanian headed back across the camp, shivering in the chill night air. He ducked into Linton's tent and squinted at the light. Several oil lamps set the large tent in a cheerful glow, and a brazier warmed the small space.