By the second day of waiting, we were beginning to be bored and uncomfortable. The weather had turned foul again. The hard bread was starting to taste of mold, the dried fish was no longer completely dry. To cheer us, Duke Kelvar had added the Buck flag of the Six Duchies to his own pennon flying over Bayguard to acknowledge us. But like us, he had chosen a waiting strategy. The Outislanders were penned. They had not attempted to break out past us, nor to advance closer to the Keep. All was still and waiting.

"You don't listen to warnings. You never have." Burrich spoke quietly to me.

Night had fallen. It was the first time since our arrival that we had had more than a few moments together. He sat on a log, his injured leg stretched straight in front of him. I crouched by the fire, trying to warm my hands. We were outside a temporary shelter set up for the Queen, tending a very smoky fire. Burrich had wanted her to settle in one of the few intact buildings left in Neatbay, but she had refused, insisting on staying close to her warriors. Her guard came and went freely, in her shelter and at her fire. Burrich frowned over their familiarity, but also approved her loyalty. "Your father, too, was like that," he observed suddenly as two of Kettricken's guard emerged from her shelter and went to relieve others still on watch.

"Didn't take warnings?" I asked in surprise.

Burrich shook his head. "No. Always his soldiers, coming and going, at all hours. I've always wondered when he found the privacy to create you."

I must have looked shocked, for Burrich suddenly flushed as well. "Sorry. I'm tired and my leg is… uncomfortable. I wasn't thinking what I was saying."

I found a smile unexpectedly. "It's all right," I said, and it was. When he had found out about Nighteyes, I was afraid he was going to banish me again. A jest, even a rough jest, was welcome. "You were saying about warnings?" I asked humbly.

He sighed. "You said it. We are as we are. And he said it. Sometimes they don't give you a choice. They just bond to you."

Somewhere off in the darkness, a dog howled. It was not really a dog. Burrich glared at me. "I can't control him at all," I admitted.

Nor I, you. Why should there be control, one of the other?

"Nor does he stay out of personal conversations," I observed.

"Nor personal anything," Burrich said flatly. He spoke in the voice of a man who knew.

"I thought you said you never used… it." Even out here, I would not say "the Wit" aloud.

"I don't. No good comes of it. I will tell you plainly now what I've told you before. It… changes you. If you give in to it. If you live it. If you can't shut it out, at least don't seek after it. Don't become—"

"Burrich?"

We both jumped. It was Foxglove, come quietly out of the darkness to stand on the other side of the fire. How much had she heard?

"Yes? Is there a problem?"

She hunkered down in the darkness, lifted her red hands to the fire. She sighed. "I don't know. How do I ask this? Are you aware she's pregnant?"

Burrich and I exchanged glances. "Who?" he asked levelly.

"I've got two children of my own, you know. And most of her guard is women. She pukes every morning, and lives off raspberry-leaf tea. She can't even look at the salt fish without retching. She shouldn't be here, living like this." Foxglove nodded toward the tent.

Oh. The Vixen.

Shut up.

"She did not ask our advice," Burrich said carefully.

"The situation here is under control. There is no reason she should not be sent back to Buckkeep," Foxglove said calmly.

"I can't imagine `sending her back' to anywhere," Burrich observed. "I think it would have to be a decision she reached on her own."

"You might suggest it to her," Foxglove ventured.

"So might you," Burrich countered. "You are captain of her guard. The concern is rightly yours."

"I haven't been keeping watch outside her door each night," Foxglove objected.

"Perhaps you should have," Burrich said, then tempered it with a "Now that you know."

Foxglove looked into the fire. "Perhaps I should. So. The question is, who escorts her back to Buckkeep?"

"All of her personal guard, of course. A Queen should travel with no less."

Somewhere off in the darkness there was a sudden outcry. I sprang to my feet.

"Stand fast!" Burrich snapped at me. "Wait for word. Don't rush off until you know what is happening!"

In a moment Whistle of the Queen's guard reached our fire. She stood before Foxglove to report. "Two-pronged attack. At the breach just below the south tower, they tried to break out. And some got through at —"

An arrow swept through her and carried off forever whatever she had begun to tell us. Outislanders were suddenly upon us, more of them than my mind could grasp, and all converging on the Queen's tent. "To the Queen!" I shouted, and had the slim comfort of hearing my cry taken up farther down the line. Three guards rushed out of the tent to put their backs to its flimsy walls while Burrich and I stood our ground in front of it. I found my sword in my hand, and from the corner of my eye saw firelight run red up the edge of Burrich's. The Queen appeared suddenly in the door of the tent.

"Don't guard me!" she rebuked us. "Get to where the fighting is."

"It's here, my lady," Burrich grunted and stepped forward suddenly to take off the arm of a man who had ventured too close.

I remember those words clearly and I remember seeing Burrich take that stride. It is the last coherent memory I have of that night. After that, all was shouting and blood, metal and fire. Waves of emotions pounded against me as all around me soldiers and Raiders fought to the death. Early on, someone set fire to the tent. Its towering blaze lit the battle scene like a stage. I remember seeing Kettricken, robe looped up and knotted, fighting bare-legged and barefoot on the frozen ground. She held her ridiculously long Mountain sword in a two handed grip. Her grace made a deadly dance of the battle that would have distracted me at any other time.

Outislanders continued to appear. At one point I was sure I heard Verity shouting commands, but could not make sense of any of them. Nighteyes appeared from time to time, fighting always at the edge of the light, a low sudden weight of fur and teeth, hamstringing with a slash, adding his weight to change a Raider's charge to a stumble. Burrich and Foxglove fought back-to-back at one point when things were going poorly for us. I was part of the circle that protected the Queen. At least, I thought I was, until I realized she was actually fighting beside me.

At some time I dropped my sword to snatch up a fallen Raider's ax. I picked my blade up the next day from the frozen ground, crusted with mud and blood. But at the moment I did not even hesitate to discard Verity's gift for a more savagely effective weapon. While we were fighting there was only the now to consider. When at last the tide of the battle turned, I did not consider the wisdom of it, but pursued and hunted scattered enemy through the night-black fire-stinking wreckage of Neatbay village.

Here, indeed, Nighteyes and I hunted very well together. I stood toe to toe with my final kill, ax against ax, while Nighteyes snarled and savaged his way past a smaller man's sword. He finished his but seconds before I dropped my man.

That final slaughtering held for me a wild and savage joy. I did not know where Nighteyes left off and I began; only that we had won and we both still lived. Afterward we went to find water together. We drank deep from a communal well's bucket, and I laved the blood from my hands and face. Then we sank down and put our backs to the brick well to watch the sun rise beyond the thick ground mist. Nighteyes leaned warm against me, and we did not even think.

I suppose I dozed a bit, for I was jostled alert as he quickly left me. I looked up to see what had startled him, only to discover a frightened Neatbay girl staring at me. The early sun struck glints off her red hair. A bucket was in her hand. I stood and grinned, lifting my ax in greeting, but she sheered off like a frightened rabbit among the ruined buildings. I stretched, then made my way back through the trailing fog to where the Queen's tent had been. As I walked, images of last night's wolf hunting came back to me. The memories were too sharp, too red and black, and I pushed them down deep in my mind. Was this what Burrich had meant by his warning?