He heard something sliding through the undergrowth and wondered if the monster could see in the dark. He hoped not, but that seemed like a thing monsters ought to be able to do.

"Mother," the voice sighed again.

Something tickled the back of Aspar's neck, something with a lot of legs. He stayed frozen as it explored around his ear, across his lips, and finally down his chin and across his jerkin.

It was quiet save for the gentle shush of the river, and after a time the sky above began to gray. Aspar turned his head slowly, trying to piece together his surroundings as the light came up. He made out the river first and then the reeds he'd crawled through into the shelter of the trees. The cliff across the water came into focus, and the boles nearest him emerged from darkness.

Something big fell behind him, brushing limbs and breaking sticks. He whipped his head around and saw something bright, glittering.

It was the thing in the utin's chest. The creature itself lay collapsed only a kingsyard away. It had been right above him.

The thing in its chest, he saw now, was a knife, and he suddenly remembered, months before, a battle in an oak grove in Dunmrogh where a knight had wielded a sword that shone like this, a sword that could cut through almost anything.

The utin wasn't moving. Carefully, Aspar leaned forward, soundlessly shifting his weight until his fingers touched the hilt. He felt an odd, tingling warmth, then took hold of it and pulled it out.

Blood spurted in a stream. The utin's eyes snapped open, and it gave a horrible gurgling scream, starting toward Aspar but stopping when it saw the weapon.

"Unholy thing," it said.

"You're one to talk."

It started an odd gulp and hiss that might have been a laugh.

"Your mother," Aspar said. "The Sarnwood witch. Did she send you?"

"No, no. Mother not sending us, eh?"

"But you work for Fend?"

"The Blood Knight calls us. We come."

"Why?"

"How we are," the utin said. "How we are, it's all."

"But what does he want?"

The utin had shoved its fist into the knife hole. It wasn't helping much.

"Not the same as Mother, I think," it said. "Not at end of things. But doesn't matter. Today he wanting you. Today, you." It looked up suddenly and released a deafening, ululating shriek. Howling himself, Aspar drove forward, slicing through the exposed throat so deeply that the head flopped backward like the hood of a cloak. Blood jetted from the stump of its neck, pulsed another few times, and stopped.

Aspar tried to still his own panting and reckon whether he'd been wounded by the thing. He didn't want to take his eyes off it, so he was watching when its mouth started moving again.

"Holter."

Aspar flinched and raised the knife back up. The voice was the same, but the timbre of it was somehow different.

"Another of my children dead by you."

"Sarnwood witch," he breathed.

"Each one is part of me," she said.

He remembered her forest, how he'd felt her in every limb and leaf, how she'd laid her invisible weight on him so that he couldn't move.

"He tried to kill me," he pointed out.

"More coming," she said. "They may kill you. But if they don't, you have a promise to keep."

Aspar felt an even deeper chill settle in. Months earlier, to save the lives of his friends, he had made a bargain.

"I won't ask for the life of anyone you love. I won't ask you to spare one of my children."

"That's what we agreed," Aspar said. "I remember."

She'll ask for my life, he suddenly thought. But no, it wasn't going to be that simple.

"Here is your geos," she said. "The next human being you meet, you'll take under your protection. And you will take that person to the valley where you found the Briar King sleeping."

"Why?"

"That's not in the bargain, holter. I honored my part; now it's time for you to honor yours."

He sighed, trying to think what the witch could mean. Leshya was right; he'd been thinking about going back there anyway. But what could the Sarnwood witch be up to?

But he'd given his word, and she had kept hers.

"Yah," he said. "I'll do it."

"Yes, you will," she replied. The utin seemed to sag further, and a long soft exhalation escaped its lips. "If you live…"

Already Aspar could hear something else coming through the trees. He pushed himself up, every part of him shaking, and held the knife before him.

HIS BLOOD soaks this ground. But his soul is with the Draugs.

Muriele stared at the sungilt waves and wondered what to feel. William had been a good man, a fair king. As husband he hadn't been mean or abusive, but he often hadn't much been there, either. Maintaining several mistresses tended to be draining. Against the grain she had loved him, and she mourned for him. She could remember the scent on his clothes even now.

Alis took her hand. It felt good, the young, honest warmth of it. She looked at the girl, a pretty brown-haired creature of twenty.

"Robert came one night," Muriele said. "When I was alone. When he thought you dead. He was drunk and even more cruel than usual, and he told me how William died."

"He might have lied," Alis said.

"He might have," Muriele agreed. "But the details make me think he was telling the truth." She took a step so that they stood at the edge of the cliff. She looked at the waves breaking far below.

"It was an ambush, and William had fallen wounded from his horse. Robert dragged him here and meant to gloat and kick him over the edge. But William managed to enrage him with taunts, tricked him into stooping down, and then Wil struck him in the heart with his echein doif. That was how Robert learned he could not die." She squeezed her friend's hand. "Why would Robert tell a lie so unflattering to himself?"

"Robert does not like himself very well," Alis said. Her voice sounded odd, and when Muriele looked up, she saw tears in the younger woman's eyes.

"You loved my poor husband," she said.

"I don't know," Alis admitted. "But I miss him."

"Well, at least he has Gramme to keep him company," Muriele said, feeling suddenly mordant.

"Muriele…"

"Hush. It's past. To tell the truth, if I could have him back, I wouldn't mind if you were his mistress. At least not so much as I did before."

"I hope your next husband feels the same," Alis said lightly.

Muriele gave her a hug, then turned back to the sea.

"Good-bye, William," she called.

Together they walked back to where the others waited.

Neil watched the two women stride toward the party, remembering his own recent ghosts: Fastia, Muriele's eldest daughter, who had died in his arms; Erren, the coven-trained assassin who had protected the queen when he first had met her. He had loved the first and respected the second, and both had been lost to the lands of fate the same day King William was slain.

Erren and Muriele had been together so long when he met them that they had seemed sisters to Neil. Alis was something different. She had been one of William's mistresses, for one thing. And now, suddenly, she was Muriele's maid, bodyguard, best friend. Aside from Muriele, he was the only one in the party who knew the girl claimed coven training. But what coven? Who was her mestra? She wouldn't say.

"Thank you, Aradal, for that detour," Muriele said to the archgreft.

"It hardly took us out of our way," the Hansan replied. He gestured north and east. "The old Nean Road is just over that hill, and that will bring us to the Vitellian Way in a few bells."

"Thank you just the same."

"William was a good man," Aradal said. "An opponent, usually, but I liked him. I am sorry for his loss, Muriele."