My hackles rose at the idea of my enemies and those of Messire prowling, unchallenged, on our side of the Ocean. “What happened?”

“They looted the hut for a few keepsakes Viltred brought back from his journey with Azazir and then torched it. We managed to hide in the woods.”

“It’s lucky you were there, Shiv.” Was it luck or were the Elietimm hoping to take two coneys in one snare?

“They’ve taken the Spice Road.” Shiv took a drink. “We cut across country when I scryed you reaching the river.”

I raised a hand. “Shiv, last year these bastards were about as easy to track as a ship in stormy water. How can you be sure?”

“We’ve been scrying for the things they’ve stolen, that’s giving us some clue. Viltred’s had them in his cellar for over a generation; ordinarily he should be able to find them clear across the Caladhrian Gulf.”

“Do you know where the Elietimm are at present?”

“The best I can tell you is that they’re not close enough to us to present an imminent threat.” Shiv’s grimace told me he found this as unsatisfactory as I did. “We want to find Livak and Halice, then try to pick up the trail again, catch up with the Ice Islanders, see what they’re up to. We can attempt to recover what they’ve stolen, too; Livak’s skills will prove useful for that.”

I didn’t share his conviction that Livak would be prepared to help him out. I’d gained the distinct impression that she’d been put off thieving for life after the trouble going pilfering for wizards had landed her in. Shiv had needed to blackmail her into it last year.

“We can’t be sure these people won’t want Viltred himself for some reason.” I frowned. “Taking him closer to them means taking him into more danger. Isn’t there somewhere safer he could go?”

“You’re here to protect him now.” Shiv wouldn’t meet my eyes. “The Archmage feels it’s better that we all stay together; this all relates to a project Planir has very few people involved in.”

I glanced at Viltred to see unhappiness in the downturned corners of his mouth. Did he know something Shiv wasn’t telling me or was he simply in pain from the joint evil I had noted twisting his hands? There were a lot of unanswered questions here. I stifled unaccustomed frustration as I drained the last of my ale. “Let’s find you two some food, some horses and get back on the road to make the best of the day.”

Shiv may have had no more than the shirt on his back but he had a well-filled purse inside it. Once the two wizards were mounted, on a thick-necked black and a murrey roan, we made good time through the Caladhrian countryside. Sturdy yeomen were out plowing their fields with a springtime optimism that came as a welcome change after Lescar, slaked lime piled in orderly heaps, ready to enrich the soil. Fine-looking stock grazed secure in neatly hedged enclosures and new wheat was pricking up through the rich, dark earth. I might have been a little more impressed if I hadn’t been attending Messire when he’d spent an afternoon explaining to Camarl how all the vaunted Caladhrian agricultural expertise stemmed directly from the needs of Lescari dukes to keep their fighting men fed. Little enough of this bounty would go to relieve the lot of the wretched souls I had passed on the Marlier high road.

Gangs of peasants were clearing woodland and I noticed the distinctive headscarves the women wore. “Those are Lescari, aren’t they?” I turned to Shiv.

Shiv nodded. “Lord Adrin lets some across each spring to clear land and settle between the River Road and the Rel. If they prosper, he gets tenants and rents; if raiders get across, Lord Adrin’s own people might get off a bit lighter.”

I hoped the determined optimism in the faces of those laboring so hard would be rewarded. “Has there been much trouble lately?”

“Not much, and Lord Adrin’s on the alert.” Shiv stood in his stirrups and pointed to the broad sweeps of a distant mill. “If you see a mill locked in an upright cross, that’s a signal to the militia that scavengers have crossed the river. They stamp out most of the vermin.”

I nodded approvingly; I would have to mention Lord Adrin to Messire, a man with wits as well as control of a strategically placed bridge.

We rode until the failing light forced a halt at a wayside inn. With the lesser moon waning past its last crescent to dark and the greater barely waxing at half, there wasn’t enough light to justify risking the horses further. Viltred travelled without complaint but grew more and more hunched over his reins; when we stopped, he was barely able to straighten. Shiv helped him to our bedchamber while I visited the tap-room to ask a few seemingly idle questions of the underemployed tapman. I was reassured to learn of no unusual blond-haired travelers in the vicinity and learned that Coteshall, where Shiv expected to find Halice, was only a scant half day’s ride away. Eventually, yawning and hoping for a better night’s sleep than Arimelin had seen fit to bless me with lately, I accepted a flannel-wrapped hot brick from the motherly goodwife. Welcoming the warmth on my chilled hands, I climbed the narrow stairs in stocking feet, my boots tucked under one arm. Shiv and Viltred were already asleep, as I picked my way quietly through stale aromas of well-worn boots and the fresh tang of warm liniment to the vacant bed. Sleep was long in coming; every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ice Islanders sacking the very heart of Formalin power.

It was a cold and clear morning. Frost gleamed in the corners of the courtyard where the early winter sun had not yet penetrated and the blackened stems of some late autumn flowers overlooked by the steward drooped forlornly in an antique urn. The doorkeeper hurried to answer the summons of the bell, rubbing his hands briskly against the cold of the deeply shadowed entrance. A young man entered, tense and pale, twisting a bright sapphire ring on one nervous hand but with habitual manners ingrained enough to greet the servant with a precise bow. His highly polished boots clattered on the flagstones as he strode into the house, evidently needing no guide.

Once inside, Temar took a deep breath and checked his appearance in a handy mirror in the anteroom. The face he saw was curiously at odds with the rich clothes he wore. Lean, with high cheekbones tapering into a long, pointed jaw, it was more suited to armor or working clothes in his opinion. He’d certainly feel more comfortable in either, rather than chafing under the seldom worn constraints of formal dress. Blue eyes, so pale as to be almost colorless, stared back at him from under thin black brows. The severity of their gaze was heightened by his long black hair, drawn back and clasped at the nape of his neck. That was the fashion required, whether or not it suited him.

Temar straightened the collar of his shirt and brushed with irritation at a speck on his crimson jerkin until he realized it was in fact a flaw in the silvering. That would have been enough to get the glass sent straight to the servants’ quarters less than a handful of years ago, he thought. The realization stiffened his resolve as he waited for a summons to his grandfather’s presence.

Not Grandfather, he reminded himself: the old man was sitting as head of the House D’Alsennin this morning. Not that that meant what it once had; there were no clients waiting eagerly on the polished bench, hoping to present requests or offer services to their patron.

“Esquire.” The chamberlain opened the double doors with a flourish and managed to convey the impression that his presence there was to confer an honor on Temar rather than because the household had been forced to dispense with the services of the hall-lackey.

Temar bowed politely and walked stiffly into the salon. It was some time since he’d been in here and his step faltered as he registered the statues missing from their niches and the sun-faded silken drapes. An inadequate fire flickered valiantly in the massive fireplace, unable to do more than draw unwelcome attention to the chilly atmosphere.