The sally port is guarded.”

His mind drifting in and out of focus, Daeric forced himself to respond. “You betrayed me. I knew you lied when Tiery asked you what you had been doing. Tell me, was Ghoere’s invasion your work?” He noticed he had blood in his mouth, and his tongue felt thick. “Bannier – why?”

The wizard merely looked away. Beside him, the armored man stepped forward and raised his wolf-visor. Baron Noered Tuorel’s cruel features were fixed in bloodthirsty delight.

“I have wondered why, as well,” he said. “But when Bannier offered to deliver Shieldhaven into my hands, I decided that his reasons meant nothing to me.” His eyes flicked past Daeric to the human wreckage at the end of the hall. “An admirable performance, my lord Mhor, besting four of my soldiers.”

He strode forward, his soldiers following with readied weapons. His eyes fell to Liesele’s body, slumped on the floor.

Tuorel frowned in distaste. “Just as well you defeated them,” he added. “I would have had them executed for killing your daughter.”

“Burn in Azrai’s hells,” Daeric said weakly. He looked past Tuorel to Bannier. “You, too, Bannier. I thought you were my friend.”

The wizard’s face tightened. He raised his hands and muttered some unintelligible phrase or command, and suddenly white light flashed from his fingertips. Daeric felt his knees buckling, but he lost consciousness before he hit the floor.

After a restless hour shivering in his bedroll, Gaelin rose at daybreak. The sunrise was obscured by the dense fog and steady rainfall, and the day began with a feeble lightening of the gray darkness that left Gaelin gloomy and irritable. Erin had rolled a heavy blanket over her shoulders and dozed lightly; she roused quickly when she heard Gaelin and his companions stirring. He noticed she seemed less fatigued than he might have expected of someone who had traveled most of the night.

They breakfasted on cold biscuits, wedges of dry cheddar, and tough hunks of summer sausage. Ruide had made sure that they were well provisioned before leaving Mhoried, but the weather made the food seem bland and tasteless. Half an hour after sunrise, they left their camp, riding north – toward Riumache – on the old river pike.

The weather dampened their spirits. Gaelin was preoccupied with the tidings of war, trying to imagine what his father might be doing in response to the Ghoeran invasion. Finally he decided he would put the matter out of his mind until he was in a position to do something about it.

He started paying attention to the ride, keeping a wary eye on the lands through which they rode. They remained near the river, following an old cart track that paralleled the Maesil a couple of miles inland. Alamie’s riverbank was low and marshy, and the sodden countryside was only thinly settled.

Low-lying stands of cedars and cypress dotted the landscape, with numerous creeks and bogs, and the track meandered around these obstacles. The morning fog persisted all day long, covering the land in gloomy mist.

They finally called a halt in the early afternoon to eat a midday meal and allow their horses to graze. As Gaelin gnawed on a hunk of dried whitefish, washing it down with sour beer, Erin walked over to sit on a low stump beside him. She drew back her hood and shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “A fine day for riding, eh?” she ventured.

Gaelin smiled and shook out his own cloak. Rivulets of water ran down his arms and legs. “At least the weather’s showing signs of warming.” He offered her his flagon, and Erin took a long draught. He watched her drink, and the silence grew uncomfortable. He said, “I’m sorry we’re traveling on a day like this. You shouldn’t have had to spend all night searching for us.”

“It had to be done,” Erin replied with a tired smile. “I’m glad I found you when I did. Another hour and you would have been on the road again. I might never have caught up to you.”

“Still, I can’t help but feel a minstrel of your rank deserves a better welcome than skulking through the countryside in the rain all day.” He took the flagon back, and shrugged. “I haven’t extended a proper welcome.”

“Gaelin, I’d have thought you a damned half-wit if you hadn’t been preoccupied with events at home.” Erin fixed her gaze on him, her eyes flat and hard as iron. “You’ve problems far more pressing than replacing your court bard.”

Gaelin was taken aback by her directness. He had thought a southern minstrel would speak in flowery phrases and weave her words in subtle circles. “Be that as it may,” he began cautiously, “I’m sorry your stay in Mhoried has to start like this. Even at Shieldhaven, there won’t be much of a court for you to attend. The Mhor may be campaigning against Ghoere’s army all summer long.”

“Then I’ll sleep under the stars for a few months,” Erin laughed. “It will do me good.”

Gaelin snorted and gestured towards the gray shores of Ghoere, just visible across the river. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. Tuorel’s already tried to kill me once. And now Daene, a young knight who trusted me, is dead.”

She shook the water out of her hair and regarded him with a steady, clear gaze. Her face was pale in the dim daylight; the rain and mist had dampened her long tresses and flattened them against her shoulders, but there was strength and fire in the delicate lines of her face. “I’ve seen bloodshed before and survived it,” she said. “I know the value of my own life better than you might think.” She glanced away for a moment, busying herself with her cloak’s fastening. Then she looked up at Gaelin again and continued. “You can’t blame yourself for Tuorel’s actions. You’re not responsible for Daene’s death.”

Gaelin started to protest, but bit back his words. Erin had cut to the source of his melancholy. It wasn’t fair or right that he might endanger those near him, but he was a highborn noble, quite fortunate by any account, and his standing brought uncommon perils with it. The idea of Madislav or Ruide – or Erin – meeting Daene’s fate sent a cold blade of anguish into his heart. “Why shouldn’t I be concerned that someone else near me may be hurt or killed?” he answered.

“I’ve only known you a few hours, but I wouldn’t want to see you come to harm.”

Erin smiled and looked out over the river. “I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. She rose and stretched lithely before walking away. “I’d better check my horse’s shoes. I think she might have picked up a stone.”

Gaelin watched after her, his lunch forgotten, until Madislav came over and sat down heavily, chain mail jingling beneath his tunic. “I am wondering where we are going next,” he said, chewing on a piece of hardtack. “The Mhor is expecting you in Endier, no?”

Gaelin tore his gaze from Erin’s form and glanced at the Vos. “Assuming the Mhor received my message yesterday, what would he do?”

Madislav didn’t even pause to consider the question. “He will send a company or two of guards to meet you. And he will be trying to send word to you in Endier, probably to be telling you to stay put until the soldiers arrive.”

Gaelin nodded thoughtfully. “Is there any reason he would want me to stay in Endier? Or would he want me back in Shieldhaven?”

Madislav spread his hands wide. “I am not knowing, but I think he will want you to come home. There are too many Ghoerans between you and Shieldhaven now.”

“If he sends someone after me, we might as well stay on the road. If Riumache is lost, he won’t send them by boat. Any soldiers or messengers will ride through Alamie, instead.”

“They will be following the old river road,” Madislav agreed. He tapped one finger on his temple. “You are thinking, Gaelin. That is good. River road is shortest route to Endier, and any men the Mhor sends to find you will be trying to make time.”