“My lord, if you don’t have a place to go, you’re welcome to sleep under my roof. It’s a miserable night, and you shouldn’t have to spend it sleeping in the cold and the rain.”

“Master Piere, I’m a marked man. If you put me up, I could bring the Ghoerans down on your head.”

“It’s the least I can do, Mhor Gaelin. Come this way.” Piere led them to his home, a sturdy lodge of stone, turf, and timber.

It was warm and crowded inside, and Gaelin was instantly set upon by a horde of Piere’s grandchildren. One lad of only four or five asked him over and over, “Are you really a prince?” After a filling dinner of warm bread and stew by the fire, Gaelin felt better.

As the hour grew late and Piere’s youngsters dropped off one by one to sleep, Erin quietly drew Gaelin aside. “Where are we going next?” she asked.

He laughed humorlessly. “I have no idea. There doesn’t seem to be a point in going anywhere.”

She leaned forward, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Don’t you think you’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for yourself?”

He glanced up, his face darkening.

“Go ahead, Gaelin. Deny it if you want, but you know and I know you’ve been looking for excuses ever since you set foot in Mhoried again.” Her eyes blazed. “You make a poor victim, Gaelin Mhoried. Stop playing the part.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in these past few days.”

Erin sighed and sat back, changing her tactics. “Listen. Do you have a plan, a place you want to go next?”

“Frankly, I don’t.”

“Well, why not? Are you looking for someone to tell you what to do, a place to go and drop your burdens? Do you think that all of this will just go away once you find the right person to pick up where your father left off?”

Gaelin stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this.” He stalked out into the black, cold night, slamming the door behind him.

The air seared his nose. He noticed the clouds had cleared, and the sky was full of bright, clear stars. He stood in Piere’s farmyard, too angry to do anything but shiver and fume helplessly. After a time, the door creaked, and he heard light footfalls behind him. “Are you ready to continue?” Erin asked.

“When I leave the room, it’s a good sign I consider the conversation at an end,” Gaelin replied.

“Gaelin, I understand you’re hurt. All I’m saying is that you have to take control of events, instead of letting events control you. You can’t blow around Mhoried like a dead leaf in the wind forever. Sooner or later, you need to decide what you’re doing.”

“Those are easy things to say, Erin.” He turned to face her, a twisted smile on his face. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Do you want to fight Tuorel or give up?”

Gaelin chewed on his tongue, biting back his response.

After a moment, he said slowly, “I want to fight Tuorel. For my family, for the kingdom, for me – I want to fight him. I want to see he doesn’t get away with this.”

Erin sighed. “Well, that’s the first step of the march.

Clearly, you need to find some help, and quickly. What are your best options?”

Gaelin thought. “We’re not too far from the Abbey of the Red Oak. High Prefect Iviena has always been an ally of my father’s, and the priests of Haelyn have money, lands, and a small army under their command.”

“The Oak recognizes the Mhoried blood, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not truly the Mhor until I stand before the Oak and swear the oaths of allegiance.”

“We’ll want to visit the abbey soon, then. What next?”

“Torien’s Watch. Lord Torien is loyal, and I know him personally – I wintered under his roof this year, finishing my training in the Knights Guardian. I could at least find refuge there for a time.”

“And what then?”

“I don’t know. Try to build up an army to drive Tuorel out, I suppose. Although Torien is not the best place for that. It’s awful remote, and raising an army that far north would be hard. ”

Erin wrapped her arms around her body, warding off the cold. “Any other options?”

“I could leave Mhoried and try to raise help from Diemed or Alamie.”

“You’d be a puppet, or an unwelcome guest. It would be difficult to win support if you had none at home.”

“That occurred to me.” Gaelin glanced to the west. “My last option is trying to locate Baesil Ceried and the rest of Mhoried’s army. We know some of his forces escaped Cwlldon.

And my father was always certain of his loyalty.” Gaelin considered the plan, thinking it through. “If we make for Castle Ceried, we’ll pass right by the abbey. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll ride for the abbey first thing tomorrow, and then continue on to Ceried.”

“Good,” Erin said. Gaelin could just barely make her out in the darkness now, a slender silhouette with her thin cloak snapping and fluttering behind her in the bitter wind. “At least you know what you’re trying to do for the moment.”

“You didn’t really care what I decided, as long as I decided something,” Gaelin said. Erin didn’t reply, but he thought he saw a shy smile on her face.

Next morning they rose and saddled the horses in the gray, icy hour before sunrise. As the sun touched the horizon, Gaelin took his leave of Piere. “My thanks, Master Piere.

That’s twice in two nights I’ve enjoyed your hospitality.”

“The house is yours any time you wish, my lord Mhor. Or the barn, if you prefer.” Piere sent them off with the broadshouldered giant they had seen the previous day, to guide them to the abbey. He called himself Bull, and like almost everyone they had met in Sirilmeet, he was Piere’s kinsman – in this case, the husband of Piere’s youngest sister.

Bull proved a capable guide. He led them away from Sirilmeet by old trails in the woods, staying away from the main roads. “No sense looking for trouble,” he said. “Ghoere’s horsemen are sweeping every road from here to Cwlldon, my lord.” They rode for several miles as the sun climbed into the sky. The air was still and clear, the winds of the previous night fading quickly. Sirilmeet was close to the old forests of Bevaldruor, and they skirted the northern eaves of the wood as they headed westward.

Early in the afternoon, they came to a muddy road cutting through the woods. Gaelin recognized it as the Northrun. To avoid Ghoeran patrols, Bull led them to a cart track running between the freesteads and sheep farms. They could see the old highway from time to time, just over a low ridge or knoll, but for the most part they were well out of sight.

After an hour or so, they found the fields taking on the neat, ordered appearance of carefully tended land, plowed and planted with grain just starting to break ground. The track led through a bare apple orchard, winding under the shining white branches, and then ended in a small square of green before a long, low wall of stone. The roofs and domes of the temple glinted in the sunlight, rising up behind the sturdy outer walls.

Bull dismounted and ambled over to a door in the wall. He thumped one meaty fist on the wood. “Hey! Wake up in there! ”

There was a brief delay, and then with a clatter a viewport in the door was drawn back. Gaelin could see the cold steel glint of a crossbow’s arms in the shadows of the doorway.

From the door a voice called, “Go around the front, louts!”

Bull hammered on the door again, doubtless ringing the ears of the fellow standing behind it. “I’m Bull from Sirilmeet, and this is the Mhor Gaelin! Now, open up! Ghoere’s men are all around us!”

“The Mhor Gaelin?”

Gaelin stepped forward, leading Blackbrand. “Prince Gaelin until I stand before the Red Oak,” he said. “I mean to speak with the high prefect as soon as possible.”

After a moment, the door rattled with the working of bolts and locks and opened slowly. A round-faced monk in the militant garb of the Knights Templar appeared and leaned a large crossbow against the door. “I expect the lady’ll want to talk to you, too. Come inside, and quickly – Ghoerans have been about all day, asking after you.”