He spied Gaelin sitting atop his horse beside a nobleman he recognized as Baesil Ceried, with a small number of guards watching over him. In fact, one of these watched him approach for a long moment before raising his visor for a better look, blinking in disbelief. “I don’t believe it,” he said.

“Mhor Gaelin! It’s Madislav!”

Gaelin turned at Boeric’s call, breaking off in midsentence.

“Madislav! Is that you? By Haelyn, how did you escape?

Where have you been?”

Bannier pasted a broad grin on his features and focused on Gaelin. The prince knew Madislav as well as anyone, and if he’d inherited any of his father’s talent for seeing through deceptions… the wizard would have to be careful to speak no lies. “Hah! Is good to see you, Gaelin! I could not believe you got away!”

Gaelin swung down from the saddle, and Bannier did likewise.

The prince hugged him, slapping his back. “How did you manage it, Madislav? I thought you’d been shot dead in the courtyard.”

Bannier showed an exaggerated wince. “I thought so too, but this body is harder to kill than most. I just was looking dead.”

Gaelin drew back, concern on his face. “I’m sorry, I should have been careful of your wounds. Do you need someone to look after them?”

“I have seen to them already. I will live.”

“So they took you for dead? Did you just get up and walk away when no one was looking?”

Bannier smiled broadly and clapped Gaelin on the shoulder.

“How were you getting away, Gaelin?”

The prince missed the reversal and quickly related the story of his escape with Erin, Boeric, and Niesa and their subsequent journey. “So, here we are,” he concluded. “I’ll be glad to have your counsel again, my friend.”

Bannier bowed. “Is yours as long as you need it,” he answered.

“Now, begging your pardon, where can I find something to eat?”

Gaelin smiled. “Same old Madislav,” he laughed. “Boeric, have one of your men show Madislav to the mess tent. I’m sure they can find something for him.” He turned back to Bannier and grinned. “Get yourself something to eat, a little sleep if you need it, and come by later. I’ll want to hear all about your escape.”

“You will be seeing me later,” Bannier promised. “We are having much to discuss, no?” He noticed Erin was staring at him, an odd look on her face. He looked away and rode off in search of the mess tent.

They climbed higher into the downs and hills of upper Winoene.

Unlike the lowlands of Mhoried, these regions were mostly wild; villages and farms were few and far between.

Often they found themselves flanked by rocky foothills whose sheer sides streamed water from patches of melting snow high on their barren crowns. It was a desolate and unforgiving land, but Gaelin loved the wild beauty and solitude.

Baesil led them into deep, trackless valleys hidden in the hills, places of heather and boulders where they encountered no one save a few shepherds with their flocks. Gaelin quickly understood why Baesil had run for the highlands – it was hard going for an army, and forage was even scarcer than it had been in the lowlands. They could outwait and outmaneuver any larger force that pursued them into the hills. In fact, Gaelin spotted a dozen or more good places to make stands or set ambushes for the armies that followed.

Erin was moved by the beautiful scenery, as well. One morning, when the frost was thick on the grass and the red light of dawn shone from the stark peaks that fenced them in, she asked, “How much of Mhoried is like this, Gaelin?”

“The highlands run a hundred miles or more, from the headwaters of the Stonebyrn to the springs of the Maesil,” he told her. “And from here it’s still fifty miles north to the Stonecrowns and Torien’s Watch. It’s the better part of a third of the kingdom, and most of it’s just like this.”

“It’s spectacular,” she murmured, drawing a deep breath.

“I’m glad I got a chance to see it, regardless of the circumstances.”

“I could stay up here forever,” Gaelin agreed. He stretched and worked his knuckles into the small of his back. “Well, we’ll see more of the scenery over the next day or two.” He gave her a tired smile and saddled Blackbrand for the day’s ride.

During a halt on the third day of the march, Gaelin and his usual riding companions – Erin, Huire, Madislav, and the Princess Seriene – climbed a short way from the track to eat a light meal of cheese and bread on a hillside. Gaelin’s back still hurt from the fall he’d taken during the raid, and he didn’t mind finding an excuse to rest between marches. Erin softly strummed her lute as they ate. After a quarter-hour or so, Seriene reached over and touched Gaelin’s arm. “It seems that your lunch is about to be interrupted. There’s a messenger heading this way.”

Gaelin groaned and stood up. “It never stops.” The rider, a young northland lad with a mud-splattered tunic, slid off his horse a few yards away and presented a wax-sealed parchment to Gaelin with a bow. Gaelin thanked him and moved away, examining the seal. “It’s from the Count Rieve of Torien’s Watch,” he announced. He opened it, read the letter, and reread it to make sure he understood.

“What is it?” asked Erin.

“Torien says there’s trouble with Cariele. The queen doesn’t want to take sides by supporting my claim or allowing food and arms to cross her borders,” Gaelin said. He crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground in disgust. “We need her complicity, if not her active cooperation. Damn!” He sighed. “Well, Baesil’s going to tell me that we’ve got to have those supplies. I’ll have to go on up to Cariele and call on Queen Aerelie, see if I can talk some reason into her.”

“You don’t have time for that,” Erin said. “If you leave Mhoried for any reason, nobles will desert your banner.

They’ll think you’re running out on them.”

“I don’t see that I have a choice.”

“I’m your herald, Gaelin. It’s my job to represent you when you can’t be there yourself. I’ll go.” Erin stood and tucked her riding pants back into her boots.

Gaelin grimaced. “You’re right. Convince Aerelie to open her borders, and offer her whatever you think is reasonable. I trust your judgment.”

Erin smiled. “Three days there, three days back, and I’ll figure on a week or so to convince the queen to see reason. I should be back in two weeks. Can you manage without me?”

“I’ll have to. Take a detachment of guards with you, at least ten men. I don’t want you to run into trouble in the Stonecrowns.”

The bard gracefully swung herself onto her horse and bowed low from the saddle. “It shall be as you wish, my lord Mhor.” Then she turned and rode off, heading down toward the road. Gaelin watched her leave, unease shadowing his heart.

On the fourth day of their march, one day after Erin’s departure for Cariele, they came into a small region of gentler hills and sparse forestland, the southern fringes of the mighty Aelvinnwode. Here they found a ruined keep by a cold lake.

“The old Caer Winoene,” Baesil told them. “Sacked and burned four hundred years ago, by goblin tribes out of the Five Peaks, during the chaos that surrounded the fall of the Roele line in Anuire. House Winoene met its end here, and much of the land was never restored. Lord Hastaes holds the county now, but it’s only a shadow of what it once was.” He took a deep breath. “It’s home for a time. My scouts report that Baehemon’s a good ten days behind us, and probably more like three weeks if he waits for reinforcements to come after us up here.”

“What do we do if he follows us?” Gaelin asked.

“Well, we have a couple of weeks to turn our farmers into soldiers and to see about filling out the ranks with the musters of the northlords. In fact, with your permission, I was going to send our cavalry out to Marloer’s Gap and Torien’s Watch to help the highlanders turn the goblins back for good.