Kip kept pushing upstream another hundred paces where the bend in the river straightened out and a tree had fallen down the bank into the water. It wouldn't do anything for the scent trail, but it would hide the water he was dripping. He cut up the bank and then stopped. If he headed back downstream, he'd be going closer to the men hunting him. But the soldier's mention of other trails had put a small desperate hope in Kip's breast. Other trails meant maybe other fresh trails. And if it weren't for the dogs, the cave would be the safest place to spend the night.

Swallowing so his heart didn't jump out of his throat, Kip turned downstream, toward the cave. He thought he felt a cool prick on his skin. Rain? He looked up at the black clouds, but it must have been his imagination. He came to the spot overlooking the cave's entrance.

Two soldiers were standing almost directly below him. Two others were on the opposite bank. There was one war dog on each side. Either dog's head would have come up to Kip's shoulder, easily. They both wore studded leather coats like horse armor without the saddle. Kip dropped to the ground.

"Sir, if I may?" one of the men said. Apparently getting permission, the soldier said, "The drafter came straight to the river, then veered sharply upstream before going into the water? He knows we're following him. I think he doubled back and went downstream."

"With us so close behind?" the commander asked.

"He must have heard the dogs."

Which made Kip think of something else: dogs can smell scents on the wind too. Not just on the ground. Kip's throat tightened. He hadn't even thought about the wind. It was blowing from the southwest. His path had taken him east and then north when the river turned-the perfect direction. If he'd gone downstream, toward town, the dogs would have smelled him immediately. If the commander thought about it, he'd surely realize that too.

"Rain's coming. We might only have one shot at this." The commander paused. "Let's make it fast." He whistled and gestured for the men on the other side of the river to head downstream. They took off at a jog.

Kip's heart started beating again. He slipped down the bank beside two great boulders. There was a narrow space between the two. It looked like it went in for about four paces and then stopped, but Kip knew that it turned sharply. He never would have discovered it the first time if it hadn't been for the pungent, sickly sweet odor of haze floating out. Orholam knew how his mother had ever found it.

Now, even knowing it was there, Kip almost didn't have the courage to push between those rocks. There was something wrong, though. It wasn't as dark as it should be. It was fully night outside and Kip was blocking the entrance, so someone was already inside, and they had a lantern.

Kip froze again until he heard the sound of the war dogs change pitch. They'd found the rocks he'd thrown across the river. That meant it was only a matter of time until they discovered his fraud. The darkness and tightness were suffocating. He had to move, one way or the other.

He pushed around the corner and into the open space of the smuggler's cave. There were two figures sitting in the wan light of a lantern: Sanson and Kip's mother. Both were covered in blood.

Kip couldn't help but cry out. His mother was seated against the wall of the cave, her once-blue dress dyed black and red with blood dried and fresh. Lina's dark hair was matted, darker than normal, stringy with blood. The right side of her face was pristine, perfect. All the blood was coming from the left side of her head, traveling down her hair like a wick, blooming on her dress. Sanson sat next to her, his eyes closed, head back, clothes almost as gory.

At Kip's cry, his mother's eyes fluttered. There was a huge dent in the side of her head. Orholam be merciful, her skull was shattered. She stared in his direction for several moments before she found him. Her eyes were a horror to behold, the pupil of her left eye was dilated, the right a tight pinprick. And the whites of both were completely bloodshot. "Kip," she said. "Never thought I'd be so happy to see you."

"Love you too, mother," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"My fault," she said. Her eyes fluttered and closed.

Kip's heart seized. Was she dead? Before today, he'd never seen anyone die. Orholam, this was his mother! He looked at Sanson, who looked healthy, despite all the blood on his clothes. "I tried, Kip. The alcaldesa wouldn't listen. I told her-"

"Even his own family didn't believe him," Kip's mother said, her eyes still closed. "Even when the soldiers rode down his mother and split his brother open, Adan Marta stood there, arguing how our satrap wouldn't possibly do such a thing to his own people. Only Sanson ran away. Who would've thought he was the smart one in that family?"

"Mother! Enough!" Kip's voice came out whiny, childish.

"You came back, though, didn't you, Sanson? Tried to save me, unlike my own son. Too bad he didn't try to help me like you tried to help your family, or I might still have a chance."

Her words touched some deep well of rage. Potent, but uncontrollable. He pushed it down, pushed the tears back. "Mother. Stop. You're dying."

"Sanson says you're a drafter now. Funny," she said bitterly. "All your life you're a disappointment, and you learn to draft today. Too late for any of us." With effort, she took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Kip, taking a little while to focus. "Kill him, Kip. Kill the bastard." She lifted a narrow, filigreed rosewood jewelry case as long as Kip's forearm from the floor of the cave beside her. Kip had never seen it before.

Kip took the case and opened it. There was a dagger inside, double-edged, of an odd material, starkly white like ivory, with a thread of black winding down the center to the point, and no other adornment save for seven diamonds embedded in the blade itself. It was the most beautiful thing Kip had ever seen, and he didn't care. He had no idea what the blade was worth, but the case it had come in alone would have paid for a month of his mother's binges. "Mother, what is this?"

"And I thought Sanson was slow," she said, hard, sneering, dying, afraid. "Put it in his rotten heart. Make that bastard suffer. Make him pay for this."

"Mother, what are you saying?" Kip asked, despairing. Me, kill King Garadul?

She laughed, and the motion made a fresh wash of blood spill down her head. "You're a stupid, stupid boy, Kip. But maybe a dull sword can go where a sharp one wouldn't be allowed." Her head bobbed. Her breathing was getting labored. Her head drooped to her chest, and Kip thought she was dead, but her eyes opened once more, only one focusing, locking Kip in her glare. Her fingernails dug into his forearm painfully. "You go, go train to be a drafter, go to the…" She seemed to be searching for the word "Chromeria," but couldn't find it. She noticed, looked furious, afraid. It was evidence she really was dying. "You learn what you need, but don't you forget me. Don't you forget this. Don't listen to him, you hear me? He's a liar. You will not fail me in this, Kip. You learn, and then you kill him, you understand?"

"Yes, mother." She was talking like she knew King Garadul. How could she have known him?

"Kip, if you ever loved me, avenge me. Swear it by your worthless soul, Kip. Swear it, or I swear to Orholam I'll haunt you. I won't… let…" She lost her train of thought.

Kip looked over at Sanson, who stared back silently, horrified. Kip's mother's fingernails dug in deeper, and her seeing eye seemed almost aflame, demanding his attention, his promise. He said, "I swear to avenge you, mother, by my very soul."

Something like peace stole over her features, softening the hard planes. Then she laughed quietly, satisfied, somehow cruel-until her laughter stopped. Her hand dropped from Kip's forearm, leaving bloody tracks. "I won't let you down, mother, I'll go right-"