Usara made some faint murmur of frustration. “Can’t we put a stop to this?”

“You won’t succeed, and if you spoil ’Gren’s fun you’ll make an enemy for life.” The mage’s mouth hung open with questions he couldn’t quite frame. I spared a glance for Sorgrad, to reassure myself he was ready to intervene. He was the only one who could stop ’Gren killing the idiot now.

Vadim made his play in that same breath, fat face creased with vicious cunning. He edged around a table where lamb bones lay in a puddle of sauce. Snatching up a carving fork, he lunged at ’Gren, a swerving move to stay beyond the sweep of the smaller man’s knife. What Vadim didn’t expect was ’Gren instantly swapping the knife to his other hand, a sideways step taking him out of danger and around to Vadim’s unprotected back. The knife flashed in the lamplight, the swiftness of the move deceiving my eye and I had been watching for it, knowing it of old.

Vadim’s yell mingled pain and outrage and blood oozed between his fingers as he clutched a deep gash in the meat of his shoulder. Stumbling around in shock, he gaped at ’Gren, who was grinning broadly, daggers in both hands now. Vadim dropped his weapon from nerveless fingers, not the only one to see his death in the Mountain Man’s bright eyes.

“Nia mer es! Als verget.” Sorgrad’s curt command in the Mountain tongue cut through the tense silence. The fire in ’Gren’s face faded and he looked at his brother, puzzled, then at Vadim, almost as if seeing him for the first time. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“I think you owe these ladies an apology, friend.” Sorgrad’s voice was genial enough but the glitter in his eyes told a different story. Vadim curled his lip and drew a deep breath on some defiant retort.

Niello stepped forward making a wary bow to ’Gren while prudently keeping out of range of his knives. “That’s enough, Vadim. You’ve had your lesson in manners, so get out of here and clean yourself up.”

I couldn’t ever recall hearing such authority in Niello’s voice and it certainly brought Vadim to heel. The clown drew himself up and spat bloody phlegm into the rushes at ’Gren’s feet. He left the yard, all eyes on him in silent hostility, no one offering so much as a handkerchief to staunch his oozing wound.

As soon as Vadim’s back was turned, the girl Kelty was at ’Gren’s elbow, offering him wine, dabbing delicately at a bruise on his cheekbone now darkening impressively under his fair skin. He sheathed his knives and submitted meekly to her ministrations. She shot a proprietorial glance at the other dancers, who had to content themselves with helping the grizzling Lalla back into the inn. ’Gren gave me a wink over Kelty’s shoulder that suggested his energies were far from spent.

“Come on, Usara. It’s time I was off to my bed.” I stood up and gave Sorgrad a brief embrace. “Call on us in the morning.”

“We’ll do that, first thing. Well, as soon as we’re out of bed.” Sorgrad’s gaze was resting on the erstwhile heroine, now standing looking rather impatiently after Niello, who was trying to excuse the fight to the innkeeper.

“Come on, Usara.” The wizard followed me out with an air of confusion that kept him silent all the way back to our inn, up the stairs and into our respective bedchambers.

I learned this song as a young bride, when my husband’s cohort was stationed in defense of Selerima. Small groups would gather in the islands in the river at equinox and solstice, unmistakably descendants of the People of the Plains. This song makes it clear that Arimelin has been granting her gift of dreams to all races for uncounted generations

I don’t think they’re coming.” Usara stalked over to the window to look down at the street for the third time since the second chime of the day. Below Selerimans were walking off last night’s excesses or setting off to haggle at the fairground.

I helped myself to fine white bread and lavender-scented honey cleared of every speck of comb. This wasn’t a morning for anything greased or spicy. “Sorgrad’ll keep his word,” I said stickily. “Even if he’s decided against helping us.”

Usara picked up a tankard of small beer and set it down again untasted. “You don’t think they will?”

“I have no idea,” I replied, exasperated. “I reckon the chances are better than even but Sorgrad will have a sight more questions before he agrees to work for wizards.”

“Sorgrad does the thinking for both of them?” asked Usara with a faint sneer.

“You’d better keep a civil tongue in your head,” I warned. “Mountain Men are no more stone-skulled cave dwellers in bearskins than Forest Folk are heedless songsters living off nuts and berries. Relax and eat your breakfast; they’ll have had a late night last night.”

“I’m still not convinced we need involve them,” said Usara testily. “Be careful how much you tell them; you know Planir and D’Olbriot are agreed we need to keep word of the Elietimm very close, until we have a definite means of countering their enchantments.”

“You can swear every mage and esquire to secrecy on pain of death, but you won’t stop word getting out. I spend more time around backstairs than you do, wizard, and rumors were running around the kitchen yards of Toremal last winter.” I waved the honey spoon at him. “I’ll tell Sorgrad what he needs to know. I don’t think you realize I need the pair of them a cursed sight more than I need you, just at present. They know people and places and all manner of useful things besides the Mountain tongue. You may have your magic but that’s precious little value most of the time.”

“I think you found it useful enough yesterday.” Usara’s words were clipped and haughty.

“Fair comment.” I sweetened my tone. “It’s just that it’s important you get on with them. You have to understand how Sorgrad and Sorgren think. It’s very straightforward; the world is divided into people they are for and the rest. If they decide to call you friend, they’ll take a dagger in the ribs before they’ll let you come to harm. If you don’t measure up, they won’t piss on you if you’re on fire in the street. Can you understand?”

Usara opened his mouth, changed his mind about what he was going to say and turned to look down along the high road. I continued my meal and wondered about a few things. Hopefully Vadim hadn’t been stupid enough to catch up with ’Gren this morning. I’d yet to see anyone get the better of ’Gren and wasn’t about to wager a Lescar cut-piece that I ever would. Countless men had thought they could take on some scrawny son of a fatherless goat and ended up mixing blood with their wine. I wiped my fingers on my napkin. If there had been any trouble, Sorgrad had the wit to keep out of it and send word to me. If worst had come to worst, Reza knew where we were lodging; he was a bright lad.