The vine was trouble, he thought again—this thing in the sky could be no less. He remembered what people always said, “Trouble sires three children,” and knew immediately that he didn’t want to meet the third child.

Discounting his fears, he started running. Just idle talk of superstitious people, he told himself. He tried to think of what could be that big, that big and red. It was impossible—there was nothing that flew that was that large. Maybe it was a cloud, or a trick of the light. But he couldn’t fool himself: it was no cloud.

Looking up as he ran, trying for another glimpse, he headed for the path that skirted the hillside. Richard knew that the ground dropped off sharply on the other side of the trail, and he would be able to get an unobstructed view of the sky. Tree branches wet with rain from the night before slapped at his face as he ran through the forest, jumping fallen trees and small rocky streams. Brush snatched at his pant legs. Dappled swatches of sunlight teased him—to look up but denied him the view he needed. His breath was fast, ragged, sweat ran cold against his face, and he could feel his heart pounding as he ran carelessly down the hillside. At last he stumbled out of the trees onto the path, almost falling.

Searching the sky, he spotted the thing, far away and too small for him to tell what it was, but he thought it had wings. He squinted against the blue brightness of the sky, shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to see for sure if there were wings moving. It slipped behind a hill and was gone. He hadn’t even been able to tell if it really was red.

Winded, Richard slumped down on a granite boulder at the side of the trail, absently snapping off dead twigs from a sapling beside him while he stared down at Trunt Lake below. Maybe he should go tell Michael what had happened, tell him about the vine and the red thing in the sky. He knew Michael would laugh at the last part. He had laughed at the same stories himself.

No, Michael would only be angry with him for being up near the boundary, and for going against his orders to stay out of the search for the murderer. He knew his brother cared about him or he wouldn’t always be nagging him. Now that he was grown, he could laugh off his brother’s constant instructions, though he still had to endure the looks of displeasure.

Richard snapped off another twig and in frustration threw it at a flat rock. He decided he shouldn’t feel singled out. After all, Michael was always telling everyone what to do, even their father.

He pushed aside his harsh judgments of his brother—today was a big day for Michael. Today he was accepting the position of First Councilor. He would be in charge of everything now, not just the town of Hartland anymore, but all the towns and villages of Westland, even the country people. Responsible for everything and everyone. Michael deserved Richard’s support, he needed it—Michael had lost a father, too.

That afternoon there was to be a ceremony and big celebration at Michael’s house. Important people were going to be there, come from the farthest reaches of Westland. Richard was supposed to be there, too. At least there would be plenty of good food. He realized he was famished.

While he sat and thought, he scanned the opposite side of Trunt Lake, far below. From this height the clear water revealed alternating patches of rocky bottom and green weed around the deep holes. At the edge of the water, Hawkers Trail knitted in and out of the trees, in some places open to view, in some places hidden. Richard had been on that part of the trail many times. In the spring it was wet and soggy down by the lake, but this late in the year it would be dry. In areas farther north and south, as the trail wound its way through the high Ven Forests, it passed uncomfortably close to the boundary. Because of that, most travelers avoided it, choosing instead the trails of the Hartland Woods. Richard was a woods guide, and led travelers safely through the Hartland forests. Most were traveling dignitaries wanting the prestige of a local guide more than they wanted direction.

His eyes locked on something. There was movement. Unsure what it had been, he stared hard at the spot on the far side of the lake. When he saw it again, on the path, where it passed behind a thin veil of trees, there was no doubt—it was a person. Maybe it was his friend Chase. Who else but a boundary warden would be wandering around up here?

He hopped down off the rock, tossing the twigs aside, and took a few steps forward. The figure followed the path into the open, at the edge of the lake. It wasn’t Chase—it was a woman, a woman in a dress. What woman would be walking around this far out in the Ven Forest, in a dress? Richard watched her making her way along the lakeshore, disappearing and reappearing with the path. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but she wasn’t strolling slowly either. Rather, she moved at the measured pace of an experienced traveler. That made sense—no one lived anywhere near Trunt Lake.

Other movement snatched his attention. Richard’s eyes searched the shade and shadows. Behind her, there were others. Three, no, four men, in hooded forest cloaks, following her, but hanging back some distance. They moved with stealth, from tree to rock to tree. Looking. Waiting. Moving. Richard straightened, his eyes wide, his attention riveted.

They were stalking her.

He knew immediately: this was the third child of trouble.

At first, Richard stood frozen, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t be sure the four men really were stalking the woman, at least not until it was too late. What business was it of his anyway? And besides, he didn’t even have his knife with him. What chance did one man with no weapon have against four? He watched the woman making her way along the path. He watched the men follow.

What chance did the woman have?

He crouched, muscles tight and hard. His heart raced as he tried to think of what he could do. The morning sun was hot on his face, his breathing was shallow. Richard knew there was a small cutoff from Hawkers Trail somewhere ahead of the woman. Hurriedly, he tried to remember exactly where. The main fork to her left continued around the lake and up the hill to his left, to where he stood and watched. If she stayed on the main trail he could wait for her, then tell her about the men. Then what? Besides, that was too long. The men would be on her before then. An idea began to take shape. He sprang up and started running down the trail.

If he could reach her before the men caught her, and before the cutoff, he could take her up the right fork. That trail led up out of the trees onto open ledges, away from the boundary, and toward the town of Hartland, toward help. If they were quick, he could hide their tracks. The men wouldn’t know that the two of them had taken the side trail. They would think she was still on the main trail, at least for a while, long enough to fool them and lead her to safety.

Still winded from the earlier run, Richard panted in labored breaths, running down the trail as fast as he could go. The path had quickly turned back in to the trees, so at least he didn’t have to worry about the men being able to see him. Shafts of sunlight flashed by as he raced along. Old pine trees lined the path, leaving a soft mat of needles to cushion his footfalls.

After a time, driving himself headlong down the path, he started looking for the side trail. He couldn’t be sure how far he had gone—the forest offered no view for a fix, and he didn’t remember exactly where the cutoff was. It was small and would be easy to miss. With every bend bringing new hope that this would be the place he found the cutoff, he pushed himself on. He tried to think of what he would say to the woman when he finally reached her. His mind raced as fast as his legs. She might think he was with her pursuers, or be frightened by him, or not believe him. He wouldn’t have much time to convince her to go with him, that he wanted to help.