“But how do you tell them apart? Or get them to come to you?” I asked as I mounted.

“What’s to tell?” Marcus asked. “Rafe’s black, Prest’s brown with the notched ear, Isdra’s roan with the scarred whither. And they come because that is the way of things. And while you might think so, they don’t all look alike. Any more than people do.”

I gave him a look, and would have asked more, but I was interrupted. “We’re to move to the center, Warprize.” Epor’s tone was firm.

“I understand.” We headed out to join the main body of the army. “How far to the village?”

“Not far,” Isdra replied. “The Warlord will take the warforce and form up before they send Rafe to the gates.”

“He will send word, Warprize.” Marcus added.

Resigned, I nodded, and concentrated on guiding my mount.

We traveled for sometime before we passed a stone pillar, about waist high, with a hollowed top, which marked the boundary of the lands claimed by the village. A glint of light off the tip caught my eye. It could just be rainwater, but…

I tugged on the reins and started to work my way through the other warriors, urging my horse into the gaps between riders. He went willingly, shouldering aside the ones too slow to get out of our way. There was some loud swearing behind me, Epor from the sound of it, but I didn’t stop. Marcus, too, was cursing, but it was too late for him to try and stop me. I broke through the line of warriors and turned my horse back. Urging him to a canter, I headed back to the pillar. Marcus and Prest were behind me, I could hear them urging their horses on.

I reached the stone to see that the hollow was filled to the brim. I didn’t bother to dismount, just leaned over and dipped my fingers in the fluid. If it was water, well and good. But it hadn’t rained, and…

Breathing hard, I lifted my fingers, and the tang of vinegar filled my nose, making my eyes water. Vinegar, one of the strongest cleansers known. Vinegar, which, when placed in the hollow of a boundary stone, turned it into something else entirely.

“… one rock, one arrow, one word...” Keir’s voice rang in my head. Goddess, I had to reach him before it was too late. I yanked my horse’s head around, forgetting to be gentle. The horse fought me, tossing its head in protest, but it turned nonetheless. Marcus and Prest came up, their faces drawn into scowls, their horses snorting in protest.

“Warprize,” Marcus started, but I cut him off.

“I need to talk to Keir. And that scout. Now, Marcus.”

Marcus gave me an odd look. Prest turned a bit, scanning ahead down into the valley. Epor and Isdra galloped up, both frowning. “That was not well thought out, Warprize.” Epor scolded.

“It was stupid,” Isdra added.

“I need to talk to Keir. It’s important.”

“Do you see him?” Marcus asked.

“No,” Prest replied.

Marcus tilted his head back, and warbled out a long, trilling cry.

A response rose from the mass before us, and Marcus responded again, making a slightly different sound. He turned toward me. “Come.”

He urged his horse into a gallop, and I followed right behind.

Keir sat on his horse in the midst of turmoil, as the war force prepared to move out. Yers and Iften were near by. The village was not yet in sight, for which I was thankful.

“Keir!” I called out as Marcus led me to his side.

Keir turned in our direction, frowning. “Lara, this is not safe—”

Iften was close at hand. “If she were a warrior, she’d be whipped.”

Keir snarled, and lashed out at Iften, hitting him full in the face. Iften crashed to the ground. He jerked to his feet, hands curled into fists. Keir’s hand was on his sword, his horse solid beneath him. “You take a hand to the War-prize and you die.”

There was a pause for a breath, as everyone seemed to freeze. Then Iften bowed his head, and the moment was gone. The man remounted as Keir whipped his head back around to face me. “You will—”

Marcus interrupted him. “She says she needs to talk to you.”

“Keir, I need to talk to the scout. This may not be what it seems.”

Keir shook his head, visibly reining in his temper. “Lara, I know you don’t want this to be a rebellion, but you must face the truth.”

“Once more. Let me talk to him once more, then you can have Prest haul me off,” I begged. “Please.”

Keir scowled, but he called to Yers. “Find Tant and bring him here.”

It didn’t take long. I was talking before he drew his horse to a stop. “Tant, tell me again what happened at the village.”

Tant looked at Keir, who glared at him, then turned back to me. “We rode up, Warprize, rode up to announce our presence and the army’s. Only to find the gates closed against us. I stayed ahorse, but Rton dismounted and went to bang on the closed gates, and they threw rocks at us.” Tant was clearly offended.

“Just rocks?” I asked.

“And arrows.” He was affronted by my questioning him. “They fired arrows at us. They hit the ground at our feet.”

“But didn’t hit you?” I pushed.

“What’s the point, Lara?” Keir asked.

“At us,” Tant insisted. “They shot at us, but they missed. What are you saying?” Tant’s eyes narrowed. “You doubt my word?”

“I think there was a different reason they drove them off.” I looked at Keir. “A reason that has nothing to do with rebellion.”

“They’re defying him,” Tant sputtered. “My word on it.”

“Tant, I—”

“They even painted the gates with blood in their defiance,” Tant rushed on angrily. “If that’s not rebellion, what is it?”

My heart froze in my chest. “Blood? On the gates?”

“Aye, and fresh, too.” Tant seemed proud of himself, at his final proof.

Keir’s gaze was on my face, and I looked at him, unsure how to voice my fear. He frowned. “Lara?”

“Tant,” I pushed the words through my dry throat. “Was there a pattern?”

“Pattern?”

“A design? Like a mark?”

Tant paused, thinking. “Aye.”

“Show me,” I demanded.

Tant shrugged, dismounted, and knelt in the dirt at our feet. He reached out and traced a ‘P’ with his finger.

I sucked in my breath, my worst fear made real.

“What is it, Lara?” Keir asked softly.

“Plague.”

“Lara? What is ‘plague’?” Keir’s voice was sharp.

“Marcus,” I jerked around in the saddle to look at him. “I need Gils. My supplies, where are my supplies?” I’d need fever’s foe, more than what I had at hand. Gils could make more, he’d learned that much.

“Xylara.”

That jerked my head around, my eyes wide. Keir rarely used my full name, and never with that tone before. He was sitting on his horse, looking as if his patience had gone. I swallowed hard. “I need Gils and my supplies.”

“You need to explain, Lara. I have a warforce poised, as you prattle about supplies. Tell me now, what is it about this illness that changes things in any way?”

“It’s plague. An illness that kills.”

“Illness kills?” Keir ran his hand through his hair, frowning.

“Yes, of course it does.” It took a moment to understand the full meaning of that question. But surely it was because he didn’t know the word. Yet, my breath caught in my throat. His eyes were full of doubt, how could he not understand?

“There is no ‘of course’ in this.” Keir responded in a voice that cut like a blade. “Are you telling me there is another explanation for the village’s actions? A valid one?”

Holy Goddess. He didn’t understand. “Keir, the villagers were trying to protect your men. It’s not a rebellion.” Keir frowned, but he listened as I continued. “Under our law, an afflicted village closes its gates and keeps to itself until the disease has run its course. They fill the boundary stones with vinegar as a warning, and warn off any who try to enter. It’s not you they are fighting!”

“So.” Keir thought for a moment, then gestured to Iften. “We’ll position the warriors, but well back from the walls. No one is to attack except at my command. Full battle gear, I’ll not have any warrior dead of overconfidence.”