She had to. She had to think of the Confederation’s needs before one man’s. This Sword of the Lord matter was a threat to the Confederation. Another Ehleenee plot, so soon after the last one, could tear the duchies apart, especially when they were already fighting on the western borders with the hill clans. Determinedly she strode over to the horse. Unlike the warhorses of the Kindred, it lacked mindspeak, but she could use her thoughts to soothe it and calm it. She stroked its nose reassuringly and managed to get it saddled.

But she couldn’t stop seeing Stefanohs, trapped on that ledge. What if it had been Tim?

She w'as never able to explain even to herself why she didn’t mount the horse and ride away, leaving Stefanohs to his fate. She only knew that when it came to a final choice she couldn’t leave him like that. She tied the horse’s reins to the bush, ordered it to stay, and called to Stefanohs to guide her to him.

He was startled at first by her mindcall, startled enough nearly to let go of the rope. How are you free?

Ask questions later. Guide me now.

He showed her the way, and she moved along the path as carefully as he had, until she reached the cliff. She saw the rope tied to the tree and heard him call out to her. The situation was clear enough: She had to tug him to safety. She began to pull up the slack on the rope, until it was wound tight around the tree and taut on the ground. Then she dug her heels in, bracing herself against the tree trunk, and began to pull him up.

“Climb, damn you!” she told him, as little by little she yanked his weight upward. At last she saw his hands clear the top of the outcropping and knew he was nearly safe. One more tug, then the ache in her arms would end and she could rest.

He got a good grip on the rock and pulled himself upward. She stood for a long moment just looking at him, and then she read what was in his mind before he had a chance to slam his shields up; he could not let her escape, because if she was free, she would ride to Bili and bring him here. They were too close to the Stronghold.

She broke into a run, but her feet hit a patch of mud, and she went down face forward into the dirt. He was on top of her instantly, and while she turned and went for him with her nails, tried to free her legs to kick, he had pinned her to the ground. He didn’t outweigh her by all that much, but he had her in a hold she couldn’t break out of.

“1 shouldn’t have saved you,” she said bitterly.

“No, you shouldn’t. Why did you?”

She turned away. “The same reason you saved the fox kits, I suppose.”

“Lady Giliahna,” he said formally, “I give you my word you will be treated as an honorable hostage. No harm will come to you. 1 stake my life on it.”

She wondered how much his life was worth.

“Your word 1 trust, but not your Reverend Father’s. Tie me quickly. If 1 get another chance, 1 will kill you, if 1 have to.”

He met her gaze squarely. “1 know. And 1 also know that I owe you my life.”

Bili’s men had found the bandits’ camp early on the second day. They had caught them by surprise, and when the reavers tried to run, Bili’s men cut them to pieces. He had ordered that at least a few prisoners be taken, if Giliahna was not to be found among them, so that they could be questioned at length as to her whereabouts. But even the combination of mindspeak and torture could not get any information from them. They knew nothing about a woman. So far as they were concerned, only one of the travelers had gotten away, and that was Barnes. But they did have some interesting tales to tell about the raiders who left behind the sign of the lightning bolt. They had had run-ins with them once or twice—and lost. One of their scouts had followed a party back into the hills. Over three days southwest, he'd said.

And that was where Bili of Morguhn and his men were headed now. He had sent out riders to look for Giliahna, and search parties had already combed the forest around the ambush site, to no avail. There was nothing more to be done for his sister, and those Ehleenee madmen had to be cleaned out, like lancing a festering abscess.

It was almost nightfall when Stefanohs rode through the gates of the settlement, into the heart of the Stronghold itself. Giliahna was securely tied in front of him. They both looked muddy, disheveled and exhausted; their appearance mirrored their feelings. Stefanohs dismounted and heaved her into his arms. He was taking no chances this time. He carried her into his grandfather’s house and deposited her on a chair. Then he called for a maid to fetch water, and one of his mother’s gowns.

The commotion brought his mother, Sohfeeya, from her sewing room. She was a small woman, her black hair streaked with gray, her tired face still showing traces of her younger loveliness in high cheekbones and large eyes. “Stefanohs, what is this about? Who is the strange woman the maids came running to me about?”

“This”—he waved a hand toward Giliahna, who felt like an untidy package—“is the High Lady Giliahna, and our guest for the time being. She needs a bath, and clothes.” “You also need a bath and clean clothes,” his mother told him.

“It can wait until I have seen the Reverend Father.”

“You can’t go to the Reverend Father’s house looking like a—a cleaner of stables!”

“Just this once, I think he will forgive me, Mother.”

“No, send for him. You can wash and dress properly, while you wait. He will want to see your captive with his own eyes.”

She was right, and he knew it. He had to admit, too, that he liked being in the position of requesting the Reverend Father’s presence rather than running to his summons. It was perhaps a half hour later, freshly bathed and dressed, that he received his august visitor in his grandfather’s reception room.

His grandfather, Pehtrohs, was not far behind the priest, as were the other members of the council.

“Well, Stefanohs, where is the witch?”

“Dressing, I would think. It will take her some time to dry that hair of hers.”

“You ordered a bath for a Confederation witch?” Zakareeohs thundered. He was a tall man, heavy-boned and beginning to run to fat now, though he did not have the flab of most of his fellow priests—he had dedicated himself to the Lord’s service at twenty-five. His face was regular of feature, aquiline of nose and full of lip, the effect of nobility and high-mindedness spoiled by the beginnings of a double chin and jowls. Still he was an impressive figure in his stark dark garb, contrasting richly with his silver hair.

“She saved my life. She is my hostage, and I gave my word that she would be well treated.” Stefanohs tried to make his voice level, but his awe of the Reverend Father showed in the tightness of his speech.

“Why would one of the Undying help an enemy?” his grandfather scoffed.

Stefanohs told them the story in as few words as possible. When he had finished, he saw sympathy and some approval on the faces of his grandfather and the council. But the Reverend Father’s face was carefully blank.

“Have the woman brought to me,” the priest said neutrally. “I will question her in the privacy of my home.”

He swept out.

Stefanohs strode toward the women’s quarters, where he found Giliahna garbed in one of his mother’s simpler gowns. The pale rose set off her pallor as well as it did his mother’s olive skin, and she was brushing out the tangles from her long hair. Her beauty was more than he could have imagined from their days of hard riding. She looked up at his footsteps and began to braid her still-damp hair.

“I’ve come to bring you to the Reverend Father. He wants to speak with you alone.”

“I’m sure he does.” Her voice was heavy with an irony even he could not ignore.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I’ve given my word, and I’ve told him how you saved me.”