That is funny, she said. But you said yourself we don t even know who built this tomb. We certainly don t know what their traditions were. And we explored that passage the same as the others. There was nothing different about it.

True enough, he replied. Let s get out of here.

By the time they had crawled back out into the winter sunlight, the Storm of Vengeance had landed, and Mangan and Bez stood by the huts and the dead hathrans conferring with Dulsaer, Jhesrhi, and Vandar. With the snow crunching beneath his boots, Aoth brushed more of it off his chest and tramped to join the parley. Cera hurried after him.

Can t you wizards reveal the trail? the Iron Lord growled.

Jhesrhi shifted her grip on her new staff, a length of brass, graven with runes and octagonal in cross section. I can try, she said, but it will take me awhile, and I can t promise results. That kind of magic isn t my specialty.

Nor mine, said Bez, nor that of any mage aboard my ship. We re war wizards, not diviners.

If sorcery is of no use, Dulsaer said, pulling the wings of his leather fleece-lined cape together against the cold, then let s try thinking. The enemy likely moved and attacked by night. But it isn t night now, and they d be reckless indeed to wander around in open country in the daylight. Where could they hide?

Mangan frowned. The Ashenwood s the obvious place, he said. It s nearby, and a haunt for trolls and ettercaps, among other things.

From what I understand, the half-elf said, it s also dense enough that a band of warriors might reasonably hope to conceal themselves there. Thayan marauders, perhaps. He glanced in Aoth s direction.

Interesting notion, Aoth replied. Have you worked out how such raiders would stay hidden marching hundreds of miles north from the Gorge of Gauros?

Dulsaer scowled. I concede that a Thayan war party is only one possibility, he said. My point is this: My men and I can search for the enemy from the air. The fact that the branches have dropped their leaves should help considerably. He turned to Mangan. We ll find the killers, Highness, and punish them as they deserve.

Bez nodded. Naturally, the Storm will participate, too.

You ll discover, the Aglarondan said, that one skyship can t cover ground the way twenty griffonriders can.

Maybe so, the sellsword said, smiling, but at least I know I can count on you Aglarondans to summon me for the actual fighting. I mean, considering that His Highness is riding aboard my vessel. You surely aren t planning to attack without involving him.

Of course not, Dulsaer snapped.

Let s move out, Mangan said, and in another moment, Dulsaer and Bez were both bellowing commands. The other Aglarondans led their screeching griffons to spots where gaps in the branches overhead would make it easy to ascend. Several sellswords scrambled to collect the bodies of the hathrans and even the fox. The rest trotted for their ship.

Vandar rounded on Aoth and Jhesrhi. What are you waiting for? he asked. Call another wind.

Aoth shook his head. No need, he said. We re not going.

Vandar gaped at him. Why not? he asked.

Is it something to do with the tomb? Cera asked.

The markings?

Maybe, said Aoth. At that moment, a cloud blew across the face of the sun, and in the sudden dimness, his luminous blue eyes seemed to flare brighter. Maybe not. But I have a hunch or two. Everyone wonders how the killers departed without leaving a trail. But what if there s no trail because somehow, some way, they never left?

And we missed seeing them? Jhesrhi asked.

Is that possible with your truesight?

Even I don t see everything, said Aoth.

Anyway, ask yourself, what s the point of defiling a place of power?

Maybe just to spoil it for people you hate, Cera said. But sometimes to taint the power for use in a darker form of magic.

Right, Aoth said, nodding. So maybe, after Mangan and the others have gone away, and the sun sets, the killers will come out of hiding or sneak back to the grove if they really did withdraw to somewhere else to do that. We re going to be here to meet them.

Vandar scowled. I m not, he said.

That all sounded like so much guesswork for me. I m going with the others.

You can try to beg a ride, said Aoth, but I doubt you ll have any better luck than the Shou did. And even if someone takes pity on you, and even if the others actually locate the enemy, how will you show off your kind of prowess while the Aglarondans are loosing arrows and Bez s sellswords are hurling blasts of flame and lightning from on high? Staying here gives you a chance to prove your worth.

Glowering, Vandar stood and pondered. Eventually, he said,

I ll stay. But you d better be right.

A huge black shape plunged down from on high. Cera jumped, and Vandar jerked his javelin up over his shoulder for throwing.

What did I miss? Jet rasped.

Riding Jet above the grove, Aoth felt a chill. With a touch and a thought, he roused the magic of one of his tattoos. The result was only a feeble, fleeting pulse of warmth. He d invoked the enchantment too often. Its strength would renew itself, but not quickly enough to do him much good tonight.

You humans are so delicate, said Jet. He wheeled for another pass, and his ebony feathers reflected a glint of Sel ne s silvery light. It reminded Aoth of the Moonmaiden s servant lying twisted and rotting in her black and argent mantle, and he felt a stab of anger.

He supposed that was stupid if not downright unprofessional. After all, he d never even met the woman, and there couldn t be many people across the length and breadth of Faer n who d seen more slaughtered corpses than he had. But still, at that moment, the thought of a priestess slain by magic troubled him. Chathi had died that way.

He still missed her occasionally, even after a hundred years. He wondered if he would soon be missing Cera, too, once the other sunladies and lords decided to elevate her as she deserved. They were going to choose Daelric s successor at Greengrass, so

Motion in the trees below jolted him from his musings.

Darkness was nearly the same as light to him, while distance was far less of a hindrance than it was to other men. Still, trying to see through crisscrossed branches, and peering down from overhead, it was hard to make out much more than the tops of hoods. But over the course of several heartbeats, the details started coming clear.

Swaying and stepping in unison, as though to music only they could hear, a line of robed women was weaving toward the huts and the blighted tree. Given their location, it was conceivable they d crawled up out of the ancient tomb. Aoth found that possibility perplexing, but not as troubling as the fact that they were masked.

What in the name of the deepest Hell? he thought. Is there such a thing as an outlaw hathran? A traitor hathran?

Without a doubt, said Jet. Don t you know your own species?

Wolves prowled among the masked women. So did vague, flowing shapes like the shadows of wolves. Aoth s frown deepened. The phantoms reminded him of creatures he d fought during the War of the Zulkirs, darkness itself given form and a mockery of life by necromantic arts.

He tensed as the procession neared its destination. One petty drawback of inhumanly keen eyesight was that it was sometimes difficult to judge just how well a comrade had succeeded in concealing himself. Despite crouching behind cover and all but burying themselves in snow, Cera, Jhesrhi, and Vandar were plainly visible to him. He breathed a sigh of relief when none of the enemy paid them any attention. The witches seemingly had no idea that the clear patch of ground was surrounded.

They did set sentries, though, albeit in a haphazard fashion. The wolves, corporeal and otherwise, prowled, sniffed, and peered out into the trees. The witches Aoth counted thirteen altogether arranged themselves in a semicircle in front of the ruined oak and started a moaning incantation.