Seregil had finished with his own gear and was looking rather wistfully around the room. "This was a good place."

Coming up behind him, Alec wrapped an arm around his waist and rested his chin on Seregil's shoulder. "A very good place," he agreed. "But if it hadn't been this moving us on, there would have been something else."

"I suppose so. Still, we're spoiled with privacy," Seregil said, pressing back against him with a lewd grin. "Just wait until we're trapped aboard some ship, cheek by jowl with Beka's soldiers. You'll wish we were back here and so will I."

"Hey in there, are you ready yet?" Beka demanded, appearing suddenly in the doorway. Seeing them together, however, she halted uncertainly.

Alec jumped back, too, blushing.

"Yes, we're ready, Captain," Seregil told her, adding under his breath, "What did I tell you?"

"Good." Beka covered her own embarrassment brusquely. "What about all this?" She gestured around the little room. Except for their clothes and gear, the cabin looked much as it had last night. The fire was banked, and clean dishes lay drying on a shelf by the window.

Seregil shrugged and headed for the door. "It'll be of use to someone."

"He's still not wearing a sword?" Beka asked Alec when Seregil was gone.

"Not since Nysander's death."

She nodded sadly. "It's a shame, a great swordsman like that."

"There's no point in arguing with him," Alec said, and Beka guessed from his tone that this was a battle he'd lost with Seregil more than once.

They set off at midmorning, following the road south.

Despite Seregil's misgivings, it felt good to be riding with Micum again. Every so often the two of them would find themselves out ahead of the others, and for a while it was like old times: the two of them off on a mission for Nysander, or pursuing some harebrained quest of their own for the sheer hell of it.

But then the sun would strike silvery glints in his old friend's hair, or he'd catch sight of Micum's crippled leg, stiff in the stirrup, and Seregil's exhilaration evaporated again into a twinge of guilty sadness.

Micum's was not the first generation he'd outlive, but it didn't get any easier with experience. In Skala, among these Tir he loved, only the wizards endured, and even they could be killed.

Now and then he caught Micum watching him with a bemused expression that suggested he was having similar thoughts, but he seemed to accept the situation. It was Seregil who'd quietly drop back to find Alec, like a cold man seeking a fire.

The roads grew drier as they turned west the next day, and the rolling plains were already thick with crocus and yellowstar. Trusting the clear nights, they rode long and slept rough, letting the horses forage as they went.

Except for the number of troops they met, Seregil found it hard to imagine the terrible war that was being waged on land and sea. Talking with Beka's riders soon brought the reality of the situation home to him, however. He recognized only four of Rhylin's ten riders: Syra, Tealah, Tare, and Corporal Nikides, who'd aged into a man since they'd met, as well as acquiring a jagged white scar down his right cheek. The other six were new to the turma, replacements for those who'd fallen in battle.

"Well, Beka, I always knew you'd amount to something," Seregil said as the group sat around the fire their second night on the road. "Right hand to Commander Klia? That's a mark of real favor."

"It gets them out of harm's way for a bit, too," Micum added.

Beka shrugged noncommittally. "We've earned it."

"We've lost a lot of people since you last saw us, my lord," Sergeant Rhylin remarked, stretching the day's stiffness from his

legs. "You recall the two men who were planked? Gilly lost a hand and went home, but Mirn healed up fine; he and Steb are in Braknil's decuria now."

"We lost Jareel at Steerwide Ford a day after we got back," Nikides put in. "And remember Kaylah? She died scouting an enemy camp."

"She had a lover in the turma, didn't she?" asked Alec, and Seregil smiled to himself.

Alec had been more taken with the idea of soldiering than he'd ever let on and had formed quite a bond with Beka's riders in the short time they'd known one another in Rhiminee, and later during the dark days in Plenimar.

Nikides nodded. "Zir. He took it hard, but you have to go on, don't you? He's Mercalle's corporal now."

"Sergeant Mercalle?" Seregil looked up in surprise. Mercalle was an experienced old soldier, one of the sergeants who'd helped train Beka and then requested the honor of serving with her when she was given a command. "I thought you lost her in the first battle of the war?"

"So did we," replied Beka. "She went down under her horse and broke both arms and a leg, along with a few ribs. But she tracked us down again before the snow flew that fall, ready to fight."

"We were lucky to get her back," said Corporal Nikides, "She fought with Phoria herself in their younger days."

"She and Braknil have seen us through some dark days," Beka added. "By the Flame, their lessons have saved us a time or two!"

Never one to waste valuable time, Seregil spent much of the journey drilling Alec and anyone else who cared to listen on the clans of Aurenen: their emblems, customs, and most importantly, their affiliations. Alec took in the information with all his usual quickness.

"Only eleven principal clans?" he'd scoffed when someone else complained at the complexities of Aurenfaie politics. "Compared to dealing with Skalan nobility, that's no worse than your mother's market list."

"Don't be too certain," warned Seregil. "Sometimes those eleven feel more like eleven hundred."

Beka and the others also saw to it that Alec brushed up his swordplay. He was soon bruised but happy to be reclaiming his hard-won skills.

Seregil pointedly ignored the hopeful glances they cast in his direction during these sessions.

They met with columns of soldiers more frequently as they neared the coast and from them learned that Plenimaran ships now controlled much of the Inner Sea's northeastern waters, and that raids on eastern Skalan were increasing. Skala still held crucial control of the isthmus and canal, but the pressure was mounting.

News of the land battles was more encouraging. According to an infantry captain they met just north of Cirna, Skalan troops held the Mycenian coastline as far west as Keston, and had pushed east to the Folcwine River. As Seregil had long ago predicted, however, the Plenimaran Overlord had extended his influence into the northlands and was gradually seizing control of the trade routes there.

"Have they taken Kerry?" Alec asked, thinking of his home village in the Ironheart Mountains.

"Don't know Kerry," the captain replied, "but I've heard rumors that Wolde's gone over to them."

"That's bad," Seregil muttered.

Wolde was an important link in the Gold Road, the caravan route between Skala and the north. If the Plenimarans captured the north's iron, wool, gold, and timber at their source, it wouldn't matter if Skala held the Folcwine; there'd be no more goods coming downriver.

They reached the isthmus on the third day and crossed the echoing chasm of the great Cirna Canal. Following the Queen's Highroad west, they came in sight of the little village of Ardinlee just before sunset.

Micum reined in to take his leave where the road branched and Seregil felt again that gulf of change and distance.

Beka leaned over to hug her father. "Give my love to Mother and the others."

"I will." Turning to Alec and Seregil, he grinned ruefully. "Since I can't come with you, I'll just have to trust you three to keep each other out of trouble down there. I hear the 'faie are persnickety about foreigners."

"I'll keep that in mind," Seregil replied dryly.