“You mean, besides being a half-breed female hireling?” The Silvanesti poked his fire absently. “Just now, she’s astonished. Her name’s Zala, by the way. I’m sure she didn’t bother to introduce herself.”

Tol gave Tylocost a severe look. “By leaving Juramona, you’ve broken your parole,” he said.

“Regrettable, my lord, but I could hardly await your leave to depart Juramona when Juramona is no more.”

He described the sad state of the town’s defenders, and their subsequent betrayal and slaughter by the nomads. Shaken by the news, Tol and Egrin sat down heavily on the log by Tylocost.

“Between forty and fifty thousand, you say?” Egrin repeated hoarsely.

The number was staggering. Every tribe from the eastern savanna must have taken part in the attack. Tol considered Juramona his home, having been brought there as a boy by Egrin, but the news of its destruction was even harder on the elder warrior. Although Ackal V had removed him from his post as marshal, Egrin had continued to live in the town. He had many friends there, warriors and common folk alike.

“Do any imperial soldiers stand between them and Hylo?” Tol asked. Tylocost shrugged. He had no way of knowing.

While the three males sat in silence, Kiya sized up Zala. She was a head shorter than the forester woman, the gracile build of an elf melded with the muscles of a human. Her manner was tense, and her eyes never still. Probably a good hunter, Kiya thought.

“What’s your story?” Kiya asked amiably. “You’re not this old gnome’s mate, I hope.”

“Astarin save me! I’d sooner marry a donkey.”

“Such refined taste you have,” Tylocost shot back.

Ignoring the gibe, Zala addressed Tol. “Lord Tolandruth, I was sent to find you,” she said.

Egrin and Kiya exchanged a worried look. Ackal V’s hatred of their friend was well known. Had the emperor, even after all this time, sent an assassin after Tol?

Zala untied a thong around her neck, bringing forth a small leather pouch. From the pouch, she took a golden ring. “I was told this would draw you to me.” With a pointed glare at Tylocost, she said, “How else should our paths cross on so wide a plain?”

She offered him the ring, adding, “A certain high lady said you would recognize this trinket.”

Tol’s pack, with the millstone inside, lay on the ground a short distance away. When Tol took the ring, the magical effect was immediate and overwhelming.

Valaran stood before him. She was clad in flowing scarlet, the empress’s crown resting lightly on her pale brow. Her chestnut hair fell in a luxuriant cascade to her waist, longer than Tol remembered. Not only could he see her but, most disturbingly, he could smell her honeyed perfume. “Tol,” Val said, “I need you! Come to me!”

The others watched his suddenly anxious face, not seeing the vision.

He returned the ring to the half-elf, and the vision vanished.

“How did you come by that?” he asked quietly.

“I had it from the hand of the empress herself,” she said, putting the ring away again.

The ring was one Tol himself had given to Valaran years before. He explained to his companions what he had seen. But he had trouble crediting the half-elf’s story.

“Empress Valaran lives in seclusion in the heart of the imperial palace,” he said. “She has no way to hire trackers or send messages beyond the walls of the Inner City. The emperor would not allow it.”

The huntress’s dark eyes narrowed. “I do not lie. The empress hired me to find you, to bring you to her. She had a spell of finding placed on the ring, to help me locate you. She seemed worried the magic wouldn’t work on you, but it did.”

It was this last that convinced Tol. Valaran was one of the few to whom he’d confided the secret of the nullstone’s existence. She would know that, should he still have the Irda artifact, a spell of finding (or indeed any spell) would have no effect on him.

At Egrin’s request, Tylocost explained how he’d met Zala, and told of their departure from Juramona three days earlier. Tol realized that his initial vision of the burning town had occurred four nights before; he had indeed been given a glimpse of the future, but not early enough to allow him to stop Juramona’s destruction. His journey had only begun, and already it had failed.

He rose and moved away a short distance, wanting to think while the others continued talking. Without conscious effort, his hand naturally came to rest on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

He’d come this far, but now what? Zala’s explanation of her mission seemed honest enough, but it did not answer the question of why Valaran needed him, why now she had chosen to reach out to him. And the vision of Juramona’s future-had that been Val’s doing as well? It seemed curious that she could tell him what was happening in other places, far away from her life in the palace.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Tol vowed that whoever was behind his summoning, he would not play the predictable, lovesick swain any longer. He would do no one’s bidding save his own.

In spite of its destruction, Juramona was still his goal. Any Ergothian warriors in the Eastern Hundred would naturally gravitate to the provincial capital, even should it be in smoldering ruins, to regroup under new leadership. They would expect a warlord from Daltigoth to come, to relay the emperor’s commands. Tol’s arrival would be unexpected, but if it was his destiny to leave the forest and save his homeland, there was no better place to begin the task than where he himself had begun.

Egrin agreed with his reasoning.

Their lack of horses was a hindrance. Horses would allow them to travel faster and reach those parts of the Eastern Hundred as yet untouched by the nomads-the great estates of the landed hordes to the north and east. These retired warriors and their armed retainers would be powerful allies.

Tylocost commented that he and Zala had had horses, but had lost them. He seemed to blame Zala for this. She flatly blamed him.

“In any event, my lord,” Tylocost said, stroking his beardless chin, “in Juramona you might collect two, maybe three thousand men of very mixed fighting ability. What can you do with so few against so many barbarian tribesmen?”

“He defeated you with three hundred,” Kiya pointed out. The elf’s ears reddened, and Zala grinned at his discomfiture.

Tol’s gaze turned northwest, where Juramona lay. “I’m not going after the nomads. Not yet. Juramona’s lost, but it is only one town. What’s important is to save the Eastern Hundred. To do that, we’ll need to send messengers to Hylo.”

Kiya’s eyes widened. Zala scoffed. None of his companions could see any reason to involve the light-fingered kender of Hylo, but Tol was adamant.

He requested Tylocost’s aid. “I can make use of you,” he told the elf. “But I would never compel an unwilling captive. If you wish, you may walk back to Silvanost. I give you leave.”

Tylocost had been toying with a twig. Studying the slender stick, he said, “Flaxwood. A native of the north country, beyond the Khalkist Mountains. It’s very out of place here.” He tossed the twig on the fire. “If it can grow here, why not I? I haven’t commanded troops in a long time, but if I can be of assistance, I’m willing.”

“Your allegiance is easily gained,” said Kiya.

“Plainsmen are the enemies of my blood, woman. And if we can hammer them here, the deed will resound in the halls of the Speaker of the Stars. Such a victory may open other doors for me-doors that have long been closed.”

They prepared to depart. Tol asked Tylocost why he’d built a fire, on such a hot day.

“Zala insisted. She awoke this morning, clutching that ring and raving about the need for a fire.”

“You might have drawn every savage for a dozen leagues,” said Egrin.

“I don’t think so,” the elf said. “The land betwixt here and Juramona is largely deserted. The nomads are busy plundering farms and villages further west.”