A knock drew Felitïa’s attention from the food she was preparing. Standing in the kitchen doorway was Zandrue, her face and clothes somewhat muddy. Felitïa dropped what she was doing and rushed over to hug her. “Welcome home! I’ve missed you.” She thought she’d heard dogs barking a few minutes ago, but it had been so long, she never suspected.

“Thanks.” Zandrue returned the hug briefly before pulling away and heading over to the table. “May I? I’m starved.”

“Of course. There’s loads. There was a good harvest this year.”

“So I heard,” Zandrue mumbled while biting into an apple. She looked tired—travel-worn definitely, but there was something else to it, too. She often came back from her “trips” exhausted, and this was the longest time she had ever been away.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back this time,” Felitïa said. “You’ve been gone over two months. Nearly three! I was worried something had happened, that you’d been hurt. Killed even.” As always, Felitïa wanted to ask for more details, but what was the point? Zandrue wasn’t likely to answer, and Felitïa didn’t want a repeat of the argument they’d had when Zandrue had come back after her graduation three years ago. There was no point spoiling this moment.

“I always come back,” Zandrue said. “You know that. I couldn’t leave you and the old guy all alone, could I? Speaking of, where is he?”

“Sleeping,” Felitïa replied. It was just like Zandrue to drag the topic round to something different.

Zandrue laughed, spraying bits of apple about. “Like usual.” She wiped her face on her sleeve.

“I was just getting his breakfast ready,” Felitïa said, returning to the table and the food preparation. “I just baked a loaf of bread. Could you pass it over to me?”

Zandrue glanced around her, and spotted the bread. She tore a chunk off for herself before passing it on to Felitïa. At Felitïa’s smirk, she shrugged, and bit into her chunk. “Hey, it’s not like he’s going to eat the whole loaf himself,” she mumbled while eating.

Felitïa placed the remainder of the bread on a tray along with the fruit she had chopped. “He’s so old, Zandrue.”

“We all get old eventually, Felitïa.”

“I know,” Felitïa replied. “But it’s even worse than when you left. He finally agreed to switch rooms with us.”

“Well, that’s good. It’ll be a lot easier on him.”

“It only took a fall down the stairs to convince him of that. He tried to come down without calling for help the way he promised me he would. I was reading in our old room. I’d just closed up the shop for the night. The sound of the crash alerted me. He broke a rib. He’s lucky it wasn’t any worse.”

“Shit,” Zandrue said. “Is he okay now?”

“Agernon patched him up. That was a couple weeks ago, but he’s still sore and his breathing is ragged. The magic could only do so much. If he had just called to me before going down the stairs. Gods, he can be so stubborn.” Felitïa didn’t hold the broken promise against him. His ability to focus his mind had degraded so much in the past couple years—especially the past couple months—he probably didn’t even remember making the promise.

“Well, at least it wasn’t worse,” Zandrue said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I have a way of picking the worst times, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do.” Felitïa’s graduation came to mind, and the anger from that time began to make itself known again.

“The thing is,” Zandrue said, “I don’t really pick them. I don’t have any choice. You know that.”

To hell with spoiling the moment. “Yes, so you say. But you won’t tell me why, will you?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Bullshit. Nine years, Zandrue. Nine fucking years, and you still don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that. You know—”

“Yes, so you keep saying. I don’t know why I put up with it.” Felitïa slammed a slab of cheese onto the tray, then picked it up. “To hell with you.”

Zandrue turned away, tears in her eyes. Felitïa was glad her telepathy was going through one of its weak phases. If she had been able to sense actual remorse and sadness to go along with Zandrue’s tears, she’d probably fold and forgive her instantly. It felt nice to be the angry one for a change instead of always being the one placating either Zandrue’s or Elderaan’s anger. Still, the fact that Zandrue wasn’t angry right now said a lot. Gods, she was starting to forgive her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just under a lot of stress.”

Zandrue shook her head. “No, you were right to.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not much consolation, but it should never be this long again. It should also be less frequent now.”

Felitïa nodded. “Okay. Anyway, I really should get his breakfast to him. Coming?”

“You think he’ll want to see me?” Zandrue asked. “After the argument we had when I left?”

Felitïa smirked and headed to Elderaan’s room. “He’ll be happy to see you, trust me. He’d never admit to it, but he misses you when you’re gone.”

“I have that effect on people,” Zandrue joked.

Felitïa nodded, her anger fully dissipated. “Yeah, you do. I missed you.”

Zandrue smiled. “Same here.”

Felitïa rapped on the door and went inside. “Good morning!” She headed first to the window and drew back the curtains. Elderaan didn’t move from where he was curled up in bed. He looked so frail. Withered. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. First, there’s a surprise though. Zandrue’s back!”

“Hi,” Zandrue said uncertainly from the doorway. She had a strange look on her face.

“Come on, this is not a day you can sleep in,” Felitïa said to the still unmoving Elderaan. He’d lost so much weight recently, making him almost skeletal in appearance. Something at the back of her silent mind tried to tell her something, but she pushed it aside. “You know you have a meeting with that new supplier from Endoria. What was his name again? Aromeed or something like that? I have to admit, I’ve forgotten. I’m not sure why, but that hardly matters. I’m sure you remember, and that’s all that’s important.” She barely noticed Zandrue slip past her up to Elderaan, and begin to check him over. “You know how necessary it is that we find a new supplier. We’ve got a huge backlog of orders for herbs from the Ninifin Forest. And don’t forget the Singean prayer beads.”

“Felitïa,” Zandrue said, her voice shaky, as she let go of Elderaan’s limp arm. It fell back to the mattress without so much as a response from the sleeping man.

“We sold the last one of those over a month ago, and it’s only a matter of time before Amar Padara decides he needs more of them. I still don’t know what he hopes to achieve with them, but he does provide good business.”

“Felitïa!” Zandrue snapped.

Her tray was shaking for some reason. The fruit was starting to bounce off. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t steady it. “Look at this. You’re going to lose all your food.”

“Felitïa!”

“He’s just hiding.”

“Felitïa, he’s—”

“He’s just hiding!” She screeched that far more loudly than she had intended. Zandrue jerked back, tears in her eyes. Zandrue was crying again? Whatever for? So what if the Room only indicated one other presence with her—Zandrue’s. So what if Elderaan’s was missing. He was just hiding it from her, playing a game with her. He did these things sometimes, didn’t he? She couldn’t remember him doing it before, but he could mask this thoughts, so why not his entire mental presence?

Zandrue grabbed her and she dropped the tray. “His food!” Felitïa cried.

Zandrue shook her. “He’s dead, Felitïa. He must have died in his sleep during the night.”

“Of course he’s not dead,” Felitïa replied and laughed. “He’s just pretending.”

“He’s not pretending, Felitïa. He’s dead.”

“He’s too strong.”

“He’s not strong. You said it yourself in the kitchen.”

“But.” Felitïa looked past Zandrue at Elderaan’s still unmoving form. In the past, before his mind had started to go, he had always been very good at hiding his feelings from her. Now, however, there was nothing there. It wasn’t even just a lack of emotion. There was simply no presence at all.

She looked back at Zandrue. Tears were streaming down her friend’s face. Zandrue hugged her close as a wail escaped Felitïa’s lips. Then came the sobs, unbidden and uncontrolled.

* * * * *

The funeral was a quiet affair. Elderaan didn’t have a lot of friends and associates—not that were still alive, anyway—so there were only a few people there. Zandrue, Agernon, and Drummor, as well as Madame Ezmelda, Pedrin, and the other members of the Council (one of whom, Angelida, was particularly distraught throughout). That was it, apart from the priest and Felitïa herself.

It was also a short, simple service. Elderaan had never been particularly religious and probably would have preferred no funeral at all—especially not one officiated by a priest of the Universal Religion. However, he had left everything to her, and in the province of Belone, the only way she could legally access that inheritance was if a representative of the Church signed off on the death, and they would only do that with an official funeral.

Felitïa also found the funeral useful for herself. There was a finality to it that forced her to face the reality of Elderaan’s death. Now she just had to figure out what to do next.

When the funeral was done, Ezmelda placed her hands on Felitïa’s shoulders. “He was a good man, and his legacy is ensured in you. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Pedrin and the rest of the Council then came up to offer their condolences, after which the entire Council left together.

Felitïa looked over to the others to see that Agernon had already left without saying a word. He was too stubborn to admit how much Elderaan’s death had affected him. Drummor remained, consoling a grief-stricken Zandrue. Felitïa went over to them and they stood there for a while, watching the gravediggers fill in the grave.

* * * * *

The next two weeks were a mix of contradictions. Any particular moment felt like a slog, like it would never end, yet when Felitïa looked back over the moments that had already passed, it was like they had shot by so fast there was no chance to experience them. Still, she accomplished a lot during them, while at the same time it felt like she’d thrown away all of Elderaan’s accomplishments in the process.

They had discussed this several years ago—what she would do in the event of his death. She had put a lot of work into helping him with the shop, especially the last couple years as his health declined when she had pretty much run it herself. Yet she knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in the shop, and Elderaan had understood that. So he had prepared a list of potential buyers for her.

The sale turned out to be a lot easier than she had expected. High Mistress of Conjuration Angelida was eager to take over the shop. Felitïa had had virtually no interaction with Angelida over the years, beyond official functions at the Hall of Knowledge. She barely knew her name. However, Angelida and Elderaan had had a number of interactions in the past before Felitïa came to Quorge. In fact, during the brief deliberations over the sale of the shop, Felitïa got the impression that Angelida and Elderaan had had a very close, possibly romantic, relationship at some point. Felitïa had never even thought about that aspect of Elderaan’s life and he had never displayed or talked about any interest in romance with anyone. It did explain Angelida’s reaction at the funeral.

Angelida offered a very fair price for the shop, quite a bit more than the minimum Felitïa had been willing to accept, so she didn’t even bother looking for anyone else. She accepted the offer, she and Angelida signed the papers, Ezmelda witnessed, and it was done. Elderaan’s Mystic Palace was out of her hands and no longer her concern.

Despite Elderaan agreeing to this, Felitïa felt guilty about it. The store was his legacy and she was selling it away. Plus, his agreement had been years ago. What if he had changed his mind in the last couple years?

She knew she was being silly, but it didn’t help that Agernon was not happy either. “You owe him better than this,” he told her. “That store was his life. And yours. How can you throw it all away? What will you do now?”

The shop had been a major part of her life, but only because of Elderaan. She had loved her life with Elderaan, but the last few years, she had started to feel the need for something more. She needed to get away for a while.

She and Zandrue were going to travel, visit some of the other major cities in Arnor. Maybe she could find some place, book, or person that could teach her about her telepathy. It would also keep her close to Zandrue and make it harder for Zandrue to pull one of her disappearing acts. Not impossible, of course, but Felitïa would take what she could get.

She stood now in the door at Elderaan’s Mystic Palace, taking one last look at the place that had been her home for nearly fourteen years. Angelida was rushing about, instructing her own apprentice how she wanted to rearrange things. Outside, Zandrue was approaching with their horses.

Zandrue had spent the last day getting the horses used to her presence. Stopping them from bolting had been easy enough. The hard part had been getting them to accept her as a rider, but Zandrue was actually pretty good at handling horses despite their initial reactions to her—perhaps because of their initial reactions.

Felitïa took Elderaan’s white cloak off its hook. She had had it resized to fit her. It was a bit of a rush job—Elderaan was shorter and broader than she—but it would do. It would be one thing of his she could keep with her.

She put the cloak on and picked up her pack—the same pack she had used after she ran away from the Royal Palace. She had placed a few items from the shop in there as well—some dried Ninifin herbs and a couple other things—having doctored the records to show them as sold since they technically belonged to Angelida now. That had been Zandrue’s idea, and Felitïa felt guilty doing it, but they could be sold if funds ran low. The money from the shop wouldn’t last forever, after all, and a lot had already been spent on the horses, travelling gear, the resizing of Elderaan’s cloak, and more.

Felitïa called out a goodbye to Angelida, who responded with a “Goodbye, dear,” while not taking her eyes or attention off her planning. Then Felitïa stepped outside.

Lying against the wall beside the door were their supply bags and, beside them, Zandrue’s unstrung bow, quiver of arrows, and Felitïa’s old sword—in its new scabbard. Getting the scabbard made without showing the sword it was designed to hold had cost them a pretty penny.

Zandrue finished tying the horses to the post and began to load the saddle bags. Felitïa moved to help her. “How did he take it?” Felitïa asked.

“Not great,” Zandrue replied. “What did you expect really?”

Before picking up the horses, Zandrue had agreed to stop in and tell Drummor they were leaving. Felitïa hadn’t been able to do it herself.

“We should have asked him to come with us,” Zandrue continued. “I think he was hoping I’d ask.”

“Agernon needs him,” Felitïa said. “Drummor’s the only one he has left.”

“I suppose so. I’ll miss him, though.”

“I should hope so, given how much sex the two of you have.”

Zandrue smirked. “I suppose I’ll miss that, too.” She grabbed the sword and strapped it to her belt under the heavy wool cloak she was wearing.

“At least I don’t have to listen to the two of you anymore.” Felitïa had lost count of how many times she was stuck sitting in the front of the shop late at night waiting for them to finish since they couldn’t get away with it at Agernon’s.

Zandrue slung her quiver over her back and picked up her bow. “I’ll find someone else. Don’t worry.”

Felitïa rolled her eyes.

“You ready?”

Felitïa took a deep breath. “Just about, I think.” She looked back at the shop door and then at the sign hanging above, creaking in the cold breeze. She wondered whether Angelida would keep the name or change it. Probably change it. She seemed to be changing everything else.

Tears began to well in her eyes. She turned to Zandrue and leaned against her, burying her face in her best friend’s shoulder. Zandrue put her arms around Felitïa and they stood there for a couple minutes while Felitïa sobbed a little and then composed herself.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She untied her horse—Simeria she had decided to call the mare—and took the reins. She hadn’t ridden a horse since her year with Emund’s caravan. It took her a few moments to remember how to mount; Zandrue helped her, then mounted her own horse.

Felitïa took one last look at the shop, then rode out of town.

* * * * *

The Red Knight’s gaze turned from Felitïa’s angry stare to Zandrue. He looked her up and down, probably trying to decide whether she was a tanned Folith or a light-skinned Eloorin. She gave him a coy smile and a wink. He grinned, his mind made up. With a nod of his head and a wave of his arm, the group of Knights parted to allow them past, before forming up again to waylay the next group of travellers.

“I don’t like these Red Knights,” Felitïa said once they were clear of them.

“I suspect few people do,” Zandrue replied, gazing around, looking for more of these so-called “knights”. To the left of the gate, another group was interrogating a huge Folith man with tanned skin. Beside him stood a massive roan horse. Big horse for a big man. The man was wearing army-issue chainmail. So these Red Knights were even willing to stand in the way of the army. They seemed particularly interested in the big man’s sword, a very large two-hander, definitely not army-issue. Perhaps that was why they had stopped him.

“Let’s go,” Felitïa said. “I want to get away from the wall.”

Zandrue looked past the Knights and the big man to the huge wall that surrounded Tyl. Along its battlements were soldiers and a few Red Knights—Bloods, as the locals called them. What they thought they were defending against, she had no idea. Tyl was one of the few walled cities in Arnor. Built when Arnor had been at war with itself, it had once been necessary. Now, however, it seemed a waste of resources to keep it manned, especially with the numbers on it now, far more than she remembered from the last time she was here. Who did they expect would attack? The Ninifins? That was laughable.

Felitïa set a brisk pace along the cobblestone streets. She glanced side to side as Eloorin people moved aside to give them a wide berth. Zandrue felt the same discomfort. This was worse than she could have imagined. Plavin-Tyl had always been the worst area in Arnor for Folith-Eloorin tensions, but it had never been quite this bad.

Felitïa made a beeline for the first inn she saw, but Zandrue rode out in front of her and shook her head. "That establishment is for Eloorin.”

Felitïa sighed, but changed direction. They continued on until they found a Folith establishment.

“Let me carry all the bags like I’m your servant,” Zandrue said. “We can’t rely on me being able to pass as Folith.” Felitïa groaned but did as Zandrue asked.

Zandrue regretted coming this way. They should have turned around at Freji when they’d first heard stories about the Bloods, gone back to Quorge and then headed west. Instead, she had decided to press on south, to stay ahead of the winter snows. After all, in Freji, the stories about the Bloods were just that—stories. The Red Knights were a new enough organisation that they hadn’t yet expanded from Tyl into the rest of the province. Zandrue had assumed the stories were exaggerated, and she knew that Felitïa wouldn’t want to go back to Quorge so soon, so on they’d gone.

Lord Harrol Plavin had died at the end of last year. Upon taking over, his daughter Lidda had formed the Red Knights to bring law and order to what she saw as a wild and corrupt province. According to the stories, Lady Plavin was a cruel, heartless despot, who had always been at odds with her father. Many tales claimed she had killed him.

Whatever the truth about Lady Plavin, the truth of the Red Knights had become plain during the long wait to enter the city. Zandrue and Felitïa had seen farmers’ wagons tipped over and the produce flung about the road and trod on by horses, all in the name of ensuring that there were no smuggled items hidden in the wagons—and that was far from the worst they had seen. Three young Eloorin boys had been forced to watch as their father was whipped because he couldn’t state the exact number of apples he had in each of his baskets, and why they didn’t each contain exactly the same number.

“My lady,” the Blood commander had said to Felitïa, “please don’t tell me you’ve been waiting in line with these Eloorin. You should have ridden ahead and been through ages ago.”

If looks could kill, Felitïa’s would have flayed the commander on the spot.

“I don’t like this place,” Felitïa said, once they were settled in their room at the inn.

“The inn or the city?” Zandrue said.

Felitïa glared at her.

“You could always announce yourself. Command the Lady Plavin to disband the Red Knights and execute real justice in the land.”

Felitïa groaned and lay on one of the beds. “Please don’t joke about things like that. Believe me, if I thought it would help, I’d do it, but in the unlikely event she even believed who I was, I doubt she’d comply. I’m not even sure I technically have that authority, and even if I do, she’d fight me over it.”

“Yeah, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Do you think there’s much likelihood of learning anything here?” Felitïa asked.

Zandrue shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s supposed to be a good library, and I used to have a few contacts here, but given the state of affairs, I’ll be lucky if they’re still around. Honestly, I’m not really sure it’s worth it. Let’s just get some sleep. Tomorrow, we can restock our provisions and leave. We can head north-west to Elooria. Or south to Nallin. Either way, we’ll be out of Plavin-Tyl in a week or two. I still think we should hire some muscle.”

“Zandrue, we’ve been over this already. We only have so much money. We can’t afford a mercenary. We’ll just have to take care of ourselves.”

Zandrue sighed. “And as I’ve pointed out, the highways can be dangerous places.”

“We rarely had any problems when I was with Emund,” Felitïa said.

“Yeah, and you were part of a large caravan. With guards. Armed guards. Bandits and goblins ignore large groups and look for easier pickings. Yes, we can take care of ourselves, but from a distance, we look like those easy pickings. If we had a bit of muscle with us, they’d be less likely to bother us.”

“No,” Felitïa said, rolling over to face away from her.

“Fine.” This had been a bad time to bring it up, anyway. She lay down to get some sleep.

And she was ten again. The powerful sun beat down on her bound and sweat-soaked body, while the vultures circled above. The sky seemed to shimmer, like the water she so desperately longed for. “...an abomination in the eyes of All-Father...” The sun was like the gleam in the eye of the Keeper of Secrets. Full of anger, it burned her. “We will protect the purity of the Collog people…” Only ten, and only because she wasn’t one of them. “...for only the sun can abolish the creatures of Night...”

Zandrue rose early the next morning. She hadn’t slept well and there was a lot to do this day. Those memories always came back to haunt her when she encountered the type of intolerance she had seen here in Tyl. It didn’t matter how near to, or far from, Ostanith she was, the memories always felt fresh, like they had happened only the day before.

She woke Felitïa, and the two of them headed to the market to buy supplies. There, they split up. Felitïa went to get feed for the horses. Zandrue picked up the other supplies they needed and headed back to the inn, where she packed their belongings and went immediately to the stables to ready the horses for when Felitïa got back. Several other horses shuffled and whinnied nervously as she passed.

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. You say the same thing every time.” The huge Folith she had seen the Bloods questioning the day before was there talking. At first, it wasn’t clear to whom. There was no one else there. Just herself and the horses—and he wasn’t talking to her.

She walked slowly to the stall where her horse Lucinda was, but kept her eyes on the man, curiosity piqued. Conveniently, her horse was stalled directly across from his, so she ended up right behind him.

“And what do you expect me to do? I start making demands like that, and they just send me to another inn—No! No, you can’t get that sort of attention. They’ve got a lot—You’re impossible!”

Zandrue glanced past him. Just his horse there. He was talking to his horse. The horse, for its part, just stood there, snorted a couple of times, shook its head, but did nothing to indicate it was anything but an ordinary horse.

“I’m drawing attention?” the man continued. “You’re drawing the attention!” He looked back at Zandrue and gave her a small smile before turning back to the horse.

He was out of his armour at the moment, and so Zandrue was able to get a better idea what he looked like. As well as being very tall—well over six and a half feet—he had a well-toned, muscular body. His face was rugged and weather-worn, but handsome. His hair was thick and dark, and his eyes a dark brown to match. On his back, he wore the greatsword the Bloods had been examining. The closer look she got at it now confirmed her earlier thoughts that he didn’t get it from the army. It was sheathed so she could not see the blade, but the hilt was far too fine for those used by the army. The grip was leather, and there was silver etching in the pommel and quillons. No sword was cheap, but the workmanship on its hilt alone meant this sword must be worth a fortune—even more than the sword she was wearing, which was a blade made for royalty. No wonder the Bloods were interested in it.

“No, I’m not moving you to a new stable,” the man said. “You’re not going to get better anywhere else, so—Again, no! I don’t care if the woman behind me smells strange. I’ve already paid for stabling here. You’ll just have to put up with it.” He turned his head to look at her again. “Sorry about the smell thing. He’s just ranting.”

Zandrue swallowed, her throat going dry. That smell comment... It was probably coincidence. She tried to shake off the fear with a shrug, and looked at the huge roan stallion that managed to dwarf the huge man. The horse met her gaze for a moment, but then turned his head aside with a snort. “Do you talk to all the horses like this, or just the ones you like?” she asked the man, still staring at the horse.

“I know how strange it must seem,” the man replied. “Trust me, I’m used to people thinking I’m mad. To answer the usual questions, yes, I can talk to him. I don’t know how I do it, but I do. Can’t do it with any other horse. Just him.”

Zandrue might have thought him mad at first, but now, she wasn’t so certain of that. The smell comment still frightened her. If the horse really could speak... “He’s a fine horse,” she said, approaching the stall and reaching out. “Don’t think I’ve seen much finer.” The horse backed away out of her reach. Intelligent, too. It was in his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “He backs away from just about everyone. It’s rare that he lets anybody other than me near him.”

She turned to face the man. “That’s okay. Animals always hate me. It took ages to get my own horse to accept me. So, how exactly does he speak to you? I didn’t hear anything from him, except for the occasional horse-like snort.”

“He talks in my head,” the man replied. “That’s the only way I can explain it. First time I ever saw him, he just started talking to me. He’s rarely shut up since—though he’s being unusually quiet right now. What’s up Borisin? I shouldn’t complain, of course. It’s nice to have him quiet. There he goes again. He says you smell strange.”

“I could say the same about him. Tell him I’m friendly.”

“Tell him yourself. He’ll understand.”

Zandrue laughed and turned to face the horse again. “You hear that, horse? I’m friendly!”

“I have to admit,” the man said, “it’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy.”

“Oh, I’m undecided on the crazy part,” Zandrue replied with a grin. “However, I’ve seen stranger things in my time. I’m Zandrue, by the way.” She offered him her hand. He took it, and gave it a small kiss. Very dashing! Very good-looking, too.

“Rudiger,” he said. “This is Borisin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Rudiger.” An idea was forming in her mind. Felitïa would hate it, but Zandrue was fairly certain she could find a way around that.

* * * * *

Tyl’s market was one of the quietest Felitïa had ever been in. She was only really familiar with Quorge’s, to be fair, but she had passed through others on the way here, and even more during her time with Emund’s caravan all those years ago, and Tyl’s market beat all of those as best she could remember. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was absent the merchants and sellers hawking their goods. They just stood by their wagons or stalls, waiting calmly for customers to come to them.

No doubt, the two patrolling figures with the blood-red capes and the slight reddish tinge to their armour has something to do with that.

Felitïa found a farmer selling oats and started filling up bags for their horses. She couldn’t wait to get away from this place. Part of her wanted to head straight back to Quorge. Elderaan would be waiting for her there and life would go back to normal.

It was a foolish fantasy. Elderaan was dead, and there was no going back to the life she’d had, even if she went back to Quorge.

She paid the farmer, then heaved the heavy bags over her shoulder. The farmer moved forward to help, but she shook her head. “No, that’s all right. I’ll manage. But thanks anyway.”

He nodded and stepped back again. Nervousness tinged with fear ebbed from him.

Felitïa turned away, wishing there was something she could do to put the man at ease, make things better for him, give him a reason why he didn’t need to be afraid of her. Maybe she should announce herself. It wouldn’t accomplish anything, but at least she’d be making an effort, instead of doing her best to get away from it all.

A Red Knight nearby was looking at her, or perhaps past her at the farmer. She couldn’t quite tell. His helmet obscured his eyes. Her direction took her closer to him and she pondered putting him to sleep or something similar. It wouldn’t be difficult.

It would probably also cause a commotion if a Red Knight fell over without warning—a commotion that would likely be blamed on someone innocent nearby. Best to leave him be.

She continued on her way, trying to pay as little attention to the Red Knight as possible.

There was a man standing by a stall behind the Red Knight. He was just one among many people in the crowded market, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him to draw her attention. Yet her gaze stopped at him nonetheless. He wasn’t looking at her—hadn’t noticed her at all, as best she could tell. He was just a tall, bald man with a crooked nose, talking to the stall owner.

Felitïa stopped moving. She remembered him.

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched the shop key from her. She screamed as loudly as she could before he took hold of her, spun her around and clasped his hand over her mouth. She bit him as hard as she could, but he didn’t let go.

It had been so long. She had almost forgotten that night, almost stopped worrying the Darkers would come back. Nearly nine years. She was a little surprised she even recognised him now.

Perhaps it wasn’t him. Perhaps it was someone who looked similar. It had been nine years, after all, and he wasn’t the main one she’d interacted with. Her memory of him was not likely to be perfect.

His gaze fell on her and stopped. He squinted his eyes.

It might just have been because he noticed she was staring at him, not because he recognised her.

His jaw dropped slightly, and he motioned to someone else. Another, smaller man came forward. His mouth was closed, but Felitïa remembered the sharpened teeth within.

A hint of concern penetrated the wash of emotions from the crowd around her.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the Red Knight asked, stepping towards her.

Felitïa wrenched her gaze away from the two Darkers. “Uh, yes...yes.” The feed bags were slipping and she scrambled to keep hold on them. “The bags are just heavy, that’s all.”

The Knight motioned to someone behind her. “You there. Help this lady with her bags.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Felitïa said. She looked back at the Darkers, who were both still standing there watching her. From what she’d seen of this city, she could probably make any accusation she wanted against them and the Red Knight would arrest them with no proof. They were Eloorin and he would take that as proof enough. She could say they’d insulted her. It wouldn’t be entirely untrue.

The farmer she’d bought the oats from came forward. “My lady, please allow me to assist.”

“Something you should have offered from the start,” the Red Knight said.

Fear rose from the farmer.

“He did,” Felitïa said, “but I turned him down. I’ll be fine. I was just distracted a moment.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” It was difficult to reconcile the genuine concern the Knight was feeling with the contempt he was feeling for the farmer.

“Really. I’m sure. Now please, let me be about my business.”

The Knight stared at her a moment, then gave her a small bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

She wanted to tell him she was not his lady, but it was best not to cause a scene. At any other time, it would be best to just move on, but the Darkers...

They were gone.

Felitïa scanned about the crowd. There was the tall, bald one, moving away. There was no sign of the other one, but he was smaller and probably more able to blend in. They weren’t retreating together, probably to ensure she couldn’t follow them both.

Should she follow the bald man? No, with the weights she was carrying, she’d never keep up.

“Are you sure you’re all right, my lady?” the Red Knight asked.

“Yes, I said so, didn’t I?”

“It’s just you—”

“You know,” Felitïa said, stepping up right in front of him and glaring at him in the eye, “you were very concerned about this man not offering to help me, even though he did.” She nodded in the direction of the farmer. “Yet I can’t help but notice you didn’t offer yourself. Perhaps you should rethink your priorities.”

“I have a job to perform, my lady.”

“So does he. Why don’t you let him get back to it and let me be on my way?”

“I tried, but you didn’t move.”

He had a point. “Right. I was....just getting my bearings and then you interrupted again.”

Anger was rising from the Knight. “I was concerned and offering assistance.”

“No, you offered his assistance, which is my whole point. Now stand aside and let me pass.”

“You were the one who...” He gritted his teeth, stepped back, and motioned for her to pass.

Felitïa sighed and walked away. Gods, she’d handled that terribly. This city had her on edge, and then seeing the Darkers... All the old fears had come back, and with them an inability to think straight, to concentrate. She needed to work on that. She needed to be able to stay calm and focused in a crisis.

She glanced back to ensure everything was fine. There were a lot of people between her and the Knight now, but they were giving him a wide berth, leaving him visible. He was berating the farmer.

Damn it. This was her fault. If the Darkers hadn’t taken her off-guard, if she hadn’t stopped and drawn the Red Knight’s attention, none of this would have happened.

The farmer was on his knees, begging. The Knight kicked him and he fell over. The Knight then turned aside, leaving the farmer to crawl away.

The Knight saw Felitïa watching him. “You! What is your problem?” He marched in her direction, pointing. “I ought to arrest you.”

Felitïa breathed deeply, and gathered the magical energy within her. Enough attention had been drawn to ensure there would be no doubt she was the source of what was about to happen. As the Knight got close, she closed her eyes halfway, tilted her head, and released the spell.

The Red Knight fell forward into the dirt.

People nearby gasped.

The impact woke the Knight again, but she’d expected that. He started to pull himself to his feet, but Felitïa repeated the spell and he went right back to sleep. He wouldn’t sleep long—and hopefully no one woke him earlier—but it would be long enough to get out of here.

Felitïa turned away and walked back towards the inn. People moved out of her way and fear permeated the air. She hadn’t expected that. Surely people here would be happy to see one of the “Bloods” bested.

But she was Folith, too, she realised.

The fear faded as she got far enough away that no one nearby had seen the incident, settling to the level that had been present since she’d arrived in Tyl. She really wanted to get away from here. She hurried on to the inn.

Zandrue wasn’t waiting in front with the horses as planned, so Felitïa went into the stables. She found Zandrue there, talking to a tall Folith man—flirting more like, if she knew Zandrue. Sure enough, there came the smile and the quick brushing back of her hair with a hand. Felitïa rolled her eyes.

“So they said they were gonna keep their eyes on me,” the man said. “They clearly didn’t believe my story. From their reputation, I’d expect them to be that way with Eloorin, but it seems they can be just as harsh with Foliths when they want to.”

“If you were Eloorin,” Zandrue replied, “they would have kept the sword and probably would have executed you for possessing a weapon above your station or some bullshit like that.”

The man shrugged. “Maybe. Can’t say I like them much. Along the Thumb, nobody pays attention to whether you’re Folith or Eloorin.” Zandrue gave him a doubting look. “Well, maybe some do. Noble families are all Foliths, but it’s better than here.”

Felitïa approached them and dropped the bags at Zandrue’s feet. “Zandrue, we need to talk.”

Zandrue, suave as ever, didn’t miss a beat. “Hi, Asa. This is Rudiger. Rudiger, this is my good friend Asa.”

Felitïa gave the man a curt nod and reached for Zandrue’s arm. “Zandrue, we really need...” She trailed off and looked back at the man.

There was something familiar about him. She had never seen him before in her life, but nevertheless she somehow knew his appearance as well as if she had spent every day of her life with him. She could close her eyes right now and describe everything about him: tanned skin—darker than typical for a Folith, but it made sense if he was from the Thumb—brown eyes, dark brown hair.

Rudiger took her hand and gave it a kiss. “A pleasure.” Felitïa blushed as she realised she knew what parts of him looked like that she had no business knowing.

Zandrue touched Rudiger’s arm and leaned in close to him. “You’re good!” she said and sniffed him. “No man ever affects Asa like that!”

Felitïa turned away. None of this made any sense. How could she know so much about this stranger and his horse? His horse? Without even turning to look in the stall, she knew precisely what the stallion looked like. This was beginning to terrify her.

“Seriously though,” Zandrue said, moving to put an arm around Felitïa, “you all right? What’s up?”

Felitïa pulled Zandrue away from the man and whispered, “I don’t know. There’s just something strangely familiar about him. Like I already know him. I can’t explain it. It’s like the familiarity I felt when I first met you. Remember I asked if we’d already met? This is far more intense.”

“Weird,” Zandrue said, “but possibly a good thing. You see, Rudiger just happens to be going the same direction we’re—”

“The Darkers are here.”

Zandrue clutched Felitïa’s arm and leaned in closer. “Wait, what? Darkers? As in...”

“The ones from nine years ago.”

“Shit.”

“At least two of them, at any rate. The bald one and the one with the sharpened teeth. But if they’re here, then Dyle probably is too.”

“Not necessarily,” Zandrue said, “but it’s reasonable to assume he is until we know otherwise.”

“Everything okay?” Rudiger asked.

Zandrue turned her head to give him a quick nod. “We just need a moment.”

“We need to get out of here, Zandrue,” Felitïa said.

The large stable doors flew open, spreading sunlight and the shadows of several armoured figures into the building. Six Red Knights stepped inside. With only one exception, each had his sword drawn and carried a shield. All of them wore helmets, hiding their expressions—not that Felitïa needed to see them. A tangled web of emotions flowed from them: nervousness, excitement, fear.

The one who had not drawn his sword and did not hold a shield carried a rolled up piece of parchment in his right hand. His eyes looked about until they fell on Felitïa, Zandrue, and Rudiger. “If you ladies would please stand aside. This man is under arrest.” He spoke confidently and authoritatively, but Felitïa could sense a hint of uncertainty in him.

“On what charge?” Rudiger demanded.

The Knight unrolled the parchment. “You are charged with possession of a stolen weapon, a two-handed sword of exquisite quality belonging to the Plavin family and therefore property of Lady Plavin.”

“That’s nonsense,” Rudiger said. “This is my sword and has been in my family for generations.”

The Knight continued reading. “By order of Lady Plavin, you are...” He hesitated, and a wave of surprise spread from him. He cleared his throat. “By order of Lady Plavin, you are to be executed immediately.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rudiger said, reaching for his sword.

Had the Knight really not known his orders before reading them just now? “This is ridiculous,” Felitïa said. “You can’t execute someone just like that. What about a trial?”

“Trial was presumably held in his absence,” the Red Knight said. “Judgement shall be carried out. Move aside or we will execute you as well.” His voice was confident, but he definitely didn’t feel it. So, not all Bloods agreed with everything they were told to do.

“On whose authority?” Felitïa demanded.

“The authority of the Lady Lidda Plavin, Castellan of Tyl and ruler of Plavin-Tyl, acting in the name of Wavon the Second, Lord of Arnorinn and King of Arnor. May Power transport you from this world, Nature embrace your souls, and All-Father show you mercy. May you forever be shielded from the touch of Night.”

“This is outrageous!” Felitïa cried. “The King would never sanction this!”

“The King is not here, my lady. The Lady of Plavin-Tyl speaks on his behalf. Kill the man. Kill the women if they get in the way.”

The Knights advanced. Felitïa barely noticed Zandrue leap over the gate of Borisin’s stall. Rudiger drew his sword and stepped in front of Felitïa. “Go on,” he said. “This is my fight. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Felitïa shook her head, though he wasn’t looking at her so couldn’t have seen it. She stretched out her thoughts, focused on every part of her body and just how much—or how little—each part had to move as the magic flowed through her.

For all she knew, Rudiger had stolen the sword. She didn’t know him, didn’t know anything he might or might not have done more than a couple minutes ago. Yet somehow she knew he was innocent. And even if he wasn’t, these Red Knights were not executing justice.

The Knights rushed forward. With a whispered word, a tilt of her head, and the slightest twitch of two fingers on her right hand, Felitïa cast the spell. “You’re invisible,” she whispered to Rudiger.

He either didn’t hear or didn’t believe her, as he leapt at the nearest Knight. With a single swipe, his sword cleaved through the Knight’s shoulder. It cut through the armour like it was paper. Without a sound, the Knight slid off Rudiger’s blade, his own sword and shield dropping to the ground.

In confusion and fear, several of the Knights began backing up. “It’s a trick!” one cried. “Wizardry!”

One of the Knights swung wildly in Rudiger’s general direction. Rudiger blocked it.

Felitïa doubled over. The stress on the spell was unbelievable. She wanted to call to Rudiger, to tell him to hold off, that the Bloods couldn’t see them. But that would give them away, too.

Rudiger knocked the sword from the grip of the Knight, who in turn raised his shield to try to block further blows. Stumbling backwards, Felitïa tried to hold on to the spell, but it was too difficult to keep the Knights from noticing Rudiger while he was making himself so noticeable. With a gasp, she let go of the spell, unwilling to risk burning herself out.

“There!” someone cried out. “Get the witch!”

Still reeling from the effort of the spell, Felitïa backed up. Rudiger slammed his sword down, slicing the Knight’s shield in two, but two other Knights moved up to him. Rudiger backed up a bit to avoid their attacks, the one on the ground crawling out of the way. While he seemed to have the superior weapon and superior skills, he was also unarmoured.

“Felitïa, look out!” Zandrue cried from somewhere behind her.

A Knight was coming towards her. Felitïa put him to sleep and backed away, but there was another right behind him. And the first had probably been woken by the fall. She began to concentrate on a new spell. Could she even manage another spell at the moment? The strain on the invisibility spell had been intense. The Knight raised his blade. With a crash, the gate on the stall next to him flew off, ploughing into the Knight and knocking him to the ground. Felitïa stumbled backwards and fell over. The gate had come within an inch of her, as well.

Zandrue was mounted bareback on Borisin—had anyone actually told Felitïa the horse’s name?—who had apparently kicked the gate out. “Get our horses!” Zandrue called as she turned Borisin around. Then, with a kick from her, the horse charged out of the stall, trampling over the fallen gate and the Knights beneath it. Rudiger and the other Knights dived out of the way.

Felitïa jumped back to her feet and ran for Simeria’s stall. As she opened the gate, she glanced back at the scene behind her. Rudiger had made it back to his feet, while the Knights were still struggling. He brought his sword down at one who was clutching at his feet. Then, he ran over to Felitïa.

“We need to get out of here,” she said, grabbing for her saddle.

“No kidding,” he replied, breathing heavily. He turned to look back at the entrance.

As Felitïa threw the saddle over her horse, two of the Knights got back on their feet, although one was now unarmed. Another Knight twitched feebly on the ground, and there was a slight hint of movement underneath the fallen gate. Rudiger started to move again, but Felitïa said, “No, stay still.”

A simple spell. She could manage a simple spell. With a soft word, she pressed her thumb to her forefinger on her left hand. She didn’t have the strength to be precise with the image, but whatever they saw, it was enough to frighten one of them into turning tail and running. The last one, the one who had read the charges against them, called out to his fleeing comrade. When there was no response, he glanced back at Felitïa and Rudiger. Then he took off.

“That’s Zandrue’s horse over there,” Felitïa said, pointing.

The entire stable was filled with the sound of horses whinnying. Even her own horse was stepping back and forth fearfully. Zandrue had ridden off on the only one trained for battle—where had she gone?

Rudiger began readying Zandrue’s horse, while Felitïa loaded up their supplies. “They’ll be back,” Rudiger said.

“I know,” Felitïa replied. “We need to get out of the city.”

“They’ll close the gates,” he said. “We’ll never get out, and we can’t take them all on.”

“I can get us out,” Felitïa said. “They won’t know it’s us.” The truth, however, was she wasn’t sure if she could. If she hadn’t wasted so much strength on that invisibility spell, there would be no problem hiding them from the guards at the gate, but now... And that wasn’t even considering the guards on the walls. Hopefully, those guards wouldn’t pay attention to anyone let through the gates. If anyone was let through at all. She couldn’t think of that now. They had to get out of here.

Zandrue ran back in. “Thank the gods you’re both okay. We don’t have much time. Rudiger, I’ve got the innkeeper bringing your belongings. If we’re fast, we might be able to get to the gate before word reaches it.” She grabbed her horse’s reins from Rudiger and leapt onto the mare’s back.

“Where’s Borisin?” Rudiger asked.

“Waiting out front.”

Felitïa mounted her own horse. “Let’s go.”

Out front, the innkeeper and two servants struggled with Rudiger’s belongings. Borisin was not being co-operative. Rudiger ran over to assist. “You two should go your own way. I’m the one they’re after. If you’re not with me, they won’t bother you.”

“We’re already involved,” Felitïa said.

“They won’t hesitate to add us to their list of criminals,” Zandrue said. “It’s better if we stick together. Strength in numbers, right?” She looked at Felitïa with raised eyebrows.

Felitïa nodded. “Yeah, strength in numbers.” So Zandrue got an equivalent of a mercenary. But it made sense to stick together. Not to mention the weird familiarity Felitïa felt about Rudiger. It was best to keep him near for now.

Rudiger continued readying Borisin and, after what seemed like an eternity, the horse was ready and Rudiger mounted.

“We get to the north-west gate as quickly as we can,” Zandrue said. “It’s the closest. But then we go calmly through. Once on the other side, we ride hard as long as we dare. We put as much space between us and this city as possible.”

Felitïa’s heart thumped as they made their way towards the gate. People leapt out of their way as they galloped past. Although no one on the streets said anything, Felitïa could see the anger and fear in their faces. They saw only a group of Foliths who cared nothing for the Eloorin in their path. Felitïa wished she had never run away from the palace. If she could call upon her father’s authority, then they could put an end to Lady Plavin’s cruelty. But palace life was long behind Felitïa now. Not that that would be likely to work anyway.

The north-west gate was still open when they arrived. Felitïa was surprised, but relieved. Could they have made it here before word had reached the wall? It seemed too great a hope. As when they had arrived, there was a long line-up of travellers. The guards were dutifully checking everyone who entered or left the city. Perhaps word had reached here, but no one felt the need to close the gates because they would just be caught if they tried to go through.

Zandrue motioned for them all to stop while they were still a fair distance from the gate. “What do you think?” she asked Felitïa.

“I don’t know. There are so many people. I can’t hide us from them all.” To their left, there were two Red Knights patrolling. They didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the three people on horseback at this time. Of course, their job was normally to watch Eloorin, so maybe word hadn’t reached here yet.

“Maybe we should lie low for a few days,” Rudiger suggested. “Wait for them to give up the search. Then we can slip through.”

“I doubt they’re likely to give up the search easily,” Zandrue said. “This is too weird a situation to begin with. We have to try to get through.”

Felitïa took a deep breath. “I can hide us from the Knights at the gate. We’ll just ride past them. Hopefully, other people will just think we’re arrogant Foliths. I don’t like doing that, but...”

“We don’t have a choice,” Zandrue said. “Let’s go.”

“Give me a moment.” Felitïa took another deep breath and closed her eyes to get a feel for how much strength she had left. Far less than she would have preferred, but she felt certain she could manage the spell—provided there weren’t too many Knights at the gate, and provided that nothing straining happened. At least the last casting had given her some ideas for how she could adjust her stance to make it less draining. “Okay. Keep close together. Stray too far and I won’t be able to hide you.”

Rudiger nodded, and Borisin stepped closer to Simeria. Damn! She had forgotten she needed to hide the horses, too. Could she manage it? Only one way to find out.

They rode towards the gate, past the throngs of people waiting to leave. Eyes full of hate and loathing turned to watch them. Men and women, young and old. Farmers, merchants, travellers. A few muttered probable curses under their breath, but none of them dared say anything for fear of the Knights. Felitïa tried to ignore them all, but it was not an easy task. She felt like she was betraying them all.

The gate came ever closer. Felitïa counted five Bloods at the front, checking the people coming in and out. She prayed that there were no others hidden by the crowds. She took a moment to adjust for her stance on her horse, and then cast the spell. The strain was unimaginable. Her head felt ready to burst. Every step her horse took seemed like a mile, and the Knights always seemed farther away. Surely she would burn herself out. She wanted nothing more than to release the spell before that happened.

“It’s all right,” Zandrue said quietly. “You can do this. It’s not much farther now.”

Years of study would be wasted if she burned herself out or killed herself on a foolish stunt. How could she make a mockery of Elderaan’s tutelage by doing that? But being executed by the Knights would waste those years just as surely, so she held on. The pain spread from her head to her neck, then her chest and arms, her breasts, fingers, stomach. Ever lower and lower. The pain was strongest in her back. Perhaps she could adjust for that. Slouching just a little allowed the magic to flow more freely, and the pain no longer reached her toes—only her ankles.

“Right,” Zandrue said. “Intermingle with the crowds a bit until we’re out of sight of the Knights at the gate. Then we ride hard. Asa, it’s all right, you can end it now.”

Felitïa hadn’t even noticed that they had passed through, but she wasted no time listening to Zandrue. She had to clutch Simeria’s neck to stop from falling off as the fatigue washed over her. Rudiger, riding beside her, leaned over to help her right herself. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. Just don’t ask me to cast another spell for a few days.” As best she could tell, it would be a week, at least, before she dared even the simplest of spells, possibly longer. But they had made it through.

They pushed their way through the crowd, amidst curses and even the occasional yell (people got bolder the farther from the wall). “Now,” Zandrue said.

And they were off. They pushed the horses as long as they dared. Zandrue and Felitïa soon outdistanced Rudiger on the slower Borisin, but he caught up to them eventually once they had slowed down. By this time, there was only farmland around them, with no sign of the wall of Tyl.

“Made it!” Rudiger said.

“Yeah, we made it,” Zandrue said, not sounding anywhere near as joyous.

“Bet they’ll come after us eventually, though,” Rudiger added.

“Yeah, they will,” Zandrue said, rounding on him. “Care to tell us why?”

He stared at her a moment. “How should I know? I told you, they’ve been eyeing my sword ever since I got here.”

“And they order your death in a stable?”

Rudiger shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Is it really your sword?”

“Yes!”

“Fine.” Zandrue backed off and turned to Felitïa. “You don’t suppose this has something to do with Dyle and the Darkers, do you?”

“Darkers?” Rudiger started, but Zandrue shushed him.

“I don’t know,” Felitïa gasped. The spell had weakened her enough that her voice was little more than a rasp. “Could be, I suppose.” She didn’t know how, but she wasn’t willing to dismiss the possibility all together, especially considering the weird familiarity she felt with Rudiger.

This isn’t over, Will-Breaker, Dyle had said all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t. She’d see to that.

* * * * *

“Tell me again why I should listen to anything you have to say.”

Dyle didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the crystal in his hand, its dim red light blinking slowly, showing the direction to the Will-Breaker. Having the carcraime with her would extend the crystal’s range somewhat, but it wouldn’t be long before it could no longer track them. He was a bit surprised they weren’t out of range already, although it was difficult to judge distance with this thing.

“I said, tell me why—”

“I stand higher than you,” he said, looking up at her.

Lady Lidda Plavin was a cold-looking woman with pale blonde hair and even paler skin. Some men called her beautiful, but not Dyle. She was too tall and thin, with barely any hips worth speaking of. Not like Quilla.

“Higher?” she scoffed. “You are nothing. A low-born Eloorin. I am a Folith and a lady—”

“And a Servant of Sunset,” Dyle concluded for her. “There is no such thing as race among the Servants. I would love to hear you try that rhetoric on a Volg or the pundritta. Oh yes, the Dusk Supreme is an Eloorin, or had you forgotten? I stand higher than you, and you will listen to me.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“That is your choice,” Dyle said, “but you’d regret it. If you lived.”

“Have a care with your tongue, Eloorin,” the Blood at her side snapped. “This is the palace of the Lady of Plavin-Tyl. You will show the proper respect or have it beaten out of you.”

“Keep your dog under control, Lidda,” Dyle said.

“Why you!” The Blood reached for his sword, but Lidda placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s all right, Uncle,” she said.

The Blood scowled, but let go of the grip of his partially drawn sword, letting it slide back into its sheath. Mitchal Plavin was even uglier in person than the stories of him said. With a bent and crooked nose and two long scars, each running down a cheek and crossing the other at his chin, he reminded Dyle of a goblin, just without the tusks. No doubt he was one of those idiots who scarred themselves as signs of devotion to the Dark Lord.

Dyle touched the scar on his cheek. That was a sign of his devotion, but a different sort of sign. Even now, years after the girl had cut him, it still bothered him, itching continually.

“Very well,” Lidda said. “What do you want to say?”

That was better. Dyle lowered his hand from his face and said, “I want to discuss your pathetic attempt to kill the Will-Breaker. You purposely ignored all the warnings I gave you. Now, she’s on the verge of getting away.” He held up the crystal, its light even dimmer. “She’ll be out of range soon.”

“We didn’t go after her,” Lidda said. “We went after the Sword. She just happened to be there.”

Dyle scowled. He’d told her not to do that as well.

“Besides,” Lidda continued, “I don’t believe this nonsense that we can’t handle her. We just need more men next time.”

Mitchal Plavin turned to his niece. “I told you I should have gone myself.”

“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” Dyle said. “She’s a wizard. She can do funny things to people’s minds. There’s a reason she’s called the Will-Breaker.”

“Pheh!” Mitchal Plavin spat. “Stories and myths. Nothing more. I’ve killed three wizards in my time, one of whom was an Isyar. Wizards are not all they’re cracked up to be. If I’d been there...”

Lidda waved her hand at him. “It’s too late now. Besides, it was the Sword that allowed their escape. According to the Knight captain’s report, one of your Knights was cut almost in half by it.”

Dyle laughed, and the two looked at him. “The Sword? You really think that oaf has the Sword?”

“We don’t know,” Lidda replied, “but our intent was to find out.”

“Do you really think some random person is just going to wander into your fair city bearing the Sword for you to take?”

“He could be the Sword-Bearer.”

“You stupid woman! Even if he is, he has to retrieve the Sword first, and the Sword is in Singea.”

“How do you know this?” her uncle asked.

“I know,” Dyle replied. “I’ve seen it.” If the oaf was the Sword-Bearer though, it would explain why the crystal was still tracking the Will-Breaker. His presence would extend its range even more.

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Lidda asked.

Dyle smiled. “You’re learning. Send word to Arnor City that the Princess Felitïa has been spotted alive and well. Have your people in the palace see to it that the King’s longing to see his daughter wins out over his wife’s hatred of her. Let her be taken back to Arnor City. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Lidda Plavin sat down in the throne she had had fashioned for herself. It was a garish affair, covered in glittering jewels, obviously designed to mock the Bear Throne in Arnor City. “So you expect us just to send a message and then do nothing?”

“I have a better idea,” a new voice said.

Almost as one, they turned to face the source of the intrusion.

“How did you get in here?” Mitchal Plavin demanded, as he drew his sword.

“I’d put that sword away, if I were you, Lord Commander,” the newcomer said. “I have a proposition for you all.”

“A proposition?” Lady Plavin said. “I don’t know how you got past the guards, but you can’t just walk in here unannounced with propositions for me. Uncle, kill this fool.”

The Lord Commander of the Red Knights approached the seemingly unarmed man. With a snarl, he raised his sword and then went flying backwards across the room, crashing into a table. A tapestry on the wall fell over on top of the Blood. On any other occasion, Dyle might have smiled, but this newcomer bothered him.

“Shall we discuss my proposition?” the stranger said.

“Why should we listen to you?” Dyle asked.

“Because I stand higher than you.” The man grinned at him, as if he were mocking the very words Dyle had spoken to Lady Plavin earlier.

“Impossible,” Dyle responded. “Only the Dusk Supreme stands higher than me, and you are not him.”

“Would you like to be Dusk Supreme?” the man asked.

Dyle didn’t respond. This man was obviously a fool, but a powerful one.

“I can make you Dusk Supreme if you listen to me,” he went on.

“And me?” Lidda questioned. “What do you offer me?”

“How about the throne of Arnor?”

This time it was Lidda’s turn to laugh. “Have you any idea how far down the succession I am?” The man nodded, and Lidda laughed again. “What are you going to do? Kill everyone ahead of me? That’s a lot of people. Or give me an army to conquer Arnor? That would be a huge army. Where have you been hiding such an army?”

“You mock now,” the man said, “but if you trust me, I will give you both what you most desire.”

“Why should we trust you?” Mitchal Plavin said, pulling himself to his feet. “Because you are capable of a paltry conjuring trick?”

The room went dark then, and yet another voice—this one powerful, but calming, soothing—said, “Trust him.”

And so they did.