A VERSE FOR WITCHES

Song of Tsing Book One

John Hundley

Copyright © 2025 John Hundley

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ASIN: B0DHBHXJZ9

Cover design by: Ivan Zanchetta

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

The Forward at the End

About the Author

Also Available from John Hundley

PROLOGUE

Miriam ducked under the rock overhang, clutching her bundle close to her chest. The storm had risen suddenly, with a corresponding drop in temperature, for which she wasn’t dressed. She shivered as she huddled under the rock, watching rivulets of rain fall from the overhang forming small puddles in the earth at her feet.

Carefully, she opened her cloak and checked her bundle. The pink scrunched-up face of the infant both melted her heart and filled it with dread at the same time. He was still sleeping peacefully, swathed not only in the warm wool of the blanket but in the innate trust he had for his mother.

What the hell am I doing?

“Miriam?”

Startled, Miriam whirled toward the sound, clutching her son protectively. The rock overhang was the entrance to a cave, and she wasn’t alone. She peered into the darkness, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but was unable to determine the source of the sound. She forced the words from a throat that had closed in fear. “Who … who’s there?” Her heart pounded.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, as movement distinguished the monk’s gray robes from the identical hue of the cave wall. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pulled back the hood of his robes to reveal the clean-shaven, slightly pudgy face of a middle-aged man.

He certainly didn’t look threatening. She felt herself begin to relax, slightly. I must have inadvertently arrived at the rendezvous point. She stepped into the cave and approached with caution. “You’re from the Order of the One Way?”

The monk spread his arms and gave a slight bow, smiling. “Master Kling, at your service.” He pointed at the bundle in her arms. “Is that the child?”

Miriam nodded. This man wasn’t at all what she expected. The monks of the One Way were reputed to be fierce and fanatical warriors. If this man was even armed, his robes hid it well. “Yes,” she forced out.

Master Kling leveled his gaze at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Miriam?”

She swallowed. “He’s not safe with me. King Stralos will have him killed before he is weaned. Will he be safe with you?”

“Yes.” Master Kling’s voice was emphatic and reassuring. “No one will know who he is or from whence he came. We will instruct him in the One Way until he reaches the age of commitment.”

“And what happens then?”

“He will have a choice to continue in the One Way or leave the order. Either way, he will have the skills to keep himself safe, that I assure you.”

Miriam looked down at the infant, water forming in her eyes. “If I wasn’t so desperate—” she murmured.

“I understand,” whispered Master Kling.

She looked at the monk, blinking back the tears. “His name is—”

Master Kling held up a hand to stop her. “No. He will be nameless until an appropriate one is revealed. It is our way. And it is safest for him.”

Miriam nodded. She took a deep breath and held her boy out to the monk, who took him gently into his arms. The baby remained asleep throughout the exchange. She dropped her empty arms to her sides with a sigh.

“The storm will end soon. You’re welcome to stay and wait it out,” the monk offered.

Miriam shook her head. “The rain will provide additional cover. I’ll less likely be observed.”

He nodded. “Good thinking. Goodbye, Miriam.”

“Goodbye, Master Kling.” Miriam looked at the sleeping baby. “Goodbye, my precious boy.” Choking back a sob, she turned on her heel and hurried back to the cave entrance. Pausing at the rock overhang to pull the hood of her cloak up—the storm had not abated—she heard Master Kling’s soft voice come from within the cave. Was he calling her back?

She turned to go back inside but stopped. The monk wasn’t calling to her; he was talking to the baby. She pulled the hood of her cloak back and strained to make out his words.

“Well, well, my little sleeping nameless one,” cooed the monk. “You come to us at an interesting time. Today is the 227th anniversary of the founding of our order. Do you know the significance of that number, nameless one?” He paused as if waiting for the infant to answer.

“It is the 49th prime. The 7th iteration of the age of naming.” There was a slight pause. “Either you are going to change forever the way of our order, or you are going to shake up the world.”

The tone of his voice was comforting—Miriam knew her child would be safe with the man—but his words set cold stone to the pit of her stomach. She pulled her hood back over her head and stepped out into the rain.

There was more prophecy surrounding her child than she cared for. It might already be too late to escape it.

CHAPTER 1

The Road to Azurith

4th Day of Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

The tip of the broadsword made a satisfying schwick as it passed through the man’s throat. Time seemed to slow, like it always did in the heat of a fight, and Tsing, the mercenary, saw the droplets of blood and bits of the man’s trachea hang in the air as the heavy blade continued through the arc of its swing. The first man was done for … gone and forgotten.

His feet already shifted for his next move, Tsing deftly passed the well-worn leather grip of the sword’s hilt from his left hand to his right, allowing the weight of the blade to pull his upper body around to face the attack coming from his rear.

The second attacker halted his charge abruptly, suddenly finding the tip of a long blade trained on his breast. He tried to back away but was shoved from behind by a third attacker. His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself impaled.

Clever move. The third attacker had effectively disarmed him. Tsing’s sword was buried to the hilt in a dead man’s body. He’d never extract it in time to fend off the coming attack. A grin spread across the attacker’s face as he raised a huge battle-ax.

Tsing swiveled on the ball of his right foot, hooked his left foot under the rungs of the chair from which he had risen, and kicked it into the legs of the ax wielder. The man’s feet were swept from under him, aborting a vicious overhead swing aimed at Tsing’s head.

Still spinning, Tsing used his momentum to jerk his blade from the body of the dead man and hack the attacker’s wrist. The disembodied hand remained gripped around the handle of the ax, now embedded in the floorboards. The attacker straightened, staring with a horrified expression at the blood spurting from the stump of his arm. His scream was cut short when Tsing’s blade took off his head.

Tsing spun into a defensive posture, his blade ready, facing several others who had drawn their swords. They glanced at each other, seemed to come to a consensus, and backed away, lowering their weapons. Keeping well out of the reach of Tsing’s sword, they sidled around him and left by the front door.

Tsing stood and looked around to check for any remaining threat. There was none. He shifted the broadsword to his left hand and strode toward the bar, reaching into a small coin purse at his belt. The fat man behind the bar stepped back involuntarily, bumping into the shelves behind him. Stacks of dishes, cups, and mugs rattled precariously, but nothing fell.

Tsing tossed a gold coin onto the bar. “This should cover the damages,” he offered.

A pudgy hand darted out to catch the coin before it spun to a stop. The coin went directly to the barkeep’s mouth. His unshaven jowls and double chins jiggled as he tested its authenticity with his teeth. Then he nodded in agreement.

Tsing swept his eyes around the inn once more before sheathing his sword and walking over to kneel beside the body of the first man. He reached inside the man’s vest and smiled as his hand closed around a jewel hanging from the dead man’s neck. A quick jerk snapped the thin leather strap, and the jewel came free.

The faceted gem gleamed red in the dim light of the inn, and the weight of it in Tsing’s hand confirmed it was not the mere glass bauble the dead man had tried to imply. Of course, he had known it as soon as the man had rejected the generous sum he’d offered for its purchase. Tsing sighed. All this carnage could have been avoided had the man been more reasonable.

Tsing stood with a grim smile on his lips. But thank the gods, he told himself. This crazy quest is coming to an end. He wrapped the thin leather strap around the jewel and stuffed it into a pouch hanging on the left side of his belt, among the hundreds of small bits of paper within.

As his fingers rustled through the papers, Tsing’s smile faded. His shoulders sagged in resignation. He turned and slumped back toward the bar.

This was the part he hated the most about this quest.

The barkeep saw him coming and hurriedly slipped the gold coin into a pocket under his apron, out of sight. He spread his lips into a tentative smile. “Is there something else I can get you, sir?” he mewed.

Tsing looked down at the man, hesitating. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “I need a receipt.”

“A what?”

“A receipt.”

The barkeep stared blankly.

Tsing took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and threw up a silent prayer to the gods for patience. He launched into an explanation that never sufficed, although he’d repeated it often after rehearsing it a thousand times.

Twenty minutes later, he closed the door of the inn behind him and stepped out into the chill of an early winter’s evening. The wind carried bits of sleet that stung his cheek in places his week’s growth of beard didn’t cover. The cold instantly penetrated the thin material of his cloak, but it helped to clear his head.

Tsing was exhausted. Not from the deadly sword fight, nor from the last few months of hunting down his quarry, but from the endless negotiations and explanations of why he needed those precious bits of paper stuffed in the pouch at his belt. Never again would he take on such a job, no matter how generous the payment.

And I won’t have to for quite a while, Tsing thought to himself as he leaned into the wind and strode down the packed earthen street toward the livery where he’d left his horse. Tonight, he would bed down next to his trusty steed and get an early start in the morning before word spread too far that he had the jewel. The end of this quest was less than a fortnight away if he rode hard and didn’t stop too often.

He wanted to deliver the jewel to the Alchemist and get the rest of his payment as quickly as possible.

Tsing shouldered open the stable door and closed it quickly behind him to keep out the cold and storm. Despite his effort, the wind blew bits of dust and straw about and stirred the blankets and tack hanging nearby. Tsing’s horse turned its head and nickered in recognition. Frederick, the livery master, paused in his grooming of the animal and turned to regard him.

“Whew,” said Frederick, with a shiver. “Feels like the storm’s brewing up pretty good out there. Did you find who you wuz lookin’ for, sir?”

Tsing nodded, but he didn’t elaborate. The less the livery master knew, the better. And after dealing with the barkeep, the mercenary didn’t feel like doing any more talking. He gave a weak smile and walked around to the other side of his horse. He stroked the animal’s neck and reached into a pocket for the core of an apple he’d saved from his meal.

Frederick shrugged and resumed his grooming. “This is a fine horse you got here, sir. And I can see you’ve took good care of ‘im, too. Says something about a man that takes care of his horse, it does.”

Tsing smiled. Brawn was a good horse. He offered the apple core and Brawn took it appreciatively. “Yeah,” he agreed, patting the horse’s neck, “he’s worth the effort, aren’t you boy?”

“So, where’d you two come from?”

“South.”

“How far south?”

“A ways.”

“By the way, my name’s Frederick.”

“I know.”

Frederick peeked around Brawn’s front quarters and looked the mercenary in the eye, his brows raised.

Tsing sighed. The man was just trying to be friendly. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been on the road by myself for a long time. I’m not much used to conversation. My name is Tsing.”

“Well now, Sir Sing…”

“No ‘sir’, just Tsing.”

Frederick lifted his head and raised his voice in a rich, throaty baritone, “There was a young maid from the south, whose fist fairly fit in her…” He trailed off and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, I reckon you get that a lot.”

When Tsing gave no reaction to the joke, Frederick cleared his throat and continued, “Well, then, it’s me should apologize for bein’ so nosy. Your business is your own and don’t need to be shared.”

Tsing smiled. “You’ve done my horse well,” he said, continuing to stroke Brawn’s neck. “Listen, I’d like to bed down here tonight if it’s okay. My business is done, and I want to be away by first light. I’d hate to disturb you that early, so can we settle up now? What do I owe you?”

Frederick gave a last long stroke of the brush down Brawn’s flank. “That oughta do it, big guy,” he cooed to the horse. He stood straight and stretched his back. “Sure, you can sleep here if ya like, but I ain’t got any special accommodations.” He waved his hand around the stable. “What you see is what you get.”

“It’s fine,” said Tsing. “I can throw my bedroll right here in the straw. Nice and warm in here. Better than we’re used to.”

“Well, then, I can’t see any reason to charge you extra. Rate’s posted on the door outside. I reckon you’ll owe me twelve krin for the stall, feed and grooming.”

Tsing pulled some coins from his purse and handed them to Frederick. “Here’s two extra krin for your trouble.”

“Oh, it weren’t no trouble, Sing.”

“Well … um … it might be. I need a receipt.”

“A what?”

“A receipt. I need you to write down on a piece of paper how much you charged me, so I’ll know.”

“But I just told ya.”

Here we go again, thought Tsing. “I know, Frederick, but—”

“An’ it’s posted on the sign outside. If ya don’t think twelve is fair, how come ya gave me fourteen?”

“No, no, it’s fair. That’s not the point. I just need to know how much I spent here.”

Frederick held out his open palm with the coins spread out across it. “It’s fourteen krin. See? There’s a ten-krin gold piece an’ four coppers.”

“I know, but I need to remember it for later, so I can show my employer how much I have left.”

“Ya can’t tell how much ya have left by … how much ya have left?”

Tsing gave a long sigh. “Friend, I wish I could explain so you’d understand. I wish I could explain so I’d understand. But the man who sent me on this … trip … required that I have every bit of coin I spent recorded on paper. Look.” Angrily, he reached into the pouch where the jewel lay and pulled out a fist full of papers, including the one he’d just obtained from the barkeep down the street. He waved them in front of Frederick’s face.

“These papers have recorded every cursed expense I’ve incurred since I started. My employer won’t pay me for my services unless I show him proof of how much it cost me to do the job.” He jammed the papers back into the pouch. “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but I need a receipt.”

Frederick took a half step back and raised his hands defensively. “Didn’t mean no offense, Sing. It just seems a little …”

“Strange? It is a little strange, but I have to ask.”

“An’ I’m glad to oblige, but … well, I never learned writin’. I mean, I had to get Tom Thornwood down the street to paint th’ sign outside.”

Tsing waved a hand dismissively. “Not a problem. I have paper, quill and ink. I’ll write it myself and you can sign your X.” He bent to pull a scroll from his pack, tore a piece from it, and rummaged for the ink and quill. He straightened with the items in hand and looked around for something to use as a writing surface.

His gaze settled on an anvil near a small forge, where coals from a fire provided the heat that warmed the stable. “There,” he said, and he strode over to Frederick’s work area.

Frederick followed tentatively and watched as Tsing spread the paper across the flat iron surface, removed the top from a small bottle of ink, and dipped the quill. Tsing chewed on his lip in concentration as he covered the paper with precise lettering. After a minute or so, he straightened and stepped back, handing the quill to Frederick. “There. Just sign on that line at the bottom.”

Frederick took the quill in an uncertain grip and regarded the paper. “What does it say?”

Tsing ran his forefinger along the lines as he read, “Fourth Day of Frost Moon, Frederick’s Stable, Fourteen krin for lodging, feed and grooming.”

Frederick bent close and peered at the markings, nodding in affirmation as if he suddenly could decipher the writing. He marked an awkward X relatively close to the line Tsing had indicated. “Like that?”

Tsing lifted the paper from the anvil and blew on the ink to dry it. “Like that. Thank you for your trouble.”

Frederick snorted. “More trouble for you than me, I reckon.”

Tsing nodded. “True enough. But thanks, nonetheless.” Satisfied the ink was sufficiently dry, he folded the paper and stuffed it into the pouch with the other receipts. “I’ll trouble you no further,” he said.

Tsing set about laying out his bedroll and making himself comfortable as Frederick watched. As he had hoped, the man eventually gave up on the possibility of further conversation and wandered off, dropping the fourteen krin into a purse at his belt. Tsing peered through a crack in the panels of the stall to watch him disappear through a curtained doorway into his sleeping quarters.

Brawn nickered. Tsing looked at the horse and sighed as he reclined on the bedroll. “What? I should sit here making small talk until the wee hours of the morning? I’m tired, and we have many pentags to travel tomorrow. We both need our rest.” He turned his back to the horse’s snorted response and closed his eyes.

---

On the seventeenth morning of the Frost Moon, Tsing crested the ridge of the High Pass on the East Road and was afforded the first view of his journey’s end. The sun rose over the peaks at his back, reflected off the spires of the King’s Palace rising from the mists over the city of Azurith, and glinted from points along the River Wiste and Lake Marin, on whose far shores the city lay.

It was a welcome sight.

He spurred Brawn on, eager to make the city before nightfall. The horse responded willingly, possibly remembering the oats and sweetgrass from his previous stay at the King’s Livery. Stopping for rest only twice, they clopped to a stop on a cobbled street as the sinking sun was creating a golden red halo over the palace that dominated the highest hill of the central city.

Tsing dismounted and led Brawn to a trough and tether post at the bottom of a stone pathway that led upward to the offices of the Alchemist. “I won’t be long, my friend,” he whispered in the horse’s ear. Brawn nickered and lowered his head into the trough to drink.

Tsing paused at the bottom of the stone pathway. As his eyes searched the shadows up and down the street, he found his hand had moved to the hilt of his sword. Sorcerers made him nervous, and the Alchemist was no exception to that rule. Tsing took a deep breath, patted the pouch at his side that held the jewel and the receipts, and strode up the walkway.

As he reached for the heavy brass knocker to announce his presence, the door suddenly opened, and a small creature with pale green skin—a goblin, of all things—looked him up and down. “You are Tsing?”

“I am,” Tsing replied. The little goblin had pronounced his name perfectly, which was unusual enough to pique his interest in the small Fae. “And you?”

The goblin looked at him with suspicion—Tsing wasn’t much used to goblin expressions, so he couldn’t be sure. “Trevor,” the goblin answered, then abruptly turned his back and beckoned him inside. “The master is expecting you. Close the door behind you, please.”

Tsing nodded and stepped through the door, which closed behind him of its own accord. He was immediately plunged into darkness, and his hand moved to the hilt of his blade as his eyes tried to adjust. “That’s an unusual name for a goblin, isn’t it?”

“You’re familiar with goblin names, are you?”

Tsing followed the sound and was just able to make out the goblin’s form receding down a dim hallway ahead of them. “Not really. I’ve only met two others of your kind. They were named”—he slowed his speech and pronounced carefully as he started down the hallway—"Cam-o-leen-um-meekus-form-meeka and Frau-leen-markam-lung-meekor.”

Trevor stopped. His shoulders sagged as he shook his head. “Two pretentious females,” he muttered. He straightened and turned. “You guessed correctly, Tsing. Trevor is not a common goblin name, only well respected.” He pointed at Tsing’s sword hand. “That’s a very large sword.”

Tsing nodded. “Larger than most,” he admitted.

“Seems unwieldy. Is it the only one you own?”

“I have others.”

“I see,” said Trevor. He stepped aside and pointed down the hallway. “Go that way.”

Tsing took a cautious step past the goblin.

“Wait,” Trevor said. He pulled an unlit torch from a sconce along the wall. “Here.” He shoved the torch into Tsing’s free hand and fire suddenly sprung from its tip.

“Gods!” Tsing exclaimed. The hand on his sword hilt clenched more tightly. He turned to address the goblin. “How did—” But Trevor was gone.

Muttering both prayers and curses, he turned and held the torch away from his body to illuminate the way before him. A dark marble floor stretched for some thirty longspaces between unadorned stone walls to a single door. His footsteps created a harsh echo as he approached it. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from the pommel of his sword to knock, but before his knuckles touched the heavy oak it opened of its own volition.

He took a step back from the doorway. “Sweet Mother of—.”

“Careful which gods you invoke here, my friend,” cautioned a voice from within.

Tsing nodded to himself. Best heed that warning. He stepped slowly into the dim light of the room.

---

Trevor stepped out from the shadows as the door closed behind the mercenary. He frowned. The sword Tsing was wearing was not the one he’d expected to see. The one he was looking for would have a glowing red stone in the pommel.

He scratched speculatively at the stiff hairs on his chin. Tsing had admitted to having other weapons, and he would be tied up with the Alchemist for a while. Now would be the perfect time to do some investigating.

The goblin slipped quietly out the front door and gazed down into the street below. A large black stallion was tethered near the water trough at the bottom of the walkway. The mercenary had carried his saddlebags with him into the Alchemist’s office, but a large duffle remained tied across the horse’s withers. The artifact in question might be packed within.

His flat goblin feet slapped against the paving stones as he trotted down the walkway, which may have alerted the horse, because the animal lifted his head from the water trough and fixed him with a single eye as he approached.

“Nothing to worry about, my friend,” he said, as he patted the stallion’s flank. “I just want to take a quick look at what your master has in this—hey!” As soon as his hand had touched the duffle, the horse gripped the collar of Trevor’s tunic in his teeth and lifted the goblin off his feet, flinging him into the street.

Trevor pushed himself from the cobblestones, brushing street dust from his clothing and checking up and down the street for possible witnesses. He fixed his gaze on the horse, which lowered its head level to the goblin’s and squinted a warning at him. Trevor placed his hands on his hips. “So, we’re going to have a problem, are we? I—”

He stopped. There was a distinctly un-equine intelligence in the stallion’s demeanor. What are you? His eyes widened. It couldn’t be!

He spread his arms, palms up, open in a gesture of peace. “I mean no harm,” he murmured, approaching the animal cautiously. He stopped just outside of the horse’s reach and sniffed. Gods of Urgule! “I think there might be some faerie blood in your veins, big fellow. Perhaps we can have a conversation.”

Casting about again for prying eyes, Trevor pulled a small device from the pocket of his trousers. Using both hands, he gave it a twist, pulling it into two pieces, one of which he tucked behind an ear. The other he held up in front of the horse’s muzzle.

“Get that thing out of my face,” the stallion nickered.

“It will help us talk,” Trevor explained.

The horse took a step back, lifting his head, eyes wide. “You understood what I said?”

Trevor nodded. “Yes. This is a universal translator. Standard issue for agents of the Protectorate.”

The horse took a step forward and lowered his head again. “Clever of you,” he nickered, sniffing at the piece in Trevor’s hand and giving the goblin a sideways look. “What’s an agent of the Fae Protectorate doing in Azurith?”

“So, you know of us.”

“Yes. I hear things. Obviously, I don’t get to talk much, so I listen.”

“Clever of you.”

“Don’t be condescending. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m just gathering information.”

“Just gathering information? Taking a job as man servant to the Alchemist of Azurith seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to gather information.”

Trevor shrugged. “The Protectorate is interested in many things, and the Alchemist is one of the better information sources, making this an efficient use of my time. What’s your name, stallion?”

“Tsing calls me Brawn.”

“Ah. It fits you. I bet you’re a great source of information, too, Brawn. May I ask you a few questions?”

“What’s in it for us—me and Tsing?”

“You get the satisfaction of helping out a fellow Fae.”

Brawn snorted. “How about you give us that translator?”

Trevor shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t. It’s against regulations.”

“Do you know how hard it is keeping Tsing out of trouble when the only way to communicate is snorting, nickering, or pawing at the ground with a hoof? It sure would be helpful to have a device like that.”

“It’s against regulations.”

Brawn snorted again.

“You have a very expressive snort. I imagine you communicate with Tsing quite well.”

Brawn glared at him. “What do you want to know, goblin?” he nickered.

“I’m looking for a special sword, one with a glowing red jewel mounted in its pommel. I think your master might have it in his possession.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It is said your master wields a sword that sings. It sounds like the one I’m looking for. Does he have it?”

“Why are you looking for a sword that sings?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

“For the sake of the gods, goblin! If you want me to divulge our secrets, the least you could do is tell me yours.”

“So, you have the Sword?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

“Very funny.”

“Not so funny as ironic, maybe. Come on, goblin—what’s your name, by the way?”

“Trevor.”

Brawn snorted. “Really? Very well, Trevor, your secrets are safe with me. After all, who am I going to tell?”

Trevor pursed his lips. The animal made a valid point. He looked up and down the street, lowering his voice further. “If I explain my mission, will you answer my questions?”

“Of course. It would only be fair.”

Trevor took a step closer. “The Protectorate is trying to recover some important Fae artifacts that have fallen into human hands. One such artifact is Ka’il Idreth, the Sword that Sings. It makes the wielder invincible. Such a weapon, in the hands of an unscrupulous human, could upset the delicate balance of power in your world.”

“Or in the realms of the Fae, I would imagine,” Brawn snorted. “What does it look like? What type of sword is it?”

“It would take the form of whatever type of weapon most suited the wielder. The way to recognize it would be the glowing red jewel in its pommel.”

“You’re not planning to give it to the Alchemist, I hope.”

“Of course not. It goes back to the Protectorate for safekeeping, and we will pay you handsomely for its return.”

“We don’t have it.”

Trevor’s shoulders sagged. “Are you certain? What about the rumors that your master has a sword that sings?”

“First of all, he’s not my master; we’re partners. Secondly, that singing sword stuff is just a way of saying he’s a good swordsman.”

“I’ve not heard that said of other good swordsmen.”

“Tsing is really good. The best in all Panprama, possibly the entire world.”

It was Trevor’s turn to snort. “You’re certain he does not own a blade with a glowing red jewel in the pommel.”

“I’m certain. But, speaking of glowing red jewels, is the one Tsing is delivering to your Alchemist one of the artifacts you’re trying to recover?”

“Yes. It is called the Eye of Ellindrell.”

“What sort of power does it wield?”

“Power, itself. More than that, I cannot say.”

“Can’t, or won’t? I thought we were being honest with each other.”

“I honestly don’t know what all it does.”

“Does the Alchemist know you’re trying to recover the artifact he’s paying us for?”

“Not yet.”

“You’re going to steal it.”

“Is it stealing to take something that rightfully belongs to you?”

“The Alchemist might not find such an argument convincing. I trust you’ll wait until we’re far from Azurith before you take it. A mercenary makes a convenient target to blame for thievery. It’s happened before.”

“I have no intention of involving either of you.”

Brawn lowered his head to look Trevor in the eye. “Good. Because if harm comes to Tsing as a consequence of your actions, you’ll have to answer to me, goblin.”

Trevor swallowed, taking a step back. “You have nothing to worry about. Thank you for your time. Have a good day.” He pulled the piece of the translator from behind his ear, reunited it with its companion piece, and dropped the device back into the pocket of his trousers. As he mounted the walkway up to the Alchemist’s offices, the horse whinnied at him.

It sounded like a warning.

---

Tsing flinched when he stepped into the Alchemist’s chamber and the torch he was carrying immediately went out. He bit his tongue to stifle another curse.

“You brought the items I sent you for,” stated the Alchemist.

Tsing followed the sound of the voice and located the back of a black-robed figure hunched over a table in a far corner of the room. “Yes,” croaked Tsing, patting the pouch at his belt, “I have them.”

The figure straightened slowly and turned. Candlelight illuminated the face of a man of indeterminate age. Dank black hair hung to his shoulders, and his face was puckered as if he tasted or smelled something unpleasant. He held out his hand. “Give them to me.”

Tsing set the dead torch in a sconce by the door and undid the clasp that held the pouch at his belt. It came free in his hand. The other hand remained on the hilt of his sword. “What of my payment?”

The Alchemist pursed his lips. “Of course,” he said. He picked up one of two pouches sitting next to his work on the table and tossed it to the mercenary.

Tsing had to take his hand off his sword to catch the pouch. He weighed it in his hand. It was heavy with gold, but not what he’d expected. “This is all?”

The Alchemist indicated the pouch that remained on the table. “It is but half of the total,” he sneered. “You have earned that much by returning unscathed. To receive the rest, I must verify the … authenticity of the items.” He held his hand out again and beckoned with a finger. The pouch with the jewel and receipts flew from Tsing’s hand to his.

Tsing shifted the pouch containing the gold to his other hand, reflexively shielding it with his body. His sword hand found the hilt once more. He stifled another curse when the Alchemist held a cautionary finger to his lips.

“Now, let us see what we have here,” said the Alchemist, turning his back to Tsing and turning the pouch upside down. The jewel fell to the table with a thud, followed by a splash of slips of paper. The Alchemist scraped his hand through the bottom of the pouch to get the papers that remained and sighed at the pile before him. He glanced over his shoulder at Tsing. “I’d hoped for a bit more … organization,” he complained.

Tsing shrugged. “Everything’s together in one place,” he said.

The Alchemist turned back to the pile before him. “Indeed,” he murmured. He shuffled through the pile of receipts and chose one at random. He unfolded it and peered at the contents. “At least your script is legible.” He picked up several more, reading each and dropping it back into the pile with a shake of his head. He snorted. “Did you stay any place that wasn’t a brothel?”

Tsing shrugged. “I have my needs. And there were some fine establishments along the way. The other night, I—”

The Alchemist turned and held up a hand to cut him off. “Spare me the details,” he said. “At first glance, I’d say you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

Tsing nodded, relaxing slightly at the tone of approval in the sorcerer’s voice.

The Alchemist turned back to the table and sifted through the pile, coming up with the jewel. “Let’s see if this is, indeed, the one we’re looking for. Come,” he beckoned, “let me show you the purpose of your quest.”

Tsing wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know, but he followed the Alchemist to another corner of the room. They stopped before a large curtain, which reached from the floor to the vaulted ceiling some twenty longspaces above them. The Alchemist pulled on a rope, and the curtain slid aside to reveal a huge statue. Tsing took a step back, both out of caution and to allow himself to crane his neck to take in the full height of the thing.

“Do you recognize the image?” asked the Alchemist.

“It looks like Vale, your god of justice,” said Tsing.

“You are familiar with the local pantheon?”

“Such things are good to know in my line of work.”

“I imagine so,” agreed the Alchemist. He walked over to a tall step ladder which stood in front of the statue and continued to explain as he climbed. “Vale, the eight-limbed God of Justice. Each limb is of equal length and can be used as an arm or a leg. His two eyes are blind, so his judgment is not clouded by the perception of ugliness or beauty. He has no ears, so neither the smooth voice of the politician nor the rough voice of the shrew has its influence. He perceives only with his Third Eye, in the middle of his forehead, which can see into a man’s very soul and know the truth.”

“You see,” the Alchemist continued, “our new king distrusts the local judiciary. He perceives them to be less than honest. So, to … aid them in their judgments, he has commissioned me to create this … tool, if you will.”

“Tool?” Tsing prompted.

The Alchemist reached the top of the ladder and looked down at him. “Yes, a tool. Once I’m finished, judgments made before Vale, here, must be fair, or there will be … consequences.” He held up the jewel, turned it this way and that, and pressed it into an indentation in the forehead of the statue.

For a moment, there was dead silence in the chamber. Then, the jewel began to glow. Tsing felt more than heard a heavy thrum, and a vibration passed from the floor through his body. There was no movement in the statue, but it seemed to come to life. Tsing’s eyes widened, and he took another few steps backward, away from the thing.

“Ah,” sighed the Alchemist, “it is the one.” He descended the ladder slowly. He turned to face the mercenary, frowning. “So far, so good.”

“What do you mean, so far?” Tsing questioned. “Whatever you did seems to have worked.”

“The spell is not yet complete,” said the Alchemist. He shuffled past the mercenary and pulled a leather-bound volume from a shelf of books. “I must balance the ledger,” he explained.

A knot formed in Tsing’s belly. He sensed yet another impediment to the remainder of his payment. He took a deep breath to calm himself and watched the Alchemist as he opened the ledger on the table next to the receipts and thumbed through the pages until he found his place. He picked a receipt from the pile, read it, placed it aside by itself on the table, and made an entry in the ledger. He repeated the process with another receipt, and another.

Tsing swallowed. He walked across the room and peered over the Alchemist’s shoulder. The sorcerer was sorting through the receipts and arranging them in columns across the table. Tsing was afraid of the answer, but he had to ask the question. “When can I expect the rest of my payment?”

The Alchemist straightened and sighed. He picked up a fist full of receipts and released them to flutter back onto the top of the pile. “I must enter all of these into the ledger. It could take all night.”

“And you have to get it done before you pay me?”

“Yes.” The Alchemist turned back to his work. “Everything must balance,” he murmured. “It is the most important thing.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve done enough,” spat the Alchemist. “Go. Come back tomorrow.”

Tsing hesitated. “You only asked for the receipts. You said nothing about how they should be organized.” When the sorcerer didn’t react, he added, “Getting those was the most difficult part of the task, you know.”

The Alchemist’s reply dripped with sarcasm. “Yes, I suppose getting an honest accounting from a whore could be difficult.”

Tsing grinned. “Each of those receipts required a blood oath that you would be the only one to know the exact fee.”

“And rest assured I will carry the secrets of your cock to the grave,” replied the Alchemist.

Tsing nodded. Silence fell between the two and dragged on as the Alchemist continued to sift through the pile of papers. Tsing shifted his feet uncertainly.

The Alchemist glanced over his shoulder. “You’re still here.”

“Yes, I—”

“Listen, my friend,” said the Alchemist, turning to face him, “you have performed admirably to this point, but this is a task only I can accomplish, and time is of the essence. Please, leave me to do it. Come back tomorrow for the remainder of your payment.”

“That’s the way of it, then?” Tsing shrugged. “There is nothing more I can do?”

“Unless there is some expense unaccounted for in this pile of papers?”

“I got a receipt for every expense, just as you specified.”

“Then you know the way.” The Alchemist indicated the door. “Go.”

CHAPTER 2

The Girl at the Royal Goose Inn

17th Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

“Ouch!”

Erin jerked herself away from the groping hand of the inebriated patron while managing not to spill the contents of the trays she had balanced in both hands. Dammit, she’d allowed her mind to wander again and had paid the price with what would likely become yet another bruise on her bottom, the third incurred this evening. And the night was still young.

She was well into the third year of her indenture at the Royal Goose, and she had yet to get used to the frenetic phenomenon of week’s end. At her former master’s farm, every day had been a day of labor, but here in Azurith, the guilds had instituted a convention of resting on the sixth and seventh days of the week. Yet, the two days were not rest at all; they were excuses for raucous celebration. And none were more raucous than at her present master’s establishment.

Making it through either of the week’s end evenings at the Royal Goose Inn without being groped, pinched, or slapped on the bottom required intense concentration. And Erin was admittedly distracted.

She had a problem. Any day now, she would receive her master’s task from her mentor, the next step in becoming a certified member of the Dream Walker’s Guild. Certification would open the entire network of walkers to her, allowing her to set up her own independent practice. For the first time in her young life, she would be free to make her own way.

Except she was trapped here at the Royal Goose. Her dream walker’s master’s task would undoubtedly require her to travel, and she was at least six months’ wages away from being able to buy her freedom.

She sighed as she set her trays down on the end of the bar and signaled for the empty mugs to be refilled. Ian Tanner, owner of the Goose, was covering the bar tonight, and he pulled himself from a conversation with a patron to shuffle her way. “How’re you holding up, Erin?” he asked as he began pulling a draft of ale into the first mug. “It’s a bit rowdy, ain’t it?”

“I’m doing okay,” she smiled. “And it’ll calm down once the minstrel begins his set, don’t you think?”

“I do,” he agreed. “Wish the boy was staying more than just a few weeks. There’s a fair number of folks come in here just to see him, not just on week’s end.” He replaced the filled mug and grabbed another empty one. “By the way, that fellow I was talking to was asking about you. Interested? He’s got coin.”

Her shoulders sagged. Her master was a good man who’d purchased her indenture at an inflated price as a favor to his cousin, her former master, when King Palatus had seized the poor man’s lands. Although Ian Tanner knew nothing about Erin’s dream walking, he was well aware of her desire to pay off her indenture and sympathized with her plight. “Oh, Ian,” she sighed, “I really don’t feel like it tonight. Will there be trouble?”

Ian shook his head. “Nah. I’ll feed him the story how you’re a red-headed, green-eyed witch from the winter lands who’ll steal his soul.”

“Ian!”

He chuckled. “It works every time.”

“Not every time. Some take that story as a challenge.”

“Not this one. He’ll want no part of you once I’m done.”

“What about Sheila? He looks like her type.”

“He is. She’ll take good care of him. She’ll be happy since she can charge him full price. It’ll be fine.” He chuckled again. “And he’ll be happy since he can preserve his soul.” He placed the last full mug on her tray.

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re awful.” She smiled. “But I appreciate it.”

“Sure. No problem. Just thought I’d ask.” He nodded toward the crowded room of revelers. “Take care out there.” He turned and headed back to his conversation.

With a sigh she added a complimentary bowl of pickled goose eggs to each tray and balanced them again in each hand, hoisting them into the air to avoid the waving arms of animated conversations as she made her way back into the crowded common room.

Struggling through the crowd Erin began to have second thoughts. She should have taken Ian’s offer. The man asking about her wasn’t half bad-looking, and she needed the money. She wasn’t a member of the Guild of Courtesans, so she couldn’t charge the going rate for servicing a client and wasn’t afforded the protections the Guild offered its members, but Ian had his own ways of assuring the safety of his girls and there was so much business at the Royal Goose the real courtesans didn’t begrudge her an occasional client.

Her mind wandered again to her master’s task. What would it be? From her conversations with other dream walkers, Erin knew it could be almost anything, from tutoring a struggling novice to gathering intelligence for some well-paying warlord (she hoped it wasn’t that). But whatever it was, she most certainly couldn’t do it while being indentured at the Royal Goose Inn. She needed coin, and she needed it quickly.

“Ouch!” There was her fourth bruise of the night. I really need to focus.

With determination, Erin forced other worries from her mind and put on her best smile. For the next hour, she nimbly dodged the groping hands as she served meats and bread, refilled tankards of ale, and bantered with the guests. Sure enough, things began to calm down as the patrons shifted their focus to a young man with the brown skin and exotic features that she associated with the caravans that sometimes came in from the east to her home village in the Darinian Mountains.

Dressed in brightly colored robes, the young minstrel carried a large wooden case onto a low stage constructed next to the huge fireplace that warmed the common room. Conversations paused, and the patrons watched with interest as he opened the case and began to assemble a bamboo stand onto which he carefully placed a stringed instrument easily as long as he was tall. The room fell silent as he positioned himself behind the stand and began to tune each of sixteen strings—she’d counted them the night before—tapping a clever rhythm on each with a short, curved stick.

Erin surveyed the room, checking to see if anyone needed a refill of ale, but everyone was focused on the young musician. So, she retreated to the back of the room and took some of the weight off her feet by leaning against the wall. Keeping one eye out for anyone who might need her, she allowed herself to enjoy the show.

By the time the young man had finished tuning his instrument, he had the rapt attention of everyone in the room. He looked up and smiled. Speaking slowly, with a thick foreign accent, he introduced himself. “My name is Garoumb. I have traveled far from my home in the east for many years, gathering songs and stories from many lands, so that I may share them with you, the people of Azurith. I hope you will find them entertaining.”

He pulled a second curved stick from his robes and began sliding it along one of the strings, creating a rising and falling drone sound while he tapped the other strings to create a melody. The sound was exotic and compelling, and the crowd began to tap their feet and sway to the rhythm. Then Garoumb opened his mouth to sing, and there was a collective gasp from the audience. He had the voice of an angel.

“An orphaned king

With a sword that sings

Will follow a witch who walks in dreams

And she will guide him to his queen

Empires will fall

And rise again.”

“That’s becoming a popular song,” murmured a voice beside her.

Erin gave a start. She’d been so mesmerized by the music she hadn’t noticed the man who’d sidled up next to her. She turned and looked up into the most intense, ice-blue eyes she’d ever seen. “Oh … oh?” she stammered.

“Yes,” the man said. His gaze rose from hers to focus on the musician. “I’ve heard it several times now along the East Road. Never so prettily sung, though.”

She stared up at his square-jawed profile. Even in the dim light she could see he was handsome underneath what must have been at least a week’s growth of beard. Dark hair fell to his broad, cloak-covered shoulders, over which a packed saddle bag was thrown. Tucked under his arm, the pommel of a huge broadsword protruded from its scabbard. His gaze returned to hers. “Do you work here?”

“Huh?”

Their eyes locked, and he hesitated, as if he had just now noticed her. His lips parted uncertainly. “I … uh …” He pointed at the empty tray dangling from Erin’s grasp. “I assumed you worked here.”

She dragged her eyes from his and stared at the tray. “I do,” she murmured. She clasped the tray to her breast, blushing and clearing her throat. “Ahem. Yes, I do work here.” She stood straight and looked him in the eye again. “Can … can I help you?”

He smiled. “I hope so. I need lodging. The man at the livery across the way recommended this inn.”

“He would, since he’s employed by our owner.” She grinned, and his smile widened in return, causing her heart rate to kick up a notch.

“I see,” he nodded. A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest, sending a resonating thrill through her. Gods, the man was good looking.

“So?” he prompted.

Erin realized she was staring and quickly pulled herself together. Resisting the urge to take his hand, she simply said, “Follow me.”

The strains of Garoumb’s song faded as she led the stranger from the common room and into the bar, where she expected to find Ian.

“He’s checking someone into a room,” the girl who’d taken his place informed her, eyeing the tall stranger appreciatively.

Erin frowned. “That might be the last one,” she murmured. She surely hoped not. She led the stranger through the bar and into another room. The front desk was abandoned. Ian was probably showing the other lodger their room.

“I probably should have come by earlier,” the stranger remarked. “You seem to be doing a lively business. Is there another inn close by you could recommend?”

“Oh, no,” Erin objected, slipping behind the desk to check the guest register, “there are no inns that measure up to the Goose. We’ll take care of you. If push comes to shove, you can stay in my room.” With her eyes glued to the page, she missed the stranger’s raised eyebrow. “I can stay with one of the other girls.”

“That makes it a much less attractive prospect,” he said.

Erin looked up from the page and registered the crooked grin on his face. She could feel the fire of a deep blush coming on. “I … I meant,” she stammered, “that it’s something we’ve done on occasion. The room is small, but comfortable.”

“Comfortable sounds wonderful,” he sighed. “And a bath. But I could not put you out of your room.”

“Well, you won’t have to,” Erin said, her finger pointing to an empty slot on the registry, “because it looks like we have one room left.” She looked up and smiled. “And it has its own bath. How long will you be staying?”

“Tonight, and possibly tomorrow night. I have business in the city tomorrow, and I don’t know how long it will take.”

“Twenty-five krin per night covers lodging, the bath, and meals in the common room. There’s a complimentary bottle of wine comes with the bath.”

The stranger rummaged in a purse at his belt, withdrew a handful of coins, and stared at the pieces in his palm, frowning.

“We can reduce the rate if you skip the meals,” Erin offered. “There are less expensive places to eat around here.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he murmured. He handed her one of the coins.

Erin suppressed a gasp. It was a hundred-krin gold piece, one of the newly minted coins imprinted with the image of King Palatus. “Are you working for the king?” she blurted, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

The man stared at the coins in his hand, still frowning. “I think I must be,” he speculated. “Indirectly. I’m sorry. I was just paid, and it looks like that’s the smallest denomination I have.”

“You’d best hang on to it, then. I don’t have the key to the strong box. Master Tanner will need to make change when he returns.”

“And he just did,” boomed a voice.

Erin turned to regard the man striding up to the desk. “Oh, Ian. I was about to give the third-floor suite to Sir … um …”

“Tsing,” said the stranger.

“Sir Shing,” she repeated.

“Tsing,” he corrected. “No ‘sir’.”

“Shing.” She nodded.

“Tsing,” Ian corrected her. “I think he pronounced it ‘Ts-ing’.”

Tsing smiled. “I like the way she says it better.”

“I agree,” Ian echoed, a twinkle in his eye.

“My name is Erin. And don’t make fun of my accent,” she chastised.

Both men laughed.

“Well,” Ian chuckled, “it’s a nice room you’ll have, and I’m not just bragging when I say you’ll not find a better meal in the whole of Azurith.” He sidled next to Erin and peered at the guest register. “Erin told you about the bath, did she?”

Tsing nodded. “She did.”

Ian looked at her. “Erin, I know your shift’s almost over, but could you run get that ready while I finish checking in our guest? And put fresh linens on the bed, as well. Then, you can be done for the day.”

“Right away, Master Tanner.” She took a last look at their guest. “Nice meeting you, Shing. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She turned, her skirts swirling, and hurried to her task.

---

“You’re staying with us two nights?” Ian asked.

Tsing turned from watching Erin disappear around the corner. “I think, yes. I don’t know how long my business will take tomorrow, so I’d best keep the room, just in case.”

“I see.” Ian eyed the gold piece on the counter before him. “Will you be wanting some … female companionship tonight? All of my girls are occupied at the moment, but I can send one around later.”

Tsing considered the question. He bit his lip. “Is she—?” He nodded in the direction Erin had gone. “Is Erin one of your girls?”

Ian hesitated, then shook his head. “She’s not registered with the Guild, and …” He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper, “… did you notice her red hair and green eyes?”

“How could I not?” Tsing whispered in reply.

“She’s got a bit of witch’s blood in her veins. Hales from the winter lands north of the Great Sea. You know what they say about those green eyes?”

Tsing nodded. “If you look into them, they can steal your soul.”

Ian nodded. “I can’t afford the trouble, if you know what I mean, so …”

“I understand,” Tsing grinned. “I’ll pass on the offer of a girl, then. To be honest, I’m so tired, I doubt I’d get my money’s worth.”

Ian gave him a wink and a nod. “A practical man. Yet, the offer stands should you change your mind. Have you eaten?”

Tsing shook his head.

“It’ll take Erin a bit of time to prepare the bath. I can have your things taken up to your room while you sup in the common room. Tonight’s fare is Goose Royale, for which our inn is named.”

Tsing hesitated. “The bags are heavy. I can take them to the room myself, later.” And I can keep an eye on my valuables.

Ian nodded in understanding but pointed at the sword tucked under Tsing’s arm. “We don’t allow weapons in the common room. I can lock your blade in the storage room back here.” He thumbed in the direction of a door behind him. “I’ve the only key,” he added.

Tsing decided to trust the man. Besides, the bag of gold coins he’d received from the Alchemist was tucked into a hidden pocket in his cloak. “No weapons in the common room?” he repeated. “Then you best lock my bags in there, too.”

Ian nodded. He extracted a key from his breast pocket and unlocked the door, holding it open for Tsing to see.

It was a large closet lined with shelves of supplies. Tsing nodded. He sidled around behind the desk, dropped his bags on the closet floor, and propped his broad sword against the wall amidst a cluster of brooms and mops. He stepped out of the closet and watched as Ian closed and locked the door.

Ian made a show of dropping the key back into his breast pocket and patting it. “Your belongings are secure, my friend. And for the inconvenience, I’ll add an extra complimentary bottle of wine for later. For now, let’s get you something to eat.”

---

Erin hurried up the staircase to the third floor, past her own little cubby of a room at the top of the stairs and unlocked the door to Shing’s suite at the end of the hall.

Erin surveyed the room. It had been cleaned and swept. That was good. But, indeed, the linens needed changing on the bed, and she was dismayed to discover the bath had a nasty, grimy ring marking the water level of the last bather. It would need to be scrubbed, and quickly.

She hurried across the hallway and into the laundry—the Goose had a small boiler on each floor, although the main one was in the cellar—where there was hot water for the baths and the linens were washed and stored. Erin gathered fresh linens and drew a bucket of hot water from the boiler, into which she dropped a scrub brush and bar of soap. Then she carried the items back to Shing’s room, changed the linens, and began hurriedly scrubbing the tub, expecting Ian to arrive with Shing at any moment.

When the tub was cleaned and the new lodger still hadn’t arrived, she deduced Ian must have offered him a meal, which would give her plenty of time now to prepare the bath. Erin began hauling buckets of hot water from the boiler until she had the tub half-filled with steaming liquid, into which she sprinkled some scented bath salts, swirling them into the water with her hand.

There. All was ready. It would be perfect if he arrived within the next fifteen minutes or so, and if not, she could easily warm the water with another bucket or two. What was missing? Right, the complimentary bottle of wine. She needed to make a quick trip to the cellar.

On the way out of the room, Erin caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing mirror. She looked disheveled, loose strands of hair protruding from under her mob cap, which itself had become rumpled during her endeavors. She should make a quick stop by her room to spruce up.

She paused at the door to her room to listen to the strains of music wafting up the stairs from the common room. The minstrel must have completed his set and was taking requests, because he was again singing that song about the orphaned king and the witch who walked in dreams. Such a beautiful tune … and such odd lyrics. She’d never heard a song referencing one of her kind—a dream walker—if that’s what the lyric meant. Perhaps she’d take the opportunity to ask Garoumb about it before he left Azurith to continue his travels.

Erin unlocked her door and shuffled to her own dressing table where she checked her reflection in the glass. She really did look disheveled, hardly surprising since she’d been busting her tail for over ten hours now. On impulse, she removed her mob cap, unpinned the rest of her hair, and let her ginger locks fall freely over her shoulders. After all, her shift was over, and her work was nearly done for the day. She hurriedly ran a brush over the back and sides until she was satisfied it looked neat, then peered closely at her face, wondering if she should use some of the powder one of the girls had given her to cover her light freckling.

She frowned. What are you thinking, Erin? Just go get the wine and be done with your chores. She dropped the hairbrush on the dresser and hustled from the room and down the stairs. She stopped by the common room, thinking she might ask Shing if he had a wine preference, but he wasn’t among the crowd. She hurried to the cellar, past the kegs of ale, and considered the racks of bottles designated for “complimentary”.

Frowning, she wandered further toward the back of the cellar, perusing the racks of bottles along the walls. Whatever task Shing was performing for the king, shouldn’t it warrant a special wine? She’d never paid much attention to the Goose’s collection before and admittedly knew very little about wine in general—only that the older wines were held in higher regard.

Erin found herself in front of a particularly dusty rack, from which only one bottle was missing. These had to be old. She pulled a bottle from the rack at random and wiped the dust from it with the hem of her skirt. Oh, my. The bottle was etched with the sigil of one of the premium vineyards far to the northeast. No telling how old it was—or what Master Tanner might be saving it for. Peering closely at the sigil, she noticed a series of small runes lightly scratched into the glass around it. She had never seen such a thing on a wine bottle, nor did she have any inkling of their significance.

She bit her lip. Okay, what was the saying? It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. If questioned, she could plead ignorance. Erin sighed. No, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian not to ask, so she took the bottle but plucked another from the “complimentary” rack on her way out of the cellar just in case Ian said no to the premium bottle.

Ian was nowhere to be found, not in the common room, nor at the bar, nor the front desk, so she found herself still faced with the dilemma of which bottle to leave for Shing as she shouldered open the door to his room and gasped.

A naked man with the body of a god stood poised beside the bath. Startled, he whirled to face her, one hand reflexively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Frowning, he fixed her with a pair of ice-blue eyes.

Erin nearly dropped both bottles of wine. “Oh, I … I …” She held the two bottles of wine out in front of her in explanation since no coherent words would come. Suddenly realizing she was staring, she turned her back to him, only to find she still had an almost full view of his reflection in the dressing table mirror. She held the bottles out to her sides. “These!” she blurted. “I brought them!”

Shing’s posture visibly relaxed. “One moment, please.” He stepped into the tub and lowered himself into the water with a satisfied sigh. “You were saying?”

She turned to regard him. His back was to her, now. The tub was too small to accommodate his full length, but he had pulled his knees up and relaxed his head against the back rim. His long black hair was plastered across his broad shoulders and hung halfway to the floor. His arms were huge, the corded muscles rippling under the flesh as he stretched. Erin swallowed. “I brought your complimentary bottle of wine,” she murmured, congratulating herself on a complete, coherent sentence.

“Who’s the other one for?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You have two bottles.”

“Um … right, I do. I … um … didn’t know if you had a preference, so I … um …”

“Thank you,” he said, shaking his head, “but I’m no connoisseur. I do recognize the one bottle, though. It’s just like these two.” He indicated the low shelf beside the tub, where two bottles of the complimentary wine sat, one already opened.

Damn. Ian had already given him the wine. She should have known. She must really look like an idiot. “Whoops,” Erin whispered.

He chuckled. “I must admit, the service here is excellent. And this bath is wonderful.”

“Is the water hot enough? I can draw some more from the boiler.”

“It’s fine. So, what’s in the dusty bottle?”

He was observant. She thought she’d wiped the dust off. “Something … different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. Better … I think.” Erin giggled. “I’m no connoisseur, either.”

“Why don’t you have some and let me know?”

She hesitated.

He straightened himself in the tub and turned to look at her. “Didn’t I hear Master Tanner say your shift was over? I mean, I’m not keeping you from your chores, am I?”

Her gaze locked with his. Gods, those eyes were blue. Erin shook her head slowly. “You’re not.”

He smiled. “Then share some wine with me and tell me how you came to have such beautiful red hair and lovely green eyes.”

Okay, I see where this is headed. She gave him a skeptical look yet found herself already breaking the seal on the bottle and pulling at the cork. As long as he stayed in the tub and she kept her distance, what would be the harm? The cork came free with a little pop, and she looked around for something to pour the wine into. Nothing. With a shrug, she raised the bottle to her lips and turned it up.

Her eyes went wide. This was no ordinary wine. The liquid that settled over Erin’s tongue and the bouquet that filled her sinuses was a plethora of tastes and scents, all hauntingly familiar but elusive.

“What’s it like?”

She gave an uncertain shake of her head and took another sip, swirling it on her tongue. “It’s sweet but … not sweet. There’s some lavender and … cinnamon, maybe? No, not cinnamon.” She turned up the bottle and took a few healthy swallows—maybe too healthy—and blinked back tears as the scent displaced all the air in her sinuses. “It’s … good.” Erin gave a little cough, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Shing chuckled. He held out his hand. “May I?”

She came closer and handed him the bottle, averting her eyes from the tight black curls of hair across his chest, broken by the line of an old scar, the portion of his well-muscled torso that protruded from the water, and the vague outline of the submerged part of his body hidden by the bath salts.

He took the bottle from her hand, and Erin stepped back to watch as he waved it under his nose. “It is lavender, isn’t it?” He took a sip. “And—you’re right—that’s not cinnamon, but …” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it is, either.” He turned the bottle up, and she stared at the movement of his Adam’s apple up and down his throat as he took a long draught. “And it’s good.” He blinked and handed it back to her, suppressing a small cough of his own. “I suspect it’s a bit potent, as well.”

“Probably,” she agreed, taking another swig. Probably, hell. She could feel a pleasant buzz already. She took another draught. It seemed smoother this time, warmth radiating through her chest. She felt very relaxed.

Shing was staring at her. She placed one hand on her hip and let the bottle dangle from the other at her side. “What are you looking at?”

The left side of his lip curled into a half smile. “I’m glad you took your cap off. I like your hair. I’ve never seen such a shade of red. It’s … beautiful.” With the last word his voice descended to a rough whisper that set off resonating vibrations low in her abdomen. A lock of hair had fallen across his brow, and he combed it back with the fingers of one hand. Muscles rippled in his arm as his hand moved across the crown of his head. Erin had a sudden desire to entwine her own fingers in that hair. Whoa, girl.

“Thanks,” she whispered. Her voice came out raspy and hoarse, and she took another swallow of wine to moisten it. The warmth had spread through her whole body by now. “Yours needs washing,” she said.

He nodded in agreement, stretching languidly and settling further into the water and resting his head again on the back of the tub.

She pointed at him. “Don’t go anywhere,” she commanded.

He rolled his head to the side to look at her, his eyebrows raised.

“I’ll be back.” Erin set the wine bottle down, whirled, and scurried out of the room and across the hall to the laundry. She drew a bucket of fresh hot water and grabbed several towels, along with a bar of scented soap and a small pitcher. When she returned to Shing’s room, he was still staring in her direction, the same curious expression on his face.

He silently tracked her movements as she crossed the room and set down her burdens. She reached into the tub and swished her hand in the water near his feet. “I thought so,” she murmured, removing her hand from the water. “Scoot back a little,” she warned, waving her wet fingers at him.

He straightened and drew his knees up to his chest while she poured half the bucket into the water, then swirled it around with her hand. She looked up into his eyes. “Not too hot, is it?”

Shing’s lips parted as if to say something, but he just shook his head slowly, his gaze locked with hers. She smiled. “Good.” She poured in the remainder of the bucket, swished the water, then beckoned with one finger. “Scoot this way a little.”

Shing gripped the side of the tub and pulled himself toward her. Erin’s breath caught for a moment, and she held up her hand to stop him. “That’s far enough.”

He stopped abruptly, water sloshing over the edge of the tub and soaking her dress. “Sorry,” Shing murmured, not taking his eyes from hers.

She shook her head. “It’s okay.” Erin’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, and she reached for another sip of the wine, taking much more than just a sip. When she pulled the bottle from her lips, he had his hand held out, so she passed the bottle to him. He turned it up for several healthy swallows. She clenched her fists at her sides as she stared at his exposed throat, wondering what it would be like to let her lips wander across that flesh. She shook herself.

Shing swallowed and let out a long sigh. “That’s very good wine. He cocked his head and squinted at the runes etched into the glass. “I can feel this in my toes.”

Erin giggled. That wasn’t where she was feeling it. She took the bottle from him and set it on the table next to the tub. She grabbed the small pitcher she’d brought from the boiler room and scooped some water from the tub. “Tilt your head back,” she ordered.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to wash your hair. Do you mind?”

Shing’s lips parted as if he was about to say something. Instead, he nodded in silence. She stood, and his ice blue eyes ran up and down the length of her before they returned to lock with hers. The look on his face made Erin’s heart race. “Tilt your head back,” she repeated.

His head tilted back as he tracked her approach, until he was looking straight up at her as she stood over him, pitcher in her hand. “Close your eyes.”

He blinked, but they remained open.

“I don’t want to get soap in them,” Erin explained. His lids descended slowly across his blue irises, the soft dark lashes in stark contrast with the chiseled features of his face. She gathered the hair off his shoulders and pulled it together behind his head, concerned at the trembling in her hands. Carefully shielding his forehead with one hand, she slowly emptied the pitcher into his hair. Shing’s pleasurable sigh caused her heart rate to kick up another notch.

In fact, her heart was pounding. It seemed that all her senses were heightened. The color of Shing’s hair was darker and more vibrant than it had been a moment ago. The individual strands sent fiery little explosions through her fingertips and tingling throughout her body. She grabbed the bar of scented soap and began working a lather into the soft wet mass, reveling in the soapy slickness against his skin as she massaged his scalp.

Shing let out a low moan that resonated in her loins. She shivered, then giggled. He might be enjoying this as much as she was. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Um-hmm,” he grunted.

“I’ve always thought getting one’s hair washed was one of the most relaxing things,” she offered.

“I don’t feel … relaxed.”

“Oh?” She’d been so absorbed in her own pleasure that she hadn’t noticed how his shoulder muscles were bunched and how hard his hands gripped the sides of the tub. “Wow, you’re really tense. I’m sorry.” Erin’s hands moved automatically to his shoulders and began massaging. “Gods, you’re hard as a rock. Try to relax.”

“I know. I’ve been trying. But I—”

“Let me rinse the soap out of your hair, and I’ll see if I can help.”

Silence. “Okay.”

He hesitated. Had she gone too far? Had he just been trying to be polite when he’d offered to share the wine? Now here she was, drunk and using every excuse she could think of to put her hands all over him. What was wrong with her?

Biting her lip, Erin grabbed the pitcher and hurried to rinse his hair, careful not to let the soap drip into his eyes. “Tilt your head back a little more?” she asked. “And close your eyes.”

He complied, and she worked in awkward silence for a moment until he cleared his throat. “Can I … ask you something?”

“Of course.” She wrung out a long shank of hair and refilled the pitcher.

“Master Tanner offered me … female companionship. I … um … asked about you.”

“Oh!” She nearly poured the water over his face. She uttered a curse under her breath. “Sorry. Did that get in your eye?”

He shook his head. “He told me you weren’t one of his girls.”

“That’s true.” Although, moments before, she’d been wishing that she was. She carefully rinsed the other side of his head, wringing out another long shank of hair.

“He then proceeded to tell me a story of how you’re a witch who can steal the souls of men with your green eyes.”

Erin snorted. “And what did you think of that story?”

His lids fluttered open, and she was again looking down into his ice-blue eyes. “I thought,” he said, “that maybe I should avoid eye contact.”

“And yet you haven’t.”

His gaze remained locked with hers as he slowly shook his head.

Her hair fell from her shoulder as she leaned closer, casting his face into partial shadow and making his blue eyes seem luminous. Reflexively, Erin reached to pull her hair back, so she could see his face more clearly. Gods, he was so handsome. Her pulse was pounding in her ears again, and she realized she had stopped breathing. She inhaled deeply, and the cinnamon-like scent from the wine on his lips filled her sinuses. Her voice came out a whisper. “Aren’t you afraid for your soul?”

Shing continued to shake his head, his cinnamon-scented lips curling into a half smile. Their reddish-pink color called to her from amidst the stubble of his beard. With no further thought, she answered the call, flinging the pitcher aside and grasping his head with both hands as she smothered his lips with hers.

He met her kiss with his own urgency and shifted in the tub, sloshing water as his hand entwined the hair at the back of her neck. For a long moment their tongues fought for space in each other’s mouths until she pulled back and gasped for air. Before Erin could resume the kiss, he had risen to his feet in the tub, soapy water streaming from his chiseled body.

She took a step back, her eyes wide. His shoulders weren’t the only things hard as a rock. His erection was huge, stiff, and throbbing. A matching pulse began to clench deep within her.

Shing slipped as he tried to step out of the tub, barely catching himself with one hand on the rim. In a panic, she darted underneath his other shoulder and wrapped her arms around his torso, bracing him as he caught his balance.

His hot flesh was intoxicating. Erin couldn’t tear herself away. As he gained his footing on the wet floor, he brought his free hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer, his lips seeking reunion with hers. She received his tongue deep into her mouth, reveling in its strength and length, and she felt a frustrated whimper escape her throat when he withdrew it.

There were only two wet layers of cloth separating them, but it was too much. Erin flung her arms around his neck, pulling herself against his chest, trying to get closer. He pulled his other hand from the rim of the tub and cupped her bottom, lifting her off the floor. Her legs wrapped his torso. Closer. I need to be closer.

Shing was holding Erin up now, carrying her across the room while he tried to pull her skirts up and out of the way. She clung to his neck with one arm, using the other to try and help him with the skirts as she stared down into his blue eyes. The expression on his face, fierce with need, fed her own passion, and she abandoned the skirts, crashing her mouth onto his again, her hands tangled in his hair, her abdomen undulating against his torso helplessly and spasmodically.

Suddenly, Erin’s back was against the wall, her head crashing against the wood with a thump. She forgot the pain as she felt the tip of his erection probing between her legs. She spread wide in anticipation, her wetness slickening the thin cotton barrier of her knickers that separated them. She gave another frustrated whimper. “Please. I want you inside me,” she begged with ragged breath. “Please!”

There was a rip of fabric, and she was free. Erin gasped as he slipped inside her and she settled along his length. He filled her completely, pinning her against the wall, grinding slowly. A low moan rumbled from his chest, and she answered with one of her own. His eyes locked on hers as he slowly withdrew, then slid into her again. A whimper of pleasure accompanied the thrust as she anchored her heels behind his hips and pulled him all the way in.

The pace of Shing’s thrusts increased, and her whimpers coalesced into a continuous cry until she felt him explode inside her, releasing her own orgasm. She clung to him as waves of pleasure rolled through her, the spasms gradually subsiding. When he finally withdrew from her, she slid toward the floor, her knees nearly buckling.

His hands grasped her shoulders, holding her upright so she wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right?”

Her legs felt shaky. Her whole body felt like a rag doll, limp and unsteady. She smiled weakly. “I’m wonderful,” she sighed.

He brushed a lock of hair back from her face and caressed her cheek. She leaned into the caress, kissing his palm, then the tips of each finger. Despite the weakness in her knees, she felt a new warmth building in her loins. Erin pulled one of his fingers into her mouth. She sucked at it, feeling his pulse quicken.

His free hand found her other cheek in a caress, and she purred as he ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re soaking wet,” he said hoarsely. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

That sounded like a great idea. Erin leaned back against the wall to steady herself, still sucking on his finger, and began fumbling at the laces to her bodice without much success. When he pulled his finger from her mouth and gave her a tender kiss, the task became almost impossible. “You do it,” she mumbled against his lips, her arms dropping helplessly to her sides.

Shing pulled back from the kiss and obliged her. She watched his hands as he focused on the task, carefully untying the bow knot and pulling the laces through the grommets. When the laces came free, he gently slid the bodice back over her shoulders and let it fall down her arms to the floor. She sighed as her breasts settled to their natural positions under her shift.

He grasped the hem of her wet shift, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. As the wet fabric fell to the floor her hair fell around her face, and he reached to push the ginger locks back off her bare shoulders. Her hands came up to stroke his arms, then found his hands and guided them to her breasts, where he cupped them appreciatively. Shing ran his thumbs across her hardened nipples.

Erin moaned. His mouth came down to suckle them, and suddenly the strength came back to her legs. She rose on her toes to meet him, her hands anchoring themselves in the hair at the back of his head to hold him closer to his task. When she glanced down at him, she could see he was hard again. She dropped her hands from his hair and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, tugging along its length. He growled and took one of her nipples between his teeth.

Erin pulled his lips from her breast and dropped to her knees, taking his erection into her mouth. She pushed herself onto him as far as she could, until his swollen, pulsing tip rested at the back of her tongue, then pulled her lips slowly back along his shaft while she stroked him with both hands. He moaned, and she looked up at him while she repeated the motion. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open as the air moved across his lips in short, rasping breaths. The knuckles of his fists were white as he braced them against the wall, fighting for control.

His expression drove her wild, and she increased her pace, reveling in his reaction as each stroke elicited a grunt of pleasure from deep in his chest. As he began to approach his climax, she felt him try to pull away, but she held on, her eyes fixed on his face, demanding to see his control let go as he exploded in her mouth.

His eyes opened, and he looked down at her with such intensity that she faltered. The next thing she knew, he had pulled her to her feet. Her hands and mouth were suddenly empty, and she whimpered in frustration. He lifted her into his arms, and she flung hers around his neck holding on for dear life. Then she was on her back on the bed, opening herself wide as he hovered above her, sinking his length into her again and again. She met each thrust with her own, crying out as waves of ecstasy broke over her, pounding her into oblivion.

The next hours were a blur of carnal frenzy. Their bodies could not be separated, exploring every surface, every position, every angle, until they both collapsed at some point in exhaustion. Erin awoke as the first light of dawn dimly illuminated the room, her head lying on Shing’s chest, one leg thrown over his as he lay on his back, snoring softly.

Her eyelids fluttered open, feeling a moment’s disorientation until she recognized where she was, and the memories of the previous night flooded through her. She lifted her head from Shing’s chest and immediately regretted the movement as a throbbing pain threatened to split her skull.

Gods, how much wine had she had last night? It didn’t seem like it had been that much, just the better part of that one bottle. Wine didn’t usually affect her that way. Hell, nothing had ever affected her that way.

She cautiously looked around the room, surveying the damage. They’d made a mess, for sure. Pieces of clothing and debris littered the floor, having been swept from every flat surface.

The area around the tub was the worst; it would need a thorough scrubbing. As she considered the task, a fleeting image passed through her mind of her bent over, grasping the sides of the tub as Shing pounded her from behind. The memory triggered a surprising wetness in her loins and an awareness of the pleasant soreness between her legs. Wow, what a night!

Erin looked over at Shing’s face and briefly considered waking him for a reprise of the previous night’s activities, but a wave of nausea triggered by the movement of her head brought her to her senses. He surely needed his sleep, and she surely needed to brew some tea with the herbs one of the girls had given her to prevent pregnancy and some analgesic powder for her headache. She’d need to come back later and clean up this room.

She carefully extracted herself from his bed and gathered up her ruined clothing. Holding the rags against her naked body, she paused at the door and took a last look at the sleeping stranger with whom she’d shared her most intimate desires just hours before. “Wow,” she whispered.

She closed the door behind her and tiptoed quickly to her room at the head of the stairway.

CHAPTER 3

The Alchemist’s Ledger

18th Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Tsing slept through half the morning, waking only when the sun rose high enough to pour through the window and pierce his eyelids. “Gods,” he murmured, squinting against the glare. He rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. The room began to spin.

“Ooooh,” he moaned, clutching his temples and ducking his head between his knees. His eyeballs throbbed, but the room stopped spinning. He sat up again—more slowly this time—and ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth. It was like rubbing an iron file through cotton. He reached for the half-empty bottle on the nightstand then thought better of it as awareness of his surroundings began to seep through the pounding in his skull.

Tsing reached behind him to rouse—what was her name? Erielle? Emelia? She was gone! Panic sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, and suddenly he was wide awake. He’d not gotten a receipt. And worse ….

He leapt off the bed, lifted the mattress, and ran his hand across the pallet until he found the pouch with the gold. Thank the gods, it’s still here. He hefted it. And nothing’s missing! He smiled. Well, an honest whore. His smile widened. And I don’t need a receipt, anyway, he remembered. The quest was completed.

Things were looking up.

A knock on the door reminded him of his headache, but it didn’t serve to dim his mood. And when the gorgeous young red-headed lass entered without waiting for his response, carrying a tray laden with sweet rolls, eggs, and fried trout, the memories of the previous night’s debauchery flooded him, including her name. “Erin. Ah, I can’t decide which is the more welcome sight, you or that food.”

She smiled and set the tray on the nightstand, pushing the bottle to the side. “How do you feel?”

“Like I had a long night.”

“You did.” She blushed.

“That wine …” He massaged his temples.

“Here.” She handed him a cup of steaming liquid. “This should help the headache. Then, you should eat something.”

Tsing accepted the cup and took a sip, inhaling the aroma. Indeed, the pounding in his temples subsided a bit. He peered at her over the rim of the cup. “Last night. I remember … most of it. Do you?”

She nodded. “I do … most of it.”

“Thank you for that.” He took another sip.

“My pleasure.” She blushed and cleared her throat, pulling a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. “You know, I …” She hesitated, looking at the floor.

He took another sip, taking in her profile, the way her red hair glinted in the morning sunlight, and the faint freckling around her nose.

She took a breath and looked at him with resolve. “I … I don’t usually do things like that. I … I’ve never done some of the things we did last night. And I—”

“Me either,” he admitted. “You were amazing.”

Her blush deepened. “Well, I just didn’t want you to think—”

“Oh, right,” he interrupted, reaching for the pouch of coins on the bed beside him. He pulled out three of the hundred-krin gold pieces and placed them in her hand.

She stared at the coins. She looked up at him. Her expression was … hurt? “That’s not what—”

“Sorry,” he said. He dropped two more coins into her hand.

“Five hundred krin?” she whispered. “I …” She held the coins out to him. “It’s too much.”

He waved her hand away. “You earned it, believe me. Last night was one of the best nights of my life.”

Her brow wrinkled into one of the most adorable frowns he’d ever seen. “But that’s what I—” She cut herself off suddenly, her lips settling into a thin line, and her demeanor changed somewhat. “Very well,” she murmured, dropping the coins into a pocket in her dress. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he reiterated, looking around the room. “Someone cleaned up while I was sleeping.”

“That was me. I worried I would wake you, but you were dead to the world.”

“You were up early, then.”

She nodded. “I had things to do.”

“Are you working now?” Tsing admired the glints of copper and gold set off by the waves of her hair as she shook her head. “Have you eaten?” Again, the adorable frown and colorful display of light as she shook her head.

“I was just about to have breakfast with some of the girls in the kitchen,” she elaborated.

“Stay and keep me company, then,” he suggested, indicating the tray of food. “There’s more than enough here for both of us, don’t you think?”

She hesitated. “Very well,” she agreed.

They sat next to each other on the bed and shared the meal, making small talk, although Erin seemed a little subdued. The food worked its magic on Tsing’s hangover and Erin’s presence continued to elevate his mood. He was tempted to forget the Alchemist and spend the day with her. Perhaps he’d let her show him the city, have another night’s frolic, and be on his way, without having to revisit the residence of the arcane sorcerer. After all, though it wasn’t full payment, the gold in the pouch would hold him in good stead for quite a while.

But damn it, he’d earned the full amount. And with it he could journey to Port Arleanne, purchase a ship, assemble a crew, even a trusted crew. He could … go home. It had been a long time. Maybe long enough for certain people to forget.

Erin cocked her head at him when he’d been silent for a while, confronting him again with that adorable frown. “What’s wrong, Shing? You look as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

He sighed. This one had a way about her he was going to miss, even the way she mispronounced his name. “I’m afraid I have some unpleasant business to attend to, and I cannot put it off any longer.” Tsing pushed himself from the bed and began to gather his things.

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

The softness in Erin’s voice drew his gaze. She looked genuinely disappointed, which tugged at his heart unexpectedly. “Probably not,” he admitted. He strapped on his broadsword. He stuffed the pouch of gold into his saddlebag. “Once I’m done, I’ll want to quit the city as soon as possible.”

He turned and walked toward her. She sat unmoving on the bed, her shoulders slumped, only her eyes tracking his approach, until she was forced to raise her chin so she could look in his face.

Tsing cupped her chin with a finger. Her clear green eyes bore into his as he bent to plant a kiss on her forehead. Instead, she lifted her hand to his cheek and guided his lips to hers. The kiss was surprisingly tender, and he pulled away before it could deepen. Erin’s fingers trailed from his cheek to her lips as she looked away. “Where will you go next?”

“I think I’ll make my way back up the East Road then north to Arleanne. From there, who knows?”

“Take me with you,” she blurted.

Her words caught him off guard. “I … ah … I’m afraid that wouldn’t work. I’ll need to travel fast and light. I want to put as much distance between myself and the Alchemist as possible.”

Her face fell. “Your business is with the Alchemist?”

He nodded.

“I see why you said it was unpleasant,” she murmured. The argument he was expecting never came. She rose and walked to the door. As she opened it, she stopped and turned. “The gods be with you,” she whispered. Then she was gone.

A chill ran up Tsing’s spine. She’s written me off as dead. And quickly. He took a deep breath, hoisted the saddlebag over his shoulder, and went to get his horse.

---

Erin hurried straight to her room. Once inside, she let her body sag, her back against the door. Gods, she had made a fool of herself. She banged her head on the door in frustration. She had confused one night of uncommon lust with real feelings and had practically begged a total stranger to take her away so that—what—they could spend the rest of their lives together in total bliss? She banged her head against the door again. It hurt.

But how could she have been so wrong about last night? She’d never given herself so freely to any man. She hadn’t done it for the money; she’d felt an instant connection, unlike anything she’d felt before. It wasn’t just wine-driven lust. It had been wild, surely, but it had also been tender, at times, especially the way he’d …

She shook herself. I need to stop thinking about it. Chalk it up to experience. She’d had some potent wine and allowed herself to be charmed by a handsome man who obviously knew his way around the bedroom and for whom the whole thing had been nothing more than a transaction. She blinked back tears at the memory of how it had felt when he’d dropped the money into her hand.

She snorted. Well, at least I got paid. And suddenly, the impact of the five gold pieces she’d received hit her. Gods, had she gotten paid! She pulled the coins from her dress pocket and stared at them, the ramifications of what they represented washing over her in a wave.

Freedom. Five hundred krin would pay off her indenture many times over, with plenty left for … well, almost anything. In one fell swoop, she was ready to complete her master’s task and pursue a new life as a dream walker, wherever it might take her. This was a message from the gods. She didn’t belong in this place. This life had never been for her. She was free to go. This was truly an incredible turn of events, a great blessing.

So, why did it hurt so?

She heard footsteps in the hallway outside. Shing had left his room and was headed for the stairs. Did he pause outside her doorway? She held her breath, imagining that a soft knock would come, followed by him sweeping her into his arms when she opened the door. “Erin, I can’t leave you. I love—”

The footsteps resumed, past her door and down the stairs. Get a grip, Erin, she chastised herself. Put him out of your mind and count your blessings. She stood at the door in silence for a moment, trying to follow her own advice and planning her next move. She would finish out her shift then find a chance to talk to Master Tanner about paying off her indenture.

But she found herself wandering to the window that overlooked the street below. Sure enough, there was Shing, striding toward the livery across the way. Would he turn for one last look? She held her breath as he made his way around a parked wagon and into the stables without a backward glance. She sighed. She supposed it was for the best.

She donned a fresh apron and was fastening her hair up under her mob cap when there was an urgent knock at the door. “Erin! Are you in there?”

“Sheila?” She stood and moved to the door.

“Yes, it’s me. Open the door!”

Erin pulled the door open. Sheila was one of the younger courtesans and had become a good friend. She looked particularly distraught. “Good, you’re ready. Ian wants to see everyone at the front desk immediately.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but he’s very upset, so hurry. I’ve got to round up the others and …” She frowned. “Are you okay? Have you been crying?”

Erin stiffened. Have I been? She didn’t think so. “I’m fine. I had a bit of a restless night, is all. I … wonder what’s got Ian upset.”

“Well go find out. Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can round up the other girls.” She turned and hustled down the hall to begin knocking on another door. “Cassandra, are you in there? Cassandra!”

Erin made a quick stop by the dressing table to check that her apron and mob cap were in order, then made her way downstairs to the lobby, where most of the staff were milling around the front desk, speculating in low tones to each other what the meeting might be about. Ian Tanner sat behind the front desk, a scowl on his face. She approached him tentatively.

“Sheila said she’ll be here as soon as she rounds up the other girls.”

Ian grunted. “Good.” He raised his voice to the crowd. “Everyone into the kitchen. We have a private matter to discuss. I’ll be there as soon as Sheila arrives with the other girls.” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen.

Erin joined the others as they shuffled down a short hallway and into the kitchen, joining the cooks and dishwashers already there. Normally a spacious work area, it was soon packed with everyone standing elbow to elbow. Erin squeezed into a little nook between a cutting table and large spice rack, apologizing as she nestled beside Frederick, one of the stable hands.

Frederick smiled, not objecting to the unavoidable intrusion on his personal space. “Any idea what this is all about?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Not a clue.”

He sighed. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I’ve got a ton of chores to do.”

She nodded in agreement, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the pungent aroma of dried sweat and horse manure coming off his body. The smell got worse when Conner, another of the stable hands, squeezed into their nook on her other side.

Conner leaned across her to complain to his mate. “’Nother damn load of hay bales just arrived. Driver’s bitching to get ‘em unloaded. What’s this about, anyway?”

Frederick shrugged. “Damned if I know. Guess we’re about to find out, though.” He pointed to where Ian Tanner was herding Sheila and two of the other courtesans, Cassandra and Brin, into the kitchen.

Ian closed the door behind him and waited until the girls found space to stand. Then he scowled at the assemblage. “Okay, everyone. Listen up.”

Conversation stopped.

Ian placed his hands on his hips and glared. “You know I’m not one to make a lot of rules.” He scanned the faces around him until he got a few nods of confirmation. “I don’t like ‘em. So, when I make one, you can bet there’s a damn good reason it’s meant to be followed.” He paused again to scan the assemblage. Erin peeked out from behind Frederick’s shoulder to try and follow his gaze. A few folks shifted nervously under it, but most just looked confused.

Ian gave a frustrated grunt. “Okay, then. Someone took a bottle from the rack of forbidden Fae wine yesterday. The people in this room are the only ones with access to the cellar, and no one’s leaving until the culprit confesses.”

A lump formed in Erin’s throat. Forbidden? Uh-oh. She took a tentative step forward and raised her hand. “Ian? It might have been me.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. He looked shocked. “Erin? You?”

“I took a bottle from that dusty old rack in the back. Is that the one you’re talking about?”

He blinked. “There’s a sign on that rack, says ‘off limits’. I know you can read.”

“I didn’t see a sign,” she squeaked.

Ian’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t looking for one.”

He waved away her explanation. “No, no. I don’t mean why you didn’t see the sign. Why did you take the bottle?”

“Oh.” She blushed. “It was for Shing—that tall traveler with the big sword? He’d had to wait while I cleaned his room. I just thought it would be nice for him to have an extra complimentary bottle of wine.”

“I’d already given him one!”

“Well, I found that out later. I’m sorry, Ian. Honestly, I was just trying to be nice.” Her blush deepened when someone nearby snickered.

A pained look came over Ian’s face. “Tell me he didn’t drink it.”

“Not all of it. He … he shared it with me.”

“I bet she was really nice,” someone muttered. There were titters of laughter.

Ian paled. “All right.” He waved his arms. “Everyone out. Now. Except for you, Erin … and you three.” He pointed to Sheila, Cassandra, and Brin. “And not a word of this to anyone,” he called to the exiting crowd, “or we’ll have the king breathing down our necks, for sure.”

The king? Gods, what had she done?

Ian grabbed Frederick’s shoulder as the stable hand neared the exit and whispered something in his ear. The young man nodded and filed through the door with the others. Soon everyone had left, save the girls and a few of the kitchen staff. Ian scowled at one of the cooks. “I meant everyone.”

The cook shrugged. “I’ve got pastries in the oven, Ian. I can’t just leave them unattended.” She pointed at one of the other cooks. “Rudy’s in the middle of preparing—”

“Fine,” Ian said irritably. He beckoned to Erin and the girls. “Let’s find a private place to discuss this.” He stalked out the door, and the girls followed.

Erin tugged at Cassandra’s sleeve to get her attention. Cassandra was the eldest and most experienced of the courtesans at the Royal Goose. Erin figured she’d be the best informed. “Why would the king be breathing down our necks over a bottle of wine?” she whispered.

Cassandra kept an eye on Ian’s back as she leaned close and whispered her answer. “That particular Fae wine is a powerful aphrodisiac.” She looked at Erin. “As I’m sure you’re aware of by now.”

Erin could feel her blush deepening. “Oh … oh! Oh, gods. I … I see.”

“The king has banned its use by the Guild of Courtesans. He thinks it gives us an unfair advantage over our clients.”

“But I’m not one of … you.” Her face felt like it was on fire now.

“Which should work to your advantage, especially if you weren’t paid.”

Oh, hell. Should she say anything? “Um … Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

“What kind of … um … aphrodisiac is it? Does it just—you know—make you horny? Or does it make you … fall in love?”

Cassandra stopped in her tracks, causing Erin to bump into her. She looked into Erin’s eyes as the others continued down the hall. “Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured. She wrapped her arms around Erin and pulled her close.

Erin could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She returned the hug as Cassandra patted her back.

“Hey, you two,” Ian called. “We don’t have all day.”

Erin peeked over Cassandra’s shoulder to see the others clustered around the front desk. Ian pulled a key from his breast pocket and thumbed over his shoulder. “Storage room. Let’s go.”

“We’re coming, Ian,” Cassandra called. “We’re coming.” She released Erin from her embrace and took her hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” She squeezed Erin’s hand. “Just let me do the talking, okay?”

Erin wiped her eyes with the heel of her free hand and nodded. The older woman led her along as they followed the others into the storage room behind the front desk. It was a tight fit, much worse than the kitchen, but it was private. Ian closed the door, looked at Erin, and sighed. “Erin, I’m really disappointed in you.”

“Don’t be hard on her, Ian.” Cassandra released Erin’s hand and folded her arms across her chest. “She’s young—barely of age really—and—”

“I’m almost twenty-three,” Erin objected reflexively. Sheila gave her a surreptitious kick against her ankle, and Cassandra shot her a dark look. Erin dropped her eyes to the floor and stifled herself.

“As I was saying,” Cassandra continued, “she’s very young, and that Tsing is an attractive man. Very attractive. Any one of us could have done the same thing at her age.”

“Cassie,” Ian insisted, “you know what trouble we could be in should the king get wind of this. He could shut down the Goose. All of you could be expelled from the Guild!”

“Calm down, Ian. Erin’s not in the Guild. She didn’t do it on purpose, and I don’t think she was paid.” Cassandra looked at Erin. “Were you?”

Erin blushed and wrung her hands together. “I … I didn’t ask for it, but … this morning—as he was leaving—he gave me five hundred krin.”

Everyone gasped.

“Oh, Erin,” Sheila exclaimed, “you can pay off your indenture! Why, that’s—” Her face fell as she whispered the last word. “… wonderful.”

Ian leaned against the wall. He looked like he might faint. “Five hundred krin!” He covered his ears. “No, I didn’t hear that.” He shook his head for a moment, then dropped his hands to his sides, his shoulders sagging. “Gods, when the king hears it …”

Cassandra fanned herself. “Whew. Indeed, that changes things a bit. Ian, if you take one krin of that money, we’ll all be in trouble.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“You need to release her from her indenture. You should have done it long ago, as hard as she works around here.”

Ian ran his hand across his receding hairline and rubbed the back of his neck as he exhaled a long sigh. “You’re right, Cassie. I …” He looked at Erin. “I should’ve let you go awhile back, but I was hoping you’d take a liking to the place.”

“I have,” she insisted.

Ian smiled. “Yeah, well. I guess the gods are setting things straight the way they should be. Seems like you’re destined for better than this life, anyway.”

“You … you’re letting me go?” Erin was taken aback. In spite of it being her goal for so long, she could feel tears welling at the prospect of leaving.

“I’ll have to, Erin.” Ian looked as if he might cry, too. “In fact, the sooner you’re gone from Azurith, the better for everyone. I asked ‘em all to stay mum on the subject, but there’s too many know to keep it secret long. King’s men will find out soon enough, and they’ll come around. I’ll draw up the paperwork to release your indenture in case you need it. You got somewhere to go?”

A tear began to make its way down Erin’s cheek. She nodded, her voice cracking. “H … home.”

Ian swallowed. “Then I’d suggest you leave tomorrow morning at the latest.” He cleared his throat as a knock came at the door. “Ahem. Come in.”

Frederick poked his head in the door then entered, glancing cautiously at all the sad faces. “I found this on the floor near the wine rack,” he said, holding up a dusty piece of paper. “Looks like your off-limits sign fell off a while ago.”

Ian took the paper. “Good. I’ll keep this as evidence. The dusty footprints can’t hurt. Better make me a wooden sign to replace it, though. Tack it up on the wall behind the rack and make sure it’s there before nightfall, okay?”

Frederick nodded. “Will do.” He turned to go.

“And Frederick?”

The stable hand paused at the door. “Yeah?”

“That little mare that Erin’s so fond of, Sura?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Have her fresh shod and groomed. Tell Conner I’m selling her and some good tack to Erin for ten krin.” Ian turned to Erin. “Give Conner the money when you’re ready.”

Frederick blinked. He looked at Erin. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded.

“Aw. No. Master Tanner, don’t send her away. Ain’t nobody gonna tell on her.” He clenched his fists. “I’ll make sure they—”

Ian held up a hand to cut him off. “Don’t make this any harder than it is, son. Go on, now. Get to work on that sign. We can talk later.”

“Yes, sir.” Frederick paused at the door. “Erin, you … you’ll come say goodbye, won’t you?”

She nodded, biting her lip as another tear began to well up. There were a lot of goodbyes to be said. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

Frederick left and closed the door. They all looked at each other for a moment before Ian cleared his throat to break the silence. “Ahem. Well, I expect you’ve got some packing to do, and we all have chores waiting. Best get to it.”

---

Tsing wasn’t surprised this time when the goblin Trevor opened the door in anticipation of his knock, but he wasn’t prepared for the urgency in the creature’s voice.

“Where have you been?” Trevor hissed. “The master is waiting! Go!” He pointed down the hallway, now alight with torches in sconces every ten feet or so along the way. Tsing was grateful for the light, but the fact that the same walls had been smooth stone the night before made him uneasy.

“Cursed sorcery,” he muttered as he made his way toward the door at the hallway’s end. When it opened at his approach, he strode through without hesitation. But he kept a firm grip on the pommel of his sword as he scanned the interior of the room.

It was brighter in the room than the previous night, the curtained windows unable to block completely the light of day. The statue of Vale remained uncovered and now dominated the room with its presence. A brief vibration ran through the floor. Tsing swallowed nervously. Did the statue seem more … alive than before?

As if he’d heard Tsing’s unvoiced question, the Alchemist answered, “Yes, the spell is almost complete.”

Tsing cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the statue as he followed the voice to the same work area he’d left the sorcerer at the night before. The Alchemist, although now seated, was still hunched over the ledger. A quill stained with dark red ink lay amongst the neatly arranged receipts at his side. “But I wanted to check with you before I finished it,” the sorcerer explained.

“Yes?”

The Alchemist ran his finger down a column of the ledger. “After you procured the jewel, you slept one night at a stable before returning from your quest. Then you decided to … celebrate your success, I presume, by spending each night of the return journey at a different brothel.”

“I—,” began Tsing, but the sorcerer raised a hand to cut him off.

“Again,” said the Alchemist, “I do not question your … needs. All I require is a receipt for each … service rendered, and those you have provided, except …” His finger stopped at a blank line on the page. “… on the fourteenth night of Frost Moon.” He straightened and turned.

Tsing flinched when he saw the man’s face. It was drawn and lined as if he’d aged forty years in a single night. The Alchemist swayed momentarily when he stood, clutching the edge of the table to steady himself. His eyes lost focus for an instant, and he shook his head. Tsing took a step forward, intending to offer his assistance, but the Alchemist waved him away.

“What happened on the fourteenth, Tsing? Did you decide to give your cock a much-deserved rest?”

Tsing frowned. “The fourteenth? Let’s see, today’s the …”

“… eighteenth,” the Alchemist reminded him.

Tsing screwed his eyes up and counted off silently on his fingers. “Four nights ago?”

The Alchemist pursed his lips. “Yes. Thank the gods you needed but one hand to figure that out.”

“Ah,” sighed Tsing. “That would have been Brienne.”

“I’m not familiar with the place.”

“That was her name, Brienne … I think.” The mercenary smiled.

Tsing hadn’t thought the sorcerer’s face could fall any further, but it did. “And you bedded her, obviously. Please tell me you got a receipt.”

Tsing shook his head. “I didn’t pay for it.”

“She gave herself to you … freely?”

“Is that so hard to believe? But, no, not exactly. It was sort of a … barter arrangement.” An ominous thrum vibrated the floor, and the Alchemist glanced nervously at the statue of Vale. Tsing’s hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of his sword. “Gods, what is that?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” said the Alchemist. His voice was unconvincing. “What sort of barter?”

“I did her a favor.”

“What favor?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know any of the details.”

“I changed my mind.”

“I killed her husband.”

The Alchemist’s eyes widened. “At her request?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” mused the Alchemist, rubbing speculatively at the stubble on his chin.

“The man was a drunken brute,” Tsing elaborated, “who regularly beat her. He—”

The Alchemist cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Tell me,” he continued, “did you kill the man before or after you had sex with his wife?”

Tsing straightened. “If you mean to judge me, don’t. I would never knowingly bed a married woman. She was a widow by the time we—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the Alchemist, “how very … moral of you. But that is not my concern.” He turned back to the ledger. “I believe it’s actually a credit,” he murmured, “not a debit at all.” He turned back to Tsing. “I’ll need to make a brief note, and then you can be on your way … with the remainder of your payment.”

“Sounds good,” smiled Tsing. He relaxed with a sigh and watched the Alchemist dip the quill into the bottle of ink. The tip came out clean.

“Bugger,” muttered the Alchemist, “the ink has dried. I’ll have to freshen it a bit.” He jabbed the tip of the quill into his finger and squeezed a few drops of blood into the ink bottle.

Tsing shuffled forward and peered over the Alchemist’s shoulder. It was true. The entire ledger was written in blood. He swallowed the bile that came into his throat as the Alchemist scribbled something onto the previously blank line. He placed the quill on the table with a satisfied sigh. “It balances,” he said. “And you, my mercenary friend …” He reached for the remaining pouch of gold and tossed it over. “… may be on your way.”

Tsing caught the pouch. He nodded. “Thanks.” He teased the top open with a finger and peeked inside.

“Trust me,” said the Alchemist, “it’s all there.” He smiled. “And I begrudge not one krin of it. You exceeded my expectations, my friend.” He shook his head, chuckling. “But I still have to question whether a roll in the hay is worth a man’s life.”

There was a sudden rumbling beneath their feet, accompanied by the sound of grinding stone. Tsing swung into a crouch to face its source, his hand on the hilt of his blade. “By the gods,” he exclaimed. The head of the statue had turned to face him, and two of its arms were now folded across its chest.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that,” murmured the Alchemist.

“It moved!” Tsing exclaimed.

“It did, didn’t it?” The Alchemist sounded disconcerted.

Tsing cut his eyes to the man. “What the—”

“Shush,” cautioned the Alchemist, his finger to his lips. “Choose your words carefully.”

“I wasn’t—what do you mean? What did you do?”

“My bad,” apologized the Alchemist. “I inadvertently questioned whether having sex with that woman was worth killing her husband. I believe you now stand in judgment before Vale.”

Tsing’s blade was in his hand instantly. “The hell I do,” he cried. The sound of more stone grinding made his skin crawl. Lightning fast, the statue had unfolded its arms from its chest. It now stood on four legs, looking poised to spring.

“Sheath your sword, you fool,” warned the Alchemist. “It makes you look guilty.”

He replaced the sword. There was more grinding as the statue settled onto its haunches. “What do I do now?” he whispered to the Alchemist.

“You must convince Vale your actions were justified.”

Tsing frowned. “Well, I already told you. The man was a brute. He deserved killing.”

“That is not the issue,” said the Alchemist.

“How can that not be the issue?”

“The question was posed as to whether the sex was worth the man’s life,” the Alchemist explained.

Tsing threw up his hands. “That’s crazy.”

The Alchemist shrugged.

Tsing pointed to the statue. “How can I convince him of that?”

The Alchemist held up a finger. “Leave that to me. I will advocate for you. Just answer my questions.” He rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. “Actually, this will be a perfect test.”

“Test?”

“To see if the spell worked properly.” The Alchemist pulled the chair away from his worktable and motioned to Tsing. “Here, take a seat.”

The Alchemist adjusted his robes and walked to the middle of the room, clearing his throat. He turned with a flourish and began, “We have established that, on the fourteenth night of Frost Moon, the defendant, Tsing, terminated the life of the husband of Brienne in exchange for sexual favors. Is that correct?”

Tsing secured the pouch of gold to his belt and sat cautiously in the chair. His eyes cut around the room, assessing possible escape routes. The door he’d come in seemed impossibly far away. He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said.

“And,” continued the Alchemist, “although we have already established that the victim was of questionable character and, perhaps, deserved to die, can it truly be said that the scales of justice can balance any human life with a single sexual encounter?”

This can’t be helping, thought Tsing. “Am I supposed to answer that question?”

The Alchemist looked at him askance. “The question was rhetorical.”

“Huh? Okay, well it wasn’t a single encounter,” blurted Tsing. “We did it … twice, I think. Maybe three …” He trailed off when he saw the glare on the Alchemist’s face.

The Alchemist cleared his throat again. “Ahem. Very well, then. I suppose the sex was better than average?”

“Oh, yes.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the sex?”

“How many scales?”

“No, no. Not how many scales. A single scale, one to ten. How would you rate the sex?”

“Rate?”

“Yes, rate.” The Alchemist looked frustrated. “On a scale of one to ten. One being bad, five being average, ten being the best. How would you rate the sex you had with Brienne?”

“Oh,” said Tsing, understanding dawning. “I see. Yes, it was really good. Eleven.” They both winced at the grinding of stone as Vale rose again on four of its legs.

“You can’t say eleven,” warned the Alchemist. “Ten is as high as you can go.”

“Ten, then.” The statue took a step forward. “I don’t think this is working,” Tsing complained.

“Just answer the questions,” said the Alchemist. He raised his palms in a calming gesture. “You’re sure she was a ten?”

Tsing nodded. “Yes!” He cringed as Vale ground forward another step. “I’m sure. Her beauty was such that poets sing of. Auburn hair the texture of silk that … that … fell nearly to her waist when it was undone. Full, firm breasts, whose nipples were like honey on my tongue. I … ulp.” He swallowed more bile and shuddered at the grinding sound. He could almost feel the stone scraping across his bare flesh.

Vale now stood behind the Alchemist, standing high on four legs so that its head brushed against the ceiling. Its remaining four limbs stretched forward menacingly. “It doesn’t matter what she looked like, you fool,” shouted the Alchemist. “The sex! How was the sex?”

“Right,” Tsing continued, “the sex. It … it was amazing. She came to me warm and wet, taking my full length with no complaint, moving against me with such skill and … and … grace as I’d never experienced. She brought me to my peak almost at once and then again … more slowly. And after, she … sang to me … in a voice as lovely and tender as any babe might hear from his mother … a lullaby … until I fell asleep and dreamt the most peaceful of …” Suddenly, he pointed. “Look out!”

The Alchemist glanced up and stepped aside with surprising swiftness as one of the statue’s limbs slammed into the floor. Pulverized stone rose in clouds and a gaping hole remained in the floor where Vale pulled the limb free, poised for another strike.

The Alchemist turned and stared in horror at the visage looming above him. “No,” he screamed, pointing at Tsing, “Him, not me! I …” He leapt aside as a second arm came crashing down, narrowly missing him again. He scrambled to his feet and held his arm out, palm forward. “You have the wrong man. I command you to stop!”

The statue’s appendage wavered above his outstretched arm, and for a moment it looked like the Alchemist might have gained control. But another stone arm snaked around from behind and coiled about the sorcerer’s body, holding him in place.

The Alchemist’s brows knit together, and beads of sweat broke out on his face. He thrust his palm forward, and a deep voice echoed throughout the chamber. “I command you to stop!” shouted the Alchemist.

Curtains fluttered. Candles flickered. The pages of the ledger rustled as a breeze sprung from nowhere.

Slowly, the arm of the statue descended against the palm of the Alchemist’s outstretched hand. Tsing gritted his teeth as he watched the elbow bend the wrong way and the bones snap. His stomach did a flip when the Alchemist’s head popped like a crushed melon, his final scream ending in a gurgle.

As the stone limbs of the God of Justice unraveled from the remains of the Alchemist, Tsing found himself backed against the door, his sword drawn, fumbling for the latch with his free hand, and praying that the walls made of the same brick he’d just watched the statue pummel into dust would delay the monster long enough for him to reach his horse.

He expected the statue to turn and spring for him at any second. Instead, he watched it settle to the floor. A now familiar thrum vibrated through his boots as the thing’s arms retracted to its sides. After a few seconds of immobility, the jewel in its forehead emitted a single pulse of light and then went dark.

Tsing slipped carefully out the door and padded as softly as he could down the hall. He met Trevor at the front door. The goblin was just coming from outside and gave Tsing a questioning look.

Tsing shrugged. “Now that I think about it,” he answered to the unvoiced question, “maybe she wasn’t a ten. Maybe only a nine, or even an eight. Anyway, I’ll be on my way, now. Best of luck to you.”

The goblin gave him a confused look, then stared down the hallway in the direction of the laboratory. Tsing opened the front door and stepped into the welcome light of day. Humph. A scale of one to ten. It was a strange way of looking at things.

I’ll give this a ten, though, he thought, patting the pouch full of gold at his belt. He mounted Brawn and sped at a gallop toward the gates of the city.

CHAPTER 4

The Master’s Task

Later in the afternoon …

Trevor sniffed the air and cursed. Sulfur. There was a dragon nearby. The Protectorate must have dispatched one to retrieve the Eye. He snorted. I wish they responded so quickly to my requests for funding.

He sloshed the mop around in the bucket of cleaning solution and squeezed out the blood that had accumulated. The late Alchemist’s workshop was still in disarray from the disaster with the mercenary Tsing, and the goblin would be working long and hard to extract the blood stains from the stone floor.

With a sigh he pushed the mop and bucket to the side and shuffled down the hallway to the front door in anticipation of the knock that was sure to come. It came just as he opened the door. A nondescript middle-aged human stood there, a smirk on his face. “I debated knocking,” the man chuckled. “You must be Trevor.”

“I am.” Trevor stepped outside the doorway and surveyed the surrounding area. “You flew here during daylight hours,” he accused. “I trust no one saw you.”

“I was careful,” the man replied, still smirking.

“I hope you were.” Damn dragons. Privileged and entitled, with no regard for the safety of those of us doing all the undercover work.

The man introduced himself with a bow. “Pieter, at your service. May I come in?”

Pieter? He was one of the higher-ups in the Protectorate. Trevor had expected they’d send some lackey to retrieve the Eye. Am I in trouble? He stepped back inside, holding the door open for Pieter to enter.

Pieter stepped through the doorway. As if he had read the goblin’s mind, the man explained in low tones, “Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. I came because none of the couriers were available, and I deemed the task too important to wait. I was in favor of your mission from the start, and I’m impressed you’ve achieved such results in so little time.”

Trevor blinked in astonishment at the unexpected praise. Cautiously, he closed the door before responding. “Thank you, Pieter. You may not be so impressed once you see the state of affairs here,” he demurred.

“But you’ve retrieved the Eye of Ellindrell, have you not?”

“Oh, yes. I have the Eye, and the sooner you take it to safety, the better. Come with me.” He beckoned Pieter to follow him as he made his way down the hallway to the workshop.

“And what about Ka’il Idreth?”

“I was wrong about the Sword that Sings. I was sure the mercenary Tsing would have the artifact with him, but it turns out the stories of his singing sword were just inflated tales of his prowess with a blade. I sometimes forget humans have such a flair for hyperbole.”

“Indeed, they do,” Pieter chuckled. “But are you sure Tsing does not possess Ka’il Idreth? Just because it wasn’t on his person doesn’t mean he doesn’t have it stashed away somewhere.”

“He doesn’t. I asked his horse.”

“What?”

“The animal is remarkably intelligent. It has some faerie blood running through its veins. Enough to activate my translator.”

Pieter laughed out loud. “The faeries!”

“The faeries, indeed,” grumbled Trevor. “They shouldn’t be allowed to spread their seed so wantonly.”

“Although it seems to have been beneficial in this case,” Pieter rebutted. “You actually spoke with the horse?”

Trevor recalled the conversation with Brawn from the day before. “The animal’s intelligence was a bit disconcerting. I’d even describe the beast as … cunning. It was able to extract more information from me than I would have liked—luckily, it won’t be able to share it with anyone. But I’m certain it has no knowledge of Ka’il Idreth, and my conclusion was reinforced by the pride the animal has in its master and his skill with a blade, which the horse believes is entirely its master’s own and not artificially enhanced.”

“I see.” The dragon fell silent as they continued down the hallway and passed through the open door into the workshop. He looked around, assessing the carnage. “What happened here?”

“The mule—excuse me—the sorcerer I persuaded to acquire the Eye of Ellindrell used it to channel Vale into that golem over there.” Trevor pointed to the frozen statue at the far end of the room.

“He tried to summon one of the gods?”

“He did, actually, summon a god. Vale has become the God of Truth and Justice for the locals, and the king had commissioned my sorcerer to create the golem to replace his judges. It didn’t go well.”

“Did you expect it to?”

“Of course not. I was hoping to retrieve the Eye before he used it. But he must have felt the need to demonstrate his work when the mercenary Tsing arrived this morning for his final payment. You see what is left of the sorcerer over there.”

Pieter looked where the goblin pointed and wrinkled his nose in distaste at the blood stains soaked into the stone flooring. “What will you do now?”

“As soon as you take the Eye to safety, I’ll finish cleaning up here and inform the king that Tsing is responsible for the Alchemist’s death—that he killed the poor man and stole the jewel.”

“That seems a bit unfair to Tsing. And you have no body.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. The dragon sympathized with a human? “The mercenary will be fine. He’s already fled Azurith, as will I, as soon as the uproar dies down. As for the body, I will inform the king there was sorcery involved. Which is the truth, in its way.”

“And what of Ka’il Idreth?”

Trevor sighed. “The Sword that Sings is in the region somewhere. I’m sure of it. I’ll continue to search.”

“You were clever in using a sorcerer to retrieve the Eye. Why not use Tsing to find Ka’il Idreth?”

Trevor blinked. He hadn’t considered that.

“It seems logical to use a swordsman to find a sword,” Pieter elaborated.

Trevor rubbed his chin. “That it does. But Tsing has fled Azurith. I wonder if I could track him down.”

Pieter frowned. “That might not be such a good idea under the circumstances. You might lead the king to him. Perhaps I can help.”

“How?”

“I have my resources. Let me consult them and get back with you. In the meantime, continue with your present plan and I’ll take the Eye back to the Protectorate for safe keeping. Where is it?”

Trevor pointed to the towering statue. “It is mounted in Vale’s forehead. I wanted to analyze the Alchemist’s ledger before I tried removing it, lest I should inadvertently trigger the spell and be faced with the god himself.”

Pieter’s gaze rose to the forehead of the golem. “I see. Prudent strategy for a goblin. Let me save you the trouble, though. A god poses little threat to a dragon. Stay where you are,” he cautioned as he walked toward the statue. He stood before it, spread his arms, and began an astounding transformation, growing in size and shape until he stood on taloned feet in his true dragon form, eye to eye with the giant statue.

Trevor wrinkled his nose. The scent of sulfur would be distinct in the workshop for some time, but perhaps not to the human sense of smell. He envied the shifting capabilities possessed by many of the Fae species, including the dragons and the faeries. It would make his mission so much easier to walk among the humans in the guise of one of their kind. But so be it. It forced him to rely on his wits, and the wits of a goblin were nothing to be sneezed at.

The huge green dragon plucked the Eye of Ellindrell from the forehead of the golem with his beak. He paused for a moment, and when nothing untoward occurred, dropped the jewel on the floor and transformed back into the human form he’d arrived in. He held the jewel up in front of his face, examining it closely. “So, the Alchemist was using this as a source of power for his spell.” He turned to face Trevor. “With no knowledge of its true purpose?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Clever.”

“And dangerous. In time, he could have inadvertently opened a portal into one of the realms. I shudder to think of the consequences.”

“I agree,” said Pieter. “It is not time. But some day …”

Trevor’s eyes went wide. “Some day?”

Pieter nodded. “I believe humans will eventually evolve to travel the stars.”

Trevor frowned. “I thought the dragons were in favor of exterminating the human species to prevent that possibility.”

Pieter shook his head. “Not all of us. I, for one, believe we should give them a little more time.”

“If we give them too much more time, they will suck the magic from Earth completely. They are destroying their world at an increasingly rapid pace, especially where they congregate in large numbers. Have you seen the slums on the eastern side of Arleanne?”

“Yes, but Arleanne is not all bad. Parts of the city proper are magnificent.”

“You should visit the sewers beneath all that magnificence.”

“The sewers?” Pieter laughed. “My word. What are you doing down there? You should examine more closely the positive aspects of their society. Why, I flew over an idyllic little village called Elm Grove on my way here. The apple and peach orchards to the south are lovely. Don’t only look at the worst of things.”

“It’s the worst of things we have to fear. An incredible amount of filth is dumped into the Bay of Arleanne every day through those sewers. Within a century or two, the bay will die. It is the same here in Azurith. Lake Marin will be poisoned soon, and the pollution will flow down the River Wiste into the interior of the continent. And how much of the forest was destroyed to plant those orchards you find so appealing?”

“Given time, the humans will learn.”

“Their life spans are too short for them to learn. What little wisdom their elders accumulate is scoffed at by the next generation, who repeat the same mistakes.”

“There are some among them who demonstrate an innate wisdom. I believe there will be others as they evolve.”

Trevor shook his head. “The ones you speak of have the blood of the Fae in them. I’ve seen nothing to indicate any innate potential in the humans.”

“What about the telepaths, the so-called dream walkers?”

“No offense, Pieter, but didn’t they spring from some liaison with a dragon?”

Pieter scowled. “Those rumors are untrue.”

Trevor bit his tongue. Offending a dragon was something to avoid.

“Anyway,” Pieter continued, “I believe humans have potential. And as you spend more time among them, I bet you will come to believe it, too.”

Trevor snorted. He certainly hoped not to have to spend that much time among them. “My service obligation is only for another ninety-five years.”

Pieter smiled. “That might be enough. Again, good job here. I’ll be sure to pass that along to your superiors when I get back to the Protectorate.” He secured the jewel in a purse tied to his waist. “And I’ll see what I can do about tracking Tsing—without putting either him or yourself in danger from the king.”

“I appreciate that. I look forward to hearing from you. Shall I walk you to the door?”

“No need.” Pieter indicated the disarray of the workshop. “I’ll not keep you from your present task. I can find my way out.”

“You’ll be careful not to be seen in dragon form?”

Pieter chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay in human form until after dark. I think I’ll stroll about the city until then. Take in the sights. Perhaps I’ll visit those sewers you’re so fond of. Good day.” He gave a slight bow, turned on his heel, and left.

Trevor gave a long sigh, grabbed the mop and bucket, and resumed his cleaning.

---

The last few hours for Erin had been a hectic and stressful string of tearful goodbyes, with promises to stay in touch that the parties involved knew could never be kept. This was the fourth time in her young life she had been uprooted from a place she had come to think of as home, and it was a shock each time to realize how many friends she had made and how much she would miss them.

As parting gifts, she’d given away many of the knickknacks she’d accumulated during her stay in Azurith—things she had no room for in her saddlebags. A final gift for Frederick, the master blacksmith at the stables, lay packaged on the bed beside her. Unlike the others, it was something she’d brought with her from home—a handheld crossbow her father had made her for the journey to her original indenture. She’d not wanted the weapon, but her father had insisted on her taking it and had trained her intensely in its use for several months before she left.

Erin had never needed it. She’d traveled with one of the caravans moving south, which had ensured her safety on the roads, and she planned to do the same returning north. She neither wanted nor needed the weapon, and Frederick would appreciate the craftmanship with which it was made.

She was ready to leave Azurith. Master Tanner had been correct about the gossip and the unlikelihood of her transgression being kept secret. The tale of her aphrodisiac-induced debauchery with the handsome mercenary the previous night was on everyone’s lips, spreading through the community like wildfire. Wherever she went, she caught snatches of whispered stories, some of which even rivaled the actual event. She had become too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, scurrying about the Goose with her head down, trying to focus on the next task in preparation to leave.

The little mare that Ian had sold her, Sura, was saddled and ready in the livery across the way, and Erin was increasingly eager to put this all behind her and head for the mountains and a reunion with her family. She had been packing the last of her things when she’d gotten distracted by the view from the window of her little room she’d come to love. She was gazing at the afternoon skyline of Azurith, lost in thoughts of a wide open and unknown future, when she felt the familiar tug at the periphery of her consciousness. Another dream walker.

She stiffened as she recognized the distinct mental signature. It was her mentor, Miriam. Their regularly scheduled session wasn’t for another few weeks. What new complication was afoot?

With mild trepidation she accepted the request to share a dream. The colorful skyline of Azurith faded from her vision and was replaced by the amber-tinted monochrome characteristic of Miriam’s dreams. “Hello, Erin.”

Miriam was in her bedroom, which was unusual. Erin had seen the room only once before, when her mentor had agreed to deviate from their usual course of instruction to give her some tips for dressing herself and applying makeup when she’d first arrived at the Royal Goose. The dark-haired woman cut a striking figure, sitting in front of her dressing mirror, applying the finishing touches to her eyes. She was working by the light of a candle, which made Erin wonder if it was the same time of day where Miriam was. Her mentor had yet to share the location of her home, usually kept secret from all but master dream walkers.

“Hello, Mistress.” Erin curtsied.

Miriam turned from her mirror and gave Erin a wide smile that removed twenty years from a face Erin knew to be at least in its mid-forties. Miriam’s smile faded. “You’re packing. Is something wrong?”

Erin quickly swallowed the emotions that had been whirling moments before. “Not at all,” she lied. She presented her best smile. “I’ve finally earned enough to pay off my indenture. I’m …” She shrugged. “… free.”

Miriam gave her a skeptical look but didn’t challenge Erin’s shift in mood. “Congratulations. That may be particularly fortuitous timing, actually. Unless …” She frowned. “… you’ve made other plans.”

Other plans? Other than what?

As if she had heard Erin’s unvoiced question, Miriam explained. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

“Oh. Um …” Erin looked around, checking for clues that might have led Miriam to such a conclusion. “Master Tanner needs the room for the new indenture.” She smiled. Miriam was a master at sniffing out the truth, and Erin’s lies were beginning to mount up. She really didn’t want to go into the details of her current situation with her mentor right now.

“I see,” Miriam said, her expression remaining skeptical. “Well, like I was saying, this is fortuitous timing, because I have your master’s task.”

Erin’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “Really?” Wow, this was good timing. That old saying about one door closing and another opening—maybe there was something to it.

Miriam frowned. “It’s a bit unusual, and there’s a good bit of urgency to get started, so I’m glad you’re already packing.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders resolutely. “But I have confidence in you, Erin. I’m glad it’s you who will do this.”

Erin blinked. Miriam’s encouraging words had an ominous undertone. She swallowed. “What is it?”

Miriam cleared her throat. “There’s a prophecy being spread across the lands. Perhaps you’ve heard it? ‘An orphaned king with a sword that sings will follow a witch who walks in dreams …’”

Erin recited the rest along with her. “‘… and she will guide him to his queen. Empires will fall and rise again.’” It was the song the minstrel had sung the evening before. “Yes, I have heard it. I thought it was just a folk song. It’s prophecy?”

“We believe it may be. But, more importantly, Stralos, the king here in Lakronos, believes it is, and he fears his throne is in jeopardy.”

“Oh.” So, Miriam is on the Isle of Lakronos, in the northern part of the Great Sea. Had her mentor let that piece of information slip, or had she intentionally given her apprentice a clue?

“His fears may be justified. Stralos fathered a son some twenty-eight years ago. When his high priest predicted the boy would bring ruin to his kingdom, he disowned the child, took away his birthright, and tried to have him killed. But his mother secretly took the baby to a local monastery, where he was raised as an orphan by the monks of the One Way. There is a young wanderer in your area who goes by the name of Tsing—”

Erin gasped.

“You know of him?”

“We’ve … met.”

Miriam stiffened. “We think he may be the orphan king indicated in the prophecy. Is he still in Azurith?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“You must find him. My … I mean, he … is in great danger. He’ll be blamed for the death of the Alchemist and—”

Erin gasped again. “The Alchemist is dead?”

“Yes. Tsing was commissioned to procure an artifact of the Fae, a jewel called the Eye of Ellindrell. The Alchemist wanted to use the jewel for a spell, but something went wrong. Tsing was the last one to see him alive, and King Palatus will be led to believe Tsing killed him and stole the jewel. The king will be dispatching soldiers to find and apprehend him. You must find Tsing first and warn him.”

Erin swallowed in a dry throat. I’d hoped to forget that man. Now I have to seek him out? “That’s going to be awkward,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Um ….” She straightened. “I think I know which way he may have gone. Is … is this my master’s task, to warn Shing the king is after him?”

“Tsing. It’s pronounced, ‘Ts-ing’.”

“It is hard for my tongue to make that sound.”

Miriam frowned. “I suggest you make an effort. You’ll be spending a lot of time with him. He may not appreciate your butchering his name.”

“He liked the way I said his name,” she blurted. She felt a deep blush rise in her cheeks. “Um … how much time will I be spending with him? I mean … if all I have to do is warn him about King Palatus ….”

“Your master’s task encompasses much more than a simple warning. You must keep him safe until it is time for him to reclaim his birthright—until the time is right for him to fulfill the prophecy.”

“When will that be?”

Miriam shrugged. “Not now, that’s for sure. King Stralos has his elite guard scouring all of Lakronos in search of his lost son, with orders to kill him on sight. It is too dangerous for Tsing to return to Lakronos now, unless he’s at the head of a large army—a very large army.”

“Okay. So, I’ll just warn Shing about King Stralos, too. I get the impression he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself without my help.” Besides, he made it abundantly clear he wanted to be alone.

Miriam shook her head. “The prophecy, child. Your task is to help him fulfill the prophecy.”

Erin reviewed the words from the song in her head. Her eyes widened. “Wait, am I supposed to ‘guide him to his queen’? Am I supposed to be the ‘witch who walks in dreams’?”

“Well, maybe not you, specifically. I think the prophecy uses a metaphor for the entire network of dream walkers.” She gave another shrug. “Prophecy is a funny thing.”

“I’m to play match maker, as well? Where am I to find him a queen?”

Miriam cleared her throat. “I’m sure that will play itself out naturally, in time. There are any number of princesses in Lakronos that would help him solidify his claim to the throne. When the time is right.”

Erin rubbed her forehead. She felt a headache coming on.

Miriam continued. “You will be granted all the resources of a master dream walker while you’re performing your task, with the entire network available to you. Just reach out wherever you are and identify yourself as Erin, out of Azurith. The other masters and their apprentices will share a dream with you.

“This is an important task, Erin. We believe the fate of many depends on the fulfillment of this prophecy. I know this may seem overwhelming, but you have proven yourself to be an intelligent and resourceful gir—young woman. I have faith that you can do this.”

Erin let out a long breath. “I appreciate your faith in me, Mistress. But—”

“Like any great task,” Miriam interrupted, “it must be done in small steps. The first step is to find Tsing, warn him of King Palatus’ soldiers, and make sure he doesn’t journey to Arleanne and board a ship for Lakronos.”

Erin blinked.

“Any questions?”

Erin nodded.

“What are they?”

Erin shook her head. “I … I don’t know.”

“Well, when you think of them, call on me. Any time.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Tsing must not know he is indicated in the prophecy.”

“What?”

“It could affect the outcome if he knows. Things must play out naturally until the time is right to reveal it to him.”

“How will I know when it is time?”

“It will be revealed to you, I’m certain. Just know that it is not now.”

Erin took a deep breath and let it out.

“Well, you’d best hurry. Finish your packing and find Tsing as quickly as you can. Call on me when you need me. I mean it.”

Erin nodded. “Okay.”

“The gods be with you.” The dream faded.

Erin blinked as the afternoon skyline of Azurith reappeared in her vision. She nodded to herself. “The gods be with me,” she murmured.

Turning back to her packing, she chewed at her bottom lip. This was so far from what she expected in a master’s task. It was crazy. How was she supposed to keep safe a man like Shing—a man whose very livelihood revolved around the use of his sword? Such men lived lives shorter than average. She shook her head in exasperation.

Her eyes settled on the package intended for Frederick. With a sigh, she unboxed the little crossbow, slipping it and its accompanying bolts into the last remaining space in her bags.

CHAPTER 5

Companions

An hour before dusk, Tsing came upon a wooden bridge spanning a small stream. Pleased with the distance he’d put between himself and the horrific events of the morning, he turned from the road and followed a path along the stream until he happened upon a small glade that seemed suitable for a night’s campsite.

He unsaddled Brawn and tethered him in a stand of sweetgrass, then built a cookfire and filled his waterskin from the stream. As a simple meal of rice and lentils was coming to a boil, a soft whinny set him on high alert. It came not from Brawn.

Tsing leapt to his feet and pulled his broadsword into his right hand. Hurrying to the edge of the glade, he concealed himself in the trees to observe the animal’s approach.

Presently, a gray mare clopped into the clearing. Its rider wore a black cloak over simple homespun tunic and trousers, which were tucked into heavy riding boots. The hood of the cloak was pulled up and the rider’s face hidden. Whoever it was traveled light, a small pack strapped to the front of the saddle was all he bore.

The rider’s gaze fell to the campfire and the simmering rice and lentils then surveyed the glade. The rider’s hands rose to pull back the hood of the cloak and long red tresses spilled out. “Shing,” the rider called, “where are you?”

Tsing stepped from his concealment. “Erin?” he challenged. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, eyeing the sword in his hand. “Meaning you no harm, certainly,” she answered.

He scowled and sheathed his weapon. “I said you couldn’t come with me,” he stated.

“You were clear about that,” she confirmed. Was there a note of hurt in her voice?

He spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “And yet, here you are.”

“Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” She laughed.

It was a nervous laugh, not the genuine one that had so warmed his heart on occasion the night before. He scowled.

“Oh, come now, Shing,” she chided. “I haven’t followed you. It’s pure coincidence. We just happen to be going in the same direction.” She dismounted and approached, looking up at him with her green eyes. “There is but one road leading east from Azurith. I have taken it. So, it seems, have you.”

“So, it seems,” he murmured. His scowl deepened. He wanted to believe her. Or, perhaps, he just wanted to look into those alluring green eyes. Ian Tanner’s warning of her witchery echoed in his mind. He shook himself. “If not because of me,” he asked, “why have you left Azurith?”

Her brow wrinkled as she averted her eyes. “Actually, it is because of you … in a way.”

His shoulders sagged as his expression softened. “Erin—” he began.

She held up her palm against further objection, fixing him again with those brilliant green eyes. “I meant,” she explained, “that it is because of your generosity. The gold you gave me added more than enough to my savings to pay off my indenture.” She spread her arms. “You see before you a free woman. I am going home for a long overdue visit.”

“Oh. Congratulations,” he said, feeling chastised. “Um, where is home?”

“East,” she answered. “And, since it will soon be dark, and I am a girl traveling alone, and since you arrived ahead of me at the site where I’d hoped to camp, I’m going to call on your hospitality. Please allow me to stay here tonight. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her palm once more. “Not in the way you think,” she cautioned, pulling a parcel from her pack. “I am a free woman and no longer for sale. I had planned to celebrate my first night of freedom with this.” She unwrapped the parcel, revealing a plump hen, dressed and ready for the spit. She nodded in the direction of his campfire. “I imagine it will be a welcome addition to whatever that is you have going there.”

“Indeed, it will,” he grinned, “freewoman Erin.”

---

It turned out Erin had skills that extended beyond the bedroom. She had rubbed the hen with spices before roasting it and even added some of the spices to his rice and lentils to make them edible. It proved to be the finest meal Tsing had ever had on the road, and as he reclined against his saddlebags, watching her prepare her bedroll on the far side of the dying fire, he told her so.

Light from the coals flickered over her smile. “Thank you, Shing,” she said. “I told you I’d make this worth your while.”

“And you have,” he sighed, propping his head on his saddlebags and gazing into the night sky. As Tsing’s eyes adjusted from looking into the fire, stars began to appear through the trees above. “So,” he said, “you are headed east for home. I assume, then, you’ll be turning north at the crossroads in Elm Grove.”

“You assume wrong,” she answered, removing her boots.

“Really? I thought you were a witch from the north. Shouldn’t you be taking the North Road toward Arleanne?”

“I’m not a witch,” she stated, settling a blanket over herself and reclining.

He chuckled. “That’s not what the innkeeper told me.”

“Master Tanner would often use that story to deflect interest in me, since I’m not in the Guild of Courtesans.”

Tsing nodded to himself. “You look the part, though. They say the red-haired witches of the Northern Continent look into men’s souls with their green eyes and steal their hearts.”

“I have no interest in your heart, Shing,” she insisted. After a moment of silence, she added, “But I am from the Northern Continent. My family immigrated here when I was a child. We settled in the Darinian Mountains because they reminded my father of home. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Not the place I’d want to be going during Frost Moon,” he shivered. “Soon the passes to the Eastern Desert will be closed with snow.”

“I should be there before the passes close,” she assured him. “And I like snow,” she added.

“Then we’ll be parting ways at Elm Grove,” he murmured.

“Oh,” she questioned, “so we’ll be traveling together until then?”

“If you like,” he agreed. “Erin, I should apologize for my inhospitable greeting. When you showed up, out of the blue, I thought …”

“… that I sought to attach myself to you? That I had become so enamored with your cock that I’d run after you?”

“It wasn’t that,” he defended, thrown off by a note of bitterness he detected in her voice.

“Your money, then,” she suggested.

He pulled his gaze from the stars and looked at her. Erin had turned on her side to face him. She pulled back a lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes. Shadows from the coals of the cookfire danced across her pale skin. There was a smirk on her full, red lips.

“I thought you wanted to be rescued,” he admitted, “from the brothel. I’m not a rescuer, Erin.”

Her expression sobered. “What about a protector? Have you been that? I imagine you must be pretty good with that sword to have been commissioned by the Alchemist. How did your business with him go, by the way?”

“Well enough,” he stated. “I got paid. I’m a mercenary, Erin. I do work that pays well and can be done with a sword. I have done some work as a bodyguard, but I prefer to work alone. It is safer that way. I prefer to travel that way, also. It is faster.”

“My Sura is a good horse,” she assured him. “She can keep up.”

“Good,” he said. Silence descended between them. Presently, he stood. “I’m going to fill my waterskin at the stream,” he announced.

“Will you fill mine, too?” she requested. She pointed. “It’s by the fire, there.”

When he returned from his errand, she was asleep.

---

Erin feigned sleep when Shing set her filled waterskin gently next to her bedroll. She watched him through barely closed eyelids as he banked the coals of the campfire for the evening before turning in. So, she’d found him. Now what?

He was, indeed, headed for Arleanne, and he’d confirmed his preference for traveling alone. At best she had two days to convince him of some alternative plan. How? Seduce him? Well, it seemed he’d had his fill of her already and wasn’t particularly interested in more. Besides, she couldn’t allow herself to become too attached to him, which she felt would be inevitable with any further sexual intimacy. After all, her task was to find his queen. There could be no future for the two of them.

She needed advice. She hated to call on her mentor so soon after she’d been given her master’s task, but Miriam had encouraged her to do so, right? She was just about to sneak into the woods and request a dream walk when the whisper of another mind tugged at her consciousness, a mind different from any other dream walker she’d yet encountered.

A shadowy image of soldiers creeping through the forest, swords drawn, formed in her mind. A deep baritone voice whispered, “They are almost upon you.”

Throwing off her blanket, she ripped open her saddlebags and pulled out the small crossbow. She slipped the quiver sleeve onto her left forearm and scrambled over to where Shing lay, snoring softly.

“Shing!” she urged, her voice a raspy whisper. “Shing,” she shook him. “Wake up!”

His eyes popped open. His hand reached for the sword beside his bedroll. “What is it?”

“Men are approaching,” she whispered. “A half dozen or more.”

He scowled, listening. “You have good ears,” he complained. “I don’t hear anything.”

“They left their horses at the bridge, I believe,” she explained. “Grab your blade. We should conceal ourselves.”

His eyes darted to the crossbow in her hand and quiver of bolts on her sleeve. Without hesitation, he pulled his sword to him. “Those trees,” he suggested, pointing.

---

As silently as possible, they padded around the edge of the glade, avoiding the beams of moonlight that illuminated the area around the smoldering embers of the fire. Tsing settled his back against a tree in the shadows. His ears pricked at the snap of a twig and a stifled curse. His grip tightened on his sword. He turned to Erin and put his finger to his lips in an unnecessary warning for silence.

All was still. No cricket chirped. No nocturnal scavenger rustled in the underbrush. Tsing’s pulse pounded in his ears. Presently, a shadow emerged from the path into the glade, sword drawn, then another beside it from the trees on the far side of the path. Two more followed them. Another emerged from the trees not ten feet from where Erin hid.

One of the intruders crept up to Tsing’s bedroll and poked at the blankets with the tip of his blade. Finding it empty, he gestured to the others, silent commands directing their search. The closest turned and looked directly at Erin. His shout was stifled as a bolt from her crossbow buried itself in his eye socket, but his dying grunt and the sound of his body slumping to the ground was enough warning for the others.

The leader barked orders and Erin’s second bolt embedded harmlessly into one of their shields, as four of them had quickly formed a small phalanx. Gods, realized Tsing, these were no ordinary brigands; they were soldiers. How many?

One less than before, Tsing encouraged himself, looking at the body at the edge of the glade. And the ones behind the phalanx were focused on the direction from which the arrows had come and not on the offensive. He, himself, had not yet been detected. He slipped from his hiding place and circled around through the shadows.

He felt more than heard the attack come, as a dark figure stepped from the trees to his left. Instinctively, he dropped and rolled, swiping at the legs of his attacker. The man cried out in pain as Tsing’s blade connected and the man fell to his knees. Tsing was on him in an instant, driving his sword into the man’s unprotected throat, but his cohorts had heard the cry. Those in the phalanx had fixed his position.

The leader barked more orders. Two soldiers launched themselves from behind the phalanx while a third came at Tsing from the trees in the direction of where Brawn and Sura were tethered. He prayed to the gods nothing had been done to the horses.

There was no time to dwell on the consequences of such, however, as the three soldiers were on him. Luckily, they hadn’t coordinated their attack. He ducked under the first man’s swing and delivered an uppercut across his abdomen, dispatching him in time to block an overhead hack from the second and step away from a thrust by the third.

Glancing at their comrade writhing on the ground, the remaining two soldiers circled cautiously, looking for an opening. Tsing feinted at first one, then the other. Suddenly, one of them gurgled and clutched his throat as the tip of a crossbow bolt emerged from the back of his neck. Tsing quickly went after the other, feinting, whirling, and taking off his head.

The phalanx broke, one soldier rushing Erin while she attempted to reload her crossbow. She took off running. Hoping she could evade her pursuer, Tsing went after the last two.

These last proved to be a challenge. Unlike the others, they attempted to coordinate their efforts, and they employed their shields, as well. Tsing pressed the offensive, varying his attack and disrupting their coordination. His blade whistled through the air. The clang of steel against steel rang through the forest. In the end, both soldiers lay dead, staring open-eyed into the next realm.

He looked around for Erin. The soldier who had gone after her lay unmoving by the fire. She stood over the soldier Tsing had gutted, pointing her crossbow at his head as he continued to writhe and beg for mercy.

“Wait,” Tsing called to her, but she released the bolt, and the man went silent and still. He hustled over to her.

“He was beyond saving,” she whimpered, obviously shaken by what she had just done.

“I would have liked to question him,” Tsing complained.

She gave him a horrified look. Her eyes were moist.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “You did the right thing.” He restrained himself from taking her into his arms to comfort her.

She blinked and shivered. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You?”

She nodded. “You are good with a sword,” she complimented.

“You’re a good shot,” he complimented in return.

“These men were from Azurith,” she noted. “They were soldiers of the king. I thought you said your business with the Alchemist went well.”

“Well for me,” he stated. “Not so well for the Alchemist. Apparently, not so well for the king, either.” He ran his hand through his hair, scowling. “I bet that damned Trevor ratted me out, used me as a scapegoat to save his own hide.”

“If you crossed the king, he may have sent more than these few after you,” she suggested.

“I don’t want to stick around to find out,” he said. “It’s a good six hours until dawn. I’d like to get as close to Elm Grove as possible before the sun comes up.” He frowned at her. “Are you sure you still want to travel in my company?”

She surveyed the clearing. “There are soldiers of the king lying dead with my bolts protruding from their carcasses. Even if I wasted time removing them, I’d never find the ones that missed their marks in the dark.” She strode toward her bedroll. “I like your plan, and we’re headed in the same direction.” She looked up at him as she began packing her things. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

It turned out that Sura was, indeed, a good mare. Tsing let Erin set the pace, and both riders made good progress along the East Road until he called for a stop at a small stream crossing to give the horses a break and a chance to drink. He looked up into a clear sky. The sun had risen well above the trees that bordered the wide, open highway.

Erin gave voice to his concern. “We could take the forest road. It is slow going in places, but I know it well. There would be less chance of discovery than out in the open like this.”

Tsing considered her proposal. “Do you know it well enough to travel at night?” he asked.

She nodded. “If we rest during the afternoon, we could reach Elm Grove by dawn tomorrow.”

“That would work,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”

To avoid leaving a trail the king’s soldiers might follow, they waded through the stream until it rounded a bend out of sight of the road. There they left the stream, dismounted, and led the horses through the trees until they encountered a foot path where they could ride single file. As they re-mounted the horses, Erin examined their surroundings. “We should hit the forest road in less than a pentag,” she announced.

Her prediction proved correct. The road was little more than a worn wagon track, rough in places but easy to follow. Progress was slower than on the East Road, but they kept a steady pace throughout the morning. With the sun directly overhead, Erin suggested they make camp for the remainder of the day.

“The road can be a bit tricky by moonlight,” she reasoned. “I’d like for both Sura and myself to be rested and alert. Just through that stand of trees, there,” she pointed, “is a good spot with a nearby spring for water.”

They dismounted and led the horses through the trees into a small glade where an oft-used fire ring had been constructed from rocks. They tethered the horses where they could graze. Tsing gathered firewood and Erin took their waterskins to the spring. She was gone longer than expected. By the time she returned, Tsing had a small fire going and was drawing two portions from his stash of dried rice and lentils into his cooking pot. “Good timing,” he said, holding his hand out for his waterskin.

She withheld it from him. “Not rice and lentils again,” she scowled.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked. “With those spices you added last night, they were quite good.”

She shook her head, her lips pursed in distaste. “We can do better,” she said, dropping a cloth bundle beside him. It fell open to reveal a pile of mushrooms, some wild onions, and a bunch of fat roots he couldn’t identify, which she apparently had gathered and rinsed at the spring. “Save your rice and lentils for another time, when you’re desperate.”

With a shrug, he poured them back into the sack from which he’d taken them. She pulled some utensils from her pack and handed him a small cooking pot. “Just fill this halfway with water and bring it to a boil,” she instructed.

While he did so he watched her cut the mushrooms and roots into bite-sized pieces and grind the onion with a small mortar and pestle, along with some spices she pulled from an array of small pouches. When the water came to a boil, she dropped the mushrooms and roots into it, and drew a small cup of the water, which she began to mix with the onion and spices.

He scooted closer for a better view. She looked up from her task and fixed him with her striking green eyes. “What?” she asked.

Still not fully convinced she was not a witch, he blinked to pull his eyes from her gaze. He peered into the bowl, where a thick paste was forming, and cleared his throat. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go to,” he observed. “We could be eating the rice and lentils by now.”

She set the utensils on the ground before her and shooed him away with her hands. “Go sit over there,” she ordered.

Frowning, he rose to his feet and moved away, plopping himself next to his saddle and bedroll. “I meant no offense,” he muttered.

She grunted in response and bent back to her work.

He continued to watch in silence. When she seemed satisfied with the paste she was working on, she scraped it into the boiling pot and began slowly stirring the resulting concoction. Presently, a delightful aroma wafted his way. His stomach growled, and Erin turned to look at him.

“Smells good,” he admitted.

She nodded and resumed her slow stirring. Some silent minutes passed. His stomach growled again. “Smells like it’s ready,” he offered.

“It needs to thicken a bit,” she said.

“How long will that take, do you think?” he asked.

She twisted to regard him. “Have you so little patience?” she scolded.

He caught himself staring into her eyes. Clearing his throat, he shifted his position and looked away. “I can wait,” he stated.

She returned to her stirring, the hint of a smile on her lips. Presently, she peered into the pot and announced, “It’s ready.” She pointed to the utensils sitting just out of her reach and snapped her fingers. “Bowls,” she instructed.

Tsing jumped to his feet. He scowled to himself. Had she so bespelled him that she could now order him around like a servant? He set a more deliberate pace as he walked over to the bowls, picked them up, and set them down next to her.

Erin ladled some soup into a bowl and handed it to him. He carried it back to his bedroll where he found a comfortable position and began to eat. It was delicious. He looked up, intending to compliment her on her cooking, and found her peering at him over her own steaming bowl, which she had brought close to her lips.

“This is delicious,” he said, dropping his eyes to his bowl. “You’re a good cook.” Discovering the bowl empty, he set it aside and leaned back against his saddle.

Pulling the sleeve of her blouse over her hand to insulate it against the hot handle, she removed the cooking pot from the fire, carrying both it and her own bowl over to where he sat. Gracefully, she settled to the ground, cross-legged, in front of him. She ladled a second helping into his empty bowl and handed it to him. “Thank you,” she smiled.

Her smile warmed his insides as much as the broth. Tsing felt himself being drawn to her eyes again and blinked to avoid being caught in their gaze. He picked up his bowl and began to eat. After a few moments of silence, they both spoke at once.

“What are your …” she began.

“How do you …” he started.

She giggled. He grinned, in spite of himself.

“Go ahead,” she offered. “You were saying?”

“I was going to ask how you know this area so well,” he said.

Her expression turned solemn. She nodded, as if making an internal decision, before answering, “I worked as a servant for one of the local barons for almost three years. It was my original indenture, which was sold to the innkeeper in Azurith when King Palatus seized his lands. That was …” She screwed her eyes up in calculation. “… almost two years ago.”

He frowned. “So, you didn’t become a whore by choice.”

Her posture stiffened. “Bluntly stated,” she said, giving him a condescending look, “but, no, I had a choice.”

He blinked and averted his gaze. “I … I … didn’t mean …” he fumbled.

“… to call me a whore?” she finished for him. “I suppose what I did at the inn fits the definition. But I never joined the Guild of Courtesans, nor did I intend to. I suppose you could say I … dabbled. It wasn’t such a bad life, really, at the Goose. The girls were helpful, and most men are easy to handle, such as yourself.”

His brow furrowed. “Easy?” He looked at her. “How do you mean?” Her answer was a silent stare. He shifted uncomfortably. “So, your time with the local baron. Is that where you learned to cook so well?”

Her lips formed into an attractive smirk. “My mother taught me to cook,” she corrected him, “when I was growing up.”

“So, you have both a father and a mother,” he summarized.

She chuckled and her smile returned. “And a younger sister,” she added. “I’ll be home in time for her eighteenth birthday.” She shook her head and chuckled. “I imagine Shia will be a handful, coming of age during the Witches Moon Festival. She’s quite pretty. There were many young men looking at her even when I left.”

“She resembles you, then?” he asked.

“You’re saying I’m pretty?” she teased.

He looked down at his bowl.

“What of you, Shing?” she asked, judiciously changing the subject. “Where is your family?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. I was found on the steps of a monastery on the Isle of Lakronos when I was a baby. I was reared by the monks of the One Way.” He paused. “I suppose they are my family, but not my blood.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I reached the age of commitment,” he explained. “I felt there must be other ways than just the One. I wanted to go out into the world and experience them.” He shrugged again.

She nodded. “I suppose you have, then, haven’t you? To have traveled here from so far away, you must have seen a lot of the world by now. Is that why you journey to the port in Arleanne, to return home?”

He patted the heavy saddlebag beside him. “Yes, if I can hold on to both this gold and my own skin until I get there.”

“That could be the tricky part,” she agreed. Seeing his bowl was empty, she gathered it up along with her own. “Let’s get some sleep, then,” she suggested, “so you can at least make it to Elm Grove.”

With his belly full, Tsing felt his eyelids growing heavy as he watched her clean her cooking utensils and bank the fire. The next thing he knew, he awoke with an uneasy feeling. The fire was out, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Something had awakened him long before he’d planned. He scanned the campsite for its source.

Erin was sitting upright on top of her bedroll, in some sort of a trance, murmuring something unintelligible. No, it wasn’t entirely so. He thought he picked out a name here and there. One of them, he was certain, was his own, pronounced with Erin’s charming accent.

Suddenly, Erin came out of the trance and looked his way. Tsing feigned sleep. She stared at him for a moment, and he was afraid she’d caught him looking at her through his almost-closed eyelids. Eventually, she reclined once more, her back to him. A few minutes later, she began to snore softly. He lay awake for a long time, pondering, before finally drifting back into sleep. Next thing he knew, a soft voice was calling his name.

“Shing,” Erin was saying, gently prodding his arm, “wake up. The moon will soon be rising. We should get going.”

He sat up with a start. Erin had untethered the horses and brought them into the clearing. Sura was already saddled and waiting. Brawn gave him a disapproving look and an impatient nicker.

“Right,” Tsing mumbled, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. He rose stiffly and began to gather his things. In a few minutes, they were on their way.

It was slow going at first, but once the waxing moon had risen over the trees, they began to make better time. They traveled in silence, until he could no longer contain himself. “Why did you say you weren’t a witch?” he blurted.

“Huh?” Erin responded, startled. “Because I’m not,” she stated.

“You were invoking spirits,” he accused her. “This afternoon. I woke up and saw you.”

“Oh,” she recanted, “I see.” After a short silence, she admitted, “I was dream walking.”

“Dream walkers are witches,” he reasoned.

“There’s a subtle difference,” she argued.

“What is it?” he demanded.

She turned in her saddle to face him. The moonlight reflected from her green irises. “Shing …” she began.

“Don’t look at me,” he ordered, averting his gaze.

“Oh, come now, Shing,” she complained. “How are we to have conversation if I can’t look at you?”

“I can hear you quite well without you looking into my eyes,” he insisted.

“Gods,” she scoffed. “You don’t seriously believe I can steal your heart with my eyes!”

“Or my soul,” he added, pointing ahead of them.

“Both your heart and soul are safe from me, mercenary,” she declared.

“Just keep your eyes on the trail ahead,” he insisted, “while you explain how dream walking isn’t witchery.”

With a sigh, she directed her gaze forward. “Can you listen with an open mind?” she challenged.

“Of course.”

“Dream walking is an ability possessed by some in my lineage, passed from female to female,” she explained.

“So is being a witch,” he noted, “if I understand correctly.”

“I have no blood of the Fae,” she argued. “There is no craft, no spells, no conjuring. It’s just that we can talk with each other over great distances … and see things, sometimes. Things far away. Things in the past. Things that might be in the future.”

“You can tell fortunes?” he wondered.

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“The king’s soldiers,” he speculated. “You saw them coming?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

He pondered on her words while they rode in silence. “Who is Miriam?” he asked.

She hesitated again, chewing on her lip.

“I heard you say that name several times,” he prodded.

“Another dream walker,” she revealed. “A mentor, of sorts. We sometimes walk dreams together.”

“You are like, her apprentice?”

“I am not a witch, Shing,” she sighed. “But I suppose it is a good analogy, after all. She is more skilled than I. She has taught me many ways to deal with the gift. I often seek her counsel when I have to make a big decision.”

“What were you seeking counsel about this afternoon?” he inquired.

“What to do about you,” she stated.

He gave her a cautious glance. She continued to stare straight ahead, offering no elaboration. “And what counsel did she offer about me?”

“She advised me not to let you journey to Lakronos, that it was too soon for your return, too dangerous.”

“And what has that to do with you?” he challenged.

She turned to regard him, catching him unawares, and their gazes locked. She swallowed, forcing an apologetic smile. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

CHAPTER 6

Winter Is Coming

20th Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin thought long and hard as they picked their way along the forest road in the moonlight. It bothered her that Shing didn’t trust her, but she couldn’t blame the man—he must know she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. So, when she matter-of-factly offered him her desperate proposal, she was both relieved and shocked when he grunted his assent. Emotionally exhausted—and more than a little confused—she rode through the predawn hours in silence.

Dawn was breaking when the wagon track began to widen into a more well-traveled thoroughfare. They passed a few carts hauling produce to market, their drivers giving curious glances but friendly hellos to the strangers approaching Elm Grove by such an unusual route. By the time they reached the end of the road, where it opened onto the north edge of town, the little crossroads community was bustling with early morning industry. They found themselves in front of an open-air market. Here they halted.

Erin waited silently, taking in their surroundings while Shing did the same. This was the market she’d visited each year toward the end of Frost Moon as a young girl, when her father would pack his cheeses and plums from the summer harvest and travel with a group of their neighbors for the last chance to barter and trade before the pass into the mountains would be closed with the winter snows.

It had been awhile, though, and the only vendors she recognized were the weavers at a nearby stall that displayed their latest blankets and floor coverings with the intricate designs her mother so loved. She was contemplating picking up a blanket to take home when Shing caught her eye and gave her an imperceptible nod that signaled it was time to play out the conversation they’d rehearsed during the morning’s ride.

He cleared his throat. “Time to part ways,” he said in a conversational tone that could be heard by nearby curious ears. “Best we are not seen together by more than we have already.”

Erin nodded. “Safer that way,” she agreed, “for me, anyway. Where will you go now, Shing?”

“There’s a tavern at the intersection of the East and North roads,” he explained.

“I know the one,” she said.

He nodded, scanning the activity around them with a wary eye. Erin did the same, as surreptitiously as possible. They didn’t seem to be drawing attention from anyone, which may or may not have been a good thing. A small group of artisans were setting up their wares for display nearby, but they were engrossed in their tasks. “I’ll breakfast there, I think,” he said, “then head north toward Arleanne.”

“You’ll not get a room and rest for a night?”

He shook his head. “Best not to linger here. I like my chances better on the open road. What about you?”

“There’s a dry goods store on the East Road,” she pointed. “I need to get some supplies. Then I suppose I will continue east.” She examined the sky. “One can’t count on the weather this time of year. The sooner I reach the pass into the mountains, the better.”

“It’s goodbye, then,” he concluded.

“Goodbye, Shing,” she agreed. “And good luck.”

He gave her a silent nod and turned Brawn’s nose toward the North Road.

She watched as horse and rider trotted away, eventually disappearing over the hill where the street descended toward the center of the village.

She sighed. It was all dependent on him now. Her master’s task may have just ended in failure. She’d just have to wait and see. She turned Sura in the opposite direction, ascending onto the East Road.

As she turned, she didn’t fail to notice two nearby artisans look up from their work. They glanced at each other. One of them nodded, and the other dropped what he was doing and hurried across the street into a ramshackle building.

---

The dry goods store wasn’t far. As Erin had anticipated, it was open even at the early hour, a single patron already hauling sacks of meal from inside and stacking them into a cart parked in front of the establishment.

Erin tethered Sura to a hitching post and pulled a large sack off the horn of her saddle which she slung across her shoulder. Ascending several wooden steps, she pushed through the front door, setting off the tinkle of a small bell to announce the entrance of customers. She pulled the hood of her cloak back, spilling her long, red tresses from their confinement, and surveyed the establishment. She smiled. Nothing had changed.

A burly man with a receding hairline stood behind a nearby counter. He looked up at the sound of the doorbell, and a huge grin broke across his face. “Erin! By the stars! Is it really you?”

“Greetings, Daniel,” she smiled.

Daniel hustled from behind the counter and approached, his arms wide. “You’re back!” he exclaimed. “Give your old Dan a hug, lass.”

She allowed herself to be swept off her feet and spun several times before insisting the man put her down. Laughing, she straightened her ruffled clothing. “It’s good to see you again, Daniel.”

He clapped his hands together, looking her up and down. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Erin. And prettier than ever, though I wouldna’ thought it possible. Tell me you’re staying in Elm Grove, and not just passin’ through!”

“I wish I could, Daniel,” she apologized. “I’ve missed you. How’s Em?”

“As ornery as ever,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And she’ll flay me alive if she finds you was here, and I don’t bring you round for dinner. Take time for a visit, will ye?”

Erin grimaced. “I don’t know, Daniel. I’m going home, and I need to make the mountain pass before the snows.”

Daniel frowned. “Best not dally, then. Storm’s coming, is what old Miller says.” He sighed. “Guess you didn’t stop by to see old Dan, did ye? You’ll be needing provisions.”

“I stopped by for both,” she laughed.

“Good,” he said, clapping his hands together again. “Well, tell me what ye need, then.”

Erin pulled a list from the pocket of her trousers, and the two chatted amiably while they checked off the items. Soon, a respectable pile of goods had been assembled on the counter, and Daniel was tallying up the tab.

He frowned. “I shouldna’ charge ye for the rice and lentils,” he said. “Got so much, right now, I oughta pay you to take it off my hands.” He peered out the storefront window. “That your horse, Erin? You’ll be loadin’ the poor beast down with all this. Quite a lot to pack for a lass travelin’ alone.”

“I’ve been away from home a long time,” she explained. “I don’t want to return empty-handed. Besides,” she smiled, reaching into her sack and extracting several items, “I can make room by getting rid of these.” She set the items on the counter. “For you and Em,” she said.

Daniel’s mouth dropped open as his hand hovered over one of the items, a roll of leather, bound and clasped. “Is this what I think it is?” he gasped.

“I don’t know,” she smirked. “What do you think it is?”

He undid the clasp and unrolled the bundle to reveal an array of wood carving knives, arranged by blade shape and size, each inserted into a small pocket of its own. He looked up at her, his eyes glazed with tears. “Oh, Erin. You shouldna’ done this.”

Her face fell. “Oh? I’ll keep it then. I suppose I could take up wood carving, myself, in my spare time.” She reached for the bundle.

He jerked it away. “You’ll do none of the sort,” he said, tapping the other item on the counter. It was a small, leather-bound volume of pages. “This is for Em?”

She nodded. “Open it,” she encouraged.

Carefully, he turned back the cover, staring in wonder as he turned the first few pages.

“It’s a story by Dorn, an original manuscript,” she elaborated. “I met him, Daniel. In Azurith.”

“These renderings are beautiful,” he sighed. “Is it a good story? Ye know I canna’ read.”

She smiled. “It is a sweet tale,” she confirmed. “It made me cry.”

He nodded. “Then I know Em will like it.” His forehead wrinkled in concern. “Must a’ cost a pretty penny, though.”

“Not so much,” she admitted, feeling herself blush. “I negotiated a … discount.”

He looked up at her from under his bushy brows. She thought she saw sadness in his eyes, and she braced herself for a lecture that never came. Instead, he changed the subject. “Did ye come up from Azurith by the East Road? There were soldiers come through town yesterday, lookin’ for a brigand they said was terrorizin’ travelers along the way.”

“I heard,” she nodded. “I took the forest road, as a precaution.”

“Good girl, but I fear for your safety takin’ the East Road into the mountains. Stay with Em and me for the winter,” he begged. “It’ll be safer travelin’ for ye, all around, come spring.”

She chuckled. “You think a brigand would take the East Road into the mountains this time of year?”

“That’s my point, lass. No sane person would be goin’ that way, including yourself. Stay with us. We’d love to have ye.”

“It’s a tempting offer, Daniel, but I want to be home for my sister’s eighteenth birthday.” She grinned. “I’ll take that discount on the rice and lentils, though.”

Daniel helped carry her bundles outside and assisted in packing them securely on her horse. When they’d completed the task, he stepped back and frowned. “Can she carry all that and you, too?”

Erin laughed. “Sura is stronger than she looks. And I’ll not ride the steeper sections.”

The mare gave her a suspicious look as she prepared to mount. Erin patted her neck and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. It’s not far, and we’ll take it slowly.” Sura snorted.

After a final hug from Daniel, Erin swung herself carefully into the saddle and set off at a slow walk on the East Road, climbing slowly toward the mountain peaks jutting in the distance.

---

It wasn’t lost on Tsing that conversation stopped when he pushed through the doors of the tavern. No one met his gaze as he scanned the room, save for a serving woman who nodded toward an empty table while she finished distributing a tray of plates and bowls among some patrons seated not far away.

He nodded to her in acceptance. As he removed his sword, scabbard, and cloak, draping the items over the back of his chair and taking a seat, the attention of the other patrons returned to their companions and conversation gradually resumed.

The woman finished with her table and carried her empty tray to where he sat. “What’ll you be having this morning?” she asked.

“Something to carry me through a full day on the North Road,” he sighed, pitching his voice so the others could hear. He tried to be casual as he scanned the room for reactions to his words.

“Eggs, bacon, and potatoes, then?” the woman inquired, her eyebrows raised.

“Sounds good,” he nodded.

“Coffee sweetened?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I’ll bring it right over,” she said, and left.

The food was plentiful, and the meal was uneventful. No one seemed to pay him much attention after their initial reactions upon his arrival. No cadre of soldiers appeared suddenly to attack him or haul him away to Azurith in chains. And, as his belly began to fill, the fatigue from the night’s travel gave him second thoughts about not resting, at least for the day.

Still, he decided, the worth of a plan could not be assessed until carried out, so when his meal was done, and the tab was paid, he gathered his things, mounted Brawn, and set out for a day’s journey on the North Road.

He kept a steady pace through the morning, and the sun was high in the sky when he crested a hill which afforded him a view of the valley through which the headwaters of the River Wiste flowed on its way to Azurith. Here, he dismounted and tethered Brawn in a stand of withered wildflowers. He ascended a small path to an outcropping of rock and knelt behind a large boulder there. He pulled a small telescoping lens from his pouch and peered through it over the top of the boulder, scanning the valley below and the hills on the far side of the river.

Sure enough, he spied a small encampment of the king’s soldiers on the high ground above the road, hidden behind a copse of trees. It was the perfect place for an ambush. Once Tsing crossed the bridge over the river, he would be in their full view as he ascended the switchbacks up the hill, and they could pounce upon him from the high ground or simply fill his body with arrows from relatively close range.

Well … damn!

He sat with his back against the boulder and pondered for a few minutes, running through a final list of alternatives before settling on a course of action. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way back down the path to where Brawn stood, patiently munching the wildflower stalks.

They descended the hill towards the river but left the road before the bridge and waded through the shallows on the south side of the river, heading upstream. Once they rounded a bend and were out of sight of the road, they left the river and continued along a small path that ran through the trees growing along the water’s edge.

They reached a fork where a smaller stream fed the Wiste from the east. The path continued along its eastern bank, and they kept to it.

The trail soon steepened, and Tsing dismounted to walk Brawn carefully up the more treacherous twists and turns as the stream became a series of small waterfalls. Finally, the path leveled into a grove of trees beside the East Road. There, Tsing was met with a sight that made his heart stop.

Erin sat astride Sura, looking eastward into the hills. The hood of her cloak was pulled back and her long red hair wafted back from her profile in the breeze. She was strikingly beautiful, and as she turned her green eyes upon him, he knew that, despite his efforts not to, he had fallen under her spell. She may have saved his life, but he had traded his heart in the bargain. It was something he had promised himself never to do again. But, at this point, he could think of no way the deal could be undone. He approached her in resolute silence.

“Any problems?” she inquired.

“None,” he confirmed. “You were right. They were lying in ambush on the north side of the river.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

She smiled, and his heart skipped another beat. “You’re welcome, Shing,” she said, as she dismounted. “Now, if you don’t mind, do you think Brawn could carry some of these supplies? Poor Sura is getting tired, and I’m afraid we have a way yet to go.” She turned her gaze to the eastern sky. “Winter is coming.”

---

Her companion was tightening the cinch on the last bundle when he voiced his first complaint. “You bought a lot of supplies,” he said. “I thought you said we had but three days journey. There’s enough here for three months.” His horse turned his head to fix him with a single eye and snorted.

Erin laughed. “You’re both whining about carrying a little extra weight?”

“Brawn is a war horse, not a pack animal.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Are you, boy? We like to travel light.” Brawn nickered as if in commiseration.

“And I like not to bring a large man home who is likely to consume the family’s stores before the winter is half over. Most of these things are for you.”

He looked taken aback. “You said I would be welcome, not a burden.”

“And you will be,” she insisted. “Welcome, that is. But I doubt they’ve prepared for a winter with two extra mouths to feed. And, honestly, some of it is for me, too. I’ve gotten spoiled with the variety of food available throughout the year in Azurith. Plus, the rice and lentils you love so much were dirt cheap.”

“I never said I loved them,” he murmured. Shing frowned. “I hadn’t given much thought to food. What do you usually eat in—does this place we’re going have a name?”

She swung herself into her saddle and fixed him with a smile. “The Valley of Kilaren,” she announced.

“Ah,” he said, lifting himself into his own saddle. “Plums, then.”

“And apples,” she added, as she clucked Sura into a slow walk. After a few strides, she twisted in the saddle to look back and make sure he was following and hadn’t suddenly changed his mind. He hadn’t. Brawn had automatically fallen into step behind Sura. The man was staring into space, probably having second thoughts about that to which he had committed himself.

She chewed at her bottom lip. She wasn’t quite sure why he’d accepted her offer to winter with her family in the mountains. Not that it wasn’t a good plan, but the man was obviously a loner and certainly capable of avoiding the king’s men on his own. She knew something of his reputation from other dream walkers, and she had seen him handle himself in a fight. She’d half expected that he was just humoring her and had no intention of showing up for their planned rendezvous on the East Road. But he had proven to be a man of his word.

And that’s a good thing, she nodded to herself.

Suddenly, he looked up from his internal musings and caught her eyeing him. Their gazes locked. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t look away. Except for during their frolics in his bed that one night in Azurith, she’d not had the opportunity to look into his eyes. He’d avoided her gaze, claiming to suspect her of witchery. She now noticed how the light blue irises were flecked with gold.

“What?” he asked.

“We … we also have cheese,” she stammered.

“Cheese,” he echoed.

“From umbra milk,” she explained. She could feel herself blushing. “It’s a large, shaggy goat. Herds form in the valley during fall and winter and we … um … herd them.” Gods, she was babbling. She turned back to the front, away from his gaze.

How was it she was suddenly the one afraid to make eye contact? It was disconcerting, a feeling she wasn’t used to. Well, I’ll have the entire winter to figure it—oh, shit!

The enormity of what she had done swept over her in a wave. She shook her head at her own impulsivity. This wasn’t like her. A second wave of realization stopped her in her tracks.

Sensing something in her rider’s discomposure, Sura came to a halt.

Shing reined Brawn in at her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I … I just thought of something,” she stammered, staring ahead. “I … I’m bringing a man home. People will think that …” She gasped. “Mother and Father will think that …” She looked at him. “They’ll assume we’re …” Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

“… together?” he finished for her.

“Betrothed!” she blurted.

His eyes widened. “Betrothed? Wouldn’t they just assume I was one of your … um … clients?”

Erin’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Th … they don’t know that I’ve been … um … you know … what my job was, exactly, only that I was indentured at an inn in Azurith.” She looked him in the eye. “You can’t tell them, either!”

“I won’t,” he promised. “But, if they ask, what should I say?”

“Right,” she nodded. “We need a story.” She chewed again on her lip. “A good one,” she qualified, “that Mother won’t see through right away.” Her shoulders sagged at the unlikely prospect. Shaking her head, she clucked Sura back into a walk.

Brawn trotted quickly after the mare and Shing drew up beside her again. “Why not just tell them we met on the road and are traveling together for mutual protection? It’s the truth, after all.”

And you just happen to be tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome, she thought to herself. “I think we need more,” she replied. “A chance meeting would justify our traveling together on the East Road from Azurith to Elm Grove, but not your continuing with me into the mountains this time of year.”

“Unless I was planning to continue east and cross the desert,” he speculated.

“Alone?” she considered.

He shrugged. “I usually travel alone.”

“Then why would you winter with us?” she countered.

He shrugged. “Because you invited me?”

“And why would I do that unless I …?” she speculated, stopping herself from finishing the thought aloud. Her shoulders sagged once more. Everyone would assume she’d fallen for the man. Perhaps she should confess to them about the dream walking. Mother would understand. But Father?

She drew Sura to a stop once more and turned to face him. Brawn plowed ahead a few paces, then stopped and backed up beside her. “That’s another thing,” she announced. “You can’t tell anyone that I’m a dream walker.”

He blinked. “Your own family doesn’t know?”

“I didn’t know myself until I left home,” she explained. “Look, here’s our story. As you suggested, we started traveling together for mutual protection. But you are worried for your own safety crossing the desert by yourself and would prefer to wait for one of the caravans to come through the valley come spring. So, I invited you to stay with us … out of concern for your safety.” They might buy that, she encouraged herself, clucking Sura forward.

The two horses continued walking abreast up the trail. Erin watched Shing from the corner of her eye as the man stared ahead, lost in thought. Finally, he nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “I am afraid to cross the desert by myself.”

Yeah, she thought, that might be a bit hard to swallow, as well. He didn’t look like the kind of man who was afraid of anything. But, if folks wondered at his claim to such a fear, at least it would take the focus off her. She sighed. Their story was the lesser of many evils. They’d have to go with it. “It’s settled then,” she murmured.

They continued to plod along in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. The trail grew steeper and their pace slower as the day wore on. They began to take frequent breaks to rest the horses and eventually dismounted and walked alongside them to relieve their burdens. Scudding clouds began to obscure what had heretofore been stunning views of the surrounding peaks, and Erin began to feel flecks of sleet sting her cheeks.

Tsing must have felt it, too. “Will we reach the pass before nightfall?” he asked. “It feels like a storm may be brewing.”

She stopped and looked at the sky, which suddenly felt very close. She shivered. “You’re right about the storm. We need shelter for the night. I know a place.” She squinted. “Yes. It’s close.”

She led them off the road a few minutes later. They picked their way along a boulder-strewn path at the top of a ridge descending to the south until they reached the entrance of a cave hidden from view of the main road.

“You won’t find this cave marked on any map,” she explained, “but local travelers between Kilaren and Elm Grove often stay the night here. My father and I once spent several days here, waiting out an early winter storm.” She glanced at the sky. “I hope that doesn’t happen to us.”

He grinned. “If it does, we have plenty of supplies.”

She looked at him sideways, unable to stifle a giggle. “That we do.”

They dismounted and led the horses and their burdens through the cave entrance, which was wide enough to accept them abreast. About ten yards inside, the tunnel turned to the right, and Erin brought them to a halt. “Let’s give Sura and Brawn a break. We can unload the supplies here. They’ll be well out of the coming storm.” Brawn gave Shing a pointed look and nodded his head, eliciting another giggle from Erin.

It took a few minutes to unpack the horses, after which Erin fumbled along the cave wall in the dimming light and found one of several torches mounted there. “Shing, can you light this? It will be very dark from here on in.”

“Convenient,” he murmured, taking the torch from her. She watched as he braced the torch between his knees and pulled a small flint and steel from a pouch at his belt. The torch had been soaked in oil and caught fire easily. He handed it back to her.

Erin used the flame to light a second torch, which she handed to Shing. “Let’s see in what shape the last occupants have left our accommodations,” she proposed.

He nodded. “Lead on.”

The tunnel continued to curve to the right for a short distance, then opened into a small cavern. Erin used her torch to light a short row of candles set in a sconce mounted near the cavern’s entrance, which illuminated the chamber to reveal quite a homey little scene.

“Someone lives here,” Shing remarked.

Erin shook her head. “No, but many clever artisans have used this cave in their travels, adding their marks over time.” She pointed. “My father and some friends built the table.”

They stood in silence and took in the scene. The table Erin indicated was surrounded by six well-constructed chairs. Half a dozen pallets had been constructed at intervals along the wall for bedding.

“There’s even a fireplace,” he said. “Impressive.”

Erin nodded. A fireplace was set into the wall a short distance behind the table with a large iron kettle hanging over a matching fire grate holding a few partially burned logs. A nice stack of firewood was piled nearby. “Kudos to whoever hauled the brick and mortar up here, but they took advantage of a natural chimney there in the cave wall. It gets nice and warm in here with a fire going.”

She shivered, and Brawn nickered behind her, which seemed to spur Shing into action. “Let’s get one started, then,” he offered.

“You work on that,” she suggested. “I’ll fetch some water. There’s a small spring down that far tunnel.” She pointed.

---

A short time later, Tsing sat across the table from Erin, a steaming bowl of stew before him. The cavern had indeed heated up to a comfortable temperature, and they had both removed their coats, which were slung over the backs of their chairs.

He blew on his stew to cool it and glanced at the horses. Brawn and Sura were munching companionably from feedbags on the far side of the cavern. “He’s taken a liking to her,” he remarked. “Brawn doesn’t always get along with other horses, but he’s very comfortable around Sura.” He looked at Erin, leaving the trailing thought, as I am with you, unvoiced.

Erin smiled. “He’s a smart horse.” A speculative look crossed her face. “He really is. I often get the feeling he follows our conversation—that he often knows what you’re thinking.”

“We’ve been together awhile,” he admitted. “Nearly as long as I’ve been in Panprama.”

“How long has that been?”

He screwed his eyes up in thought. “Seven … maybe, eight years. That horse is a big reason why I’m here.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How so?”

“I was a … um … sailor. For years. All over the Great Sea. We’d put into Arleanne for supplies and a break for the crew. I was wandering through the marketplace and happened upon a horse auction. There was this amazing black stallion on the block and a bidding war in progress.”

“So, you outbid the others?”

He shook his head. “I had no money. I was just watching. The auctioneer was very skilled, and he was able to drive the bid far above what such an animal was worth.”

Across the chamber, Brawn nickered.

“Sorry,” Tsing chuckled. “Far above what a normal animal was worth.” Brawn gave a snort in response.

Erin giggled. “He understands you.”

Tsing nodded. “He understands everything. I’m totally convinced of it.”

Erin leaned forward, her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her palms. “So, what happened?”

“Huh?” He’d become lost for a moment in her bright green eyes.

She smiled. “How did you and Brawn end up together if you didn’t buy him?”

He swallowed. “Right. Well, finally a wealthy nobleman bid an amount no one else was willing to top. He directed one of his handlers to lead Brawn away, but I could see something wasn’t right. Brawn was uneasy with the man—he didn’t want to go with him. The man began whipping Brawn, and I called him out for it.”

Erin nodded. “I’ve never believed in the whip myself.”

“Honestly, I was as much concerned for the man’s welfare as the horse’s. There was a fire in Brawn’s eye—I believe he would have killed the man had I not intervened.”

“I’m sure the man was grateful for that.”

“Not at all. He turned the whip on me—or, tried to. The nobleman who’d purchased Brawn stayed his hand. They argued. The handler insisted Brawn would be unrideable if he was not broken with the whip. The nobleman turned to me and asked my opinion. I said I thought Brawn could be ridden without the whip.”

“You knew horses.”

He shook his head. “I had never ridden a horse in my life. And I believe the handler recognized that. He challenged me to prove my words, and the nobleman agreed to let me try.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “And you rode him?”

“I did, and the rest is history.”

Brawn whinnied in complaint.

Erin giggled. “You’re not telling the whole story.”

Brawn nickered in agreement.

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing, to be honest,” he admitted.

“What happened?”

“Well, the man handed me the reins, and I just stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. Then Brawn sort of nudged me around to his left side and gave me a look.”

Brawn nickered.

Tsing looked at the horse and chuckled. “A look much like that one, actually. So, I somehow managed to climb onto his back, pointed in the right direction, and as soon as I was settled, he took off.”

“Were you able to stay on?”

“Somehow. I think we did one circuit around the marketplace before he took off down a side street, me hanging on for dear life. He didn’t slow down until we reached the outskirts of the city. When he finally stopped, I jumped off. I remember I could barely walk. I took his bridle off and offered him his freedom. But he kept following me around, and I soon realized I had a horse.” He looked at Brawn. “Which I had absolutely no use for.”

Brawn snorted.

“No use?”

He spread his arms in a shrug. “I was a pira … um … sailor. I didn’t even know how to ride. No place for a horse on a ship.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t return to the ship, anyway. I soon discovered I was not only a horse owner, but a horse thief. The nobleman had put a price on my head, and they were cutting off the hands of thieves in Arleanne at the time.”

She frowned. “I think they still are.” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “That’s quite a story. Yet, you seem to have done all right for yourselves since, you and Brawn.”

He grunted. Brawn gave an echoing snort.

“You said you were a pirate.”

“Sailor,” he corrected.

“You almost said pirate—just now.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

Her smile broadened. “You’re an interesting man, Shing. I’m beginning to see why—.”

“Why what?”

“Um … nothing. I … uh … it’s just … um … interesting how Brawn recognized your …” She shrugged. “… worthiness?”

He snorted. “I’m glad you think so.” For a moment they sat gazing across the table at each other. It struck him once again how beautiful her heart-shaped face was cupped between her long, slender fingers. And how he wished his own hands were cupped around her face so that he could pull her full lips to his own and—.

Suddenly, she broke eye contact. She blushed and cleared her throat. “The stew’s getting cold,” she murmured, and began purposefully spooning mouthfuls.

“Right,” he nodded, spooning a mouthful of his own.

They finished their meal in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

CHAPTER 7

That’s an Excellent Plan!

Although comfortable enough on one of the sleeping pallets in the warm chamber of the cave, Tsing lay awake, staring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling cast by the embers in the fireplace. Not for the first time did he reflect on the purposelessness of his existence and the answers he had sought, yet never found, in leaving the monastery at the age of thirteen.

Erin had called him interesting. Indeed, many would say he had lived an interesting life. Certainly not an ordinary one. But its direction, and the events that determined the choices he’d made, seemed as random as the shifting springtime breezes in the hills where he wandered as a young boy.

The monks of the One Way had insisted everyone had a destiny, as great or small as it might seem in the present, and that each person’s destiny was an essential brick in the wall of human evolution. They’d tried to convince him he would discover that destiny by committing to the monastic life, yet they hadn’t pressured him to make the choice. No one stood in his way when he decided to leave.

Continue to practice your meditations, my son. Your way will eventually align with the One Way.

He snorted to himself. How could he not continue to practice the chants and litanies? They’d been drilled into him since before his earliest memories. The few times he’d tried to abandon them, they’d returned unbidden to his consciousness, the silent repetitions having nearly the same effect as they’d had vocally during the chants in the group meditation rooms.

The monks hadn’t just let him wander out into the world, of course. He may have reached the age of commitment, but he was only thirteen—still just a boy. They’d arranged an apprenticeship for him with a local armorer, an artisan of great skill who himself had spent his youth at the monastery. Tsing learned a lot about forging blades during the three years he lived at the armory, but he found none of the answers he sought. When he turned sixteen, he packed a few of his most precious possessions, including a fine sword he’d made for himself, and set out for Port Kronos to seek his answers in a larger world.

Port Kronos wasn’t just part of a larger world. It was the world, hub of the merchant marine that dominated commerce throughout the Great Sea and the base for the navy King Stralos had built to patrol his ever-expanding empire. The city sprawled into the hills for pentags around the bustling port. All manner of men had settled there, some locals from Lakronos, but many who found themselves transplanted from exotic places far away. There were pleasant, tree-lined streets, and there were sections of the city that slept during the daylight hours, awakening to rough and dangerous activity after dark.

But the most impressive part of the city were the tall spires of the castles that jutted into the skyline in the central hills, where the rich and powerful nobility dwelt in a luxury and safety that was legendary. It was at the gate of one of these castle walls Tsing found himself presenting a token the master armorer from home had given him and was subsequently employed manning the forge of the castle’s blacksmith.

It was hard physical labor—truly a waste of the skills he’d acquired under the tutelage of his former master. But it provided a place to sleep and the coin that was absolutely necessary to survive in the city, where he wandered aimlessly during off hours, observing, looking for some sign of his life’s purpose.

Until one day he found it—when he wasn’t looking—in the form of a pretty young girl.

Isabella was the daughter of the nobleman who ruled the castle where Tsing worked. She stopped by the blacksmith’s one day to commission shoes for a young filly her father had purchased for her in the market. Tsing was stoking the forge, and she asked him who he was and from whence he came.

And she smiled at him.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She glittered with jewels that hung from her neck, wrists, and ears. They were sewn into the embroidered patterns adorning the silks she wore, and they crusted a small tiara that nestled in the shining black curls of her hair. But it wasn’t just the glitter of the jewels—she glowed with an inner light that spread warmth with her every movement, igniting a fire within him that raised his body temperature more than the heat from the forge at which he labored.

After that first meeting, Isabella began to make regular visits to the blacksmith’s, always finding an excuse to make conversation with him. One day, she asked the blacksmith if she could “borrow” him to accompany her to the market and help her carry her purchases. The smith raised an eyebrow at the request but could not refuse the nobleman’s daughter, and so she and Tsing spent an afternoon together in the city, under the watchful eye of an ever-present bodyguard, of course.

Tsing was enthralled. They chatted and laughed, and in one unforgettable moment, when they found themselves serendipitously hidden from view of the guard behind stacks of woven carpets, she kissed him. Her lips were warm and moist, and her tongue filled his mouth with a sweetness he’d never tasted before.

The next day, as he was leaving his shift at the forge, a young servant girl appeared and surreptitiously slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand before scurrying away. It was a message from Isabella, requesting he meet her in secret in the courtyard after dark. Eagerly anticipating perhaps another kiss, he cleaned himself as best he could and made a concerted effort not to be seen as he skulked through the evening shadows on his way to their rendezvous.

She was waiting just where the note said she would. She wore a blue silk dressing gown, and her shiny black hair was unbound, falling around her shoulders. Urging him to silence, she took his hand and led him by a back way into the castle and to her private chambers.

His heart pounded as she pressed a finger over his lips, whispering in his ear, “No one must hear us.” And then came the kiss he’d so hoped for. But it was more intense than before, more insistent. She pressed her body close, and he could feel her hot flesh through the thin fabric of her gown.

Aroused as he had never been—not entirely sure what was happening, only that he wanted it more than anything—he helped her remove his tunic and reveled in the sensation as her hands moved across his bare chest, then guided his hands to cup her breasts. She gave a soft moan as the hard nipples pressed into his palms, and he desperately sought her lips once more.

Suddenly, there came a pounding at the door of her chamber and an angry voice that shouted, “Who’s in there!”

Isabella stepped away from him, eyes wide in fear. “Run!” she insisted in a hoarse whisper, pointing to an open window. And then she emitted an ear-splitting scream. “Help me!”

Confused and frightened by the renewed pounding on the door and a heavy crash against it that rattled its hinges, Tsing vaulted through the open window, tumbling four or five longspaces to the courtyard below. He landed awkwardly in a hedge, leaving bloody scratches across his bare torso but saving him from more serious broken bones.

He heard another scream from the room above, followed by a loud crash that must have been the chamber door finally giving away, and light flooded through the window. As he pressed himself against the wall, hopefully out of view, he heard Isabella utter the words that would forever make his heart sink as he remembered them over the next decade. “It was the boy who works at the blacksmith’s forge! He climbed in my window and tried to force himself on me!”

He ran.

He had no idea the exact consequences of such an accusation, but he knew they couldn’t be good. He needed to get away. He made a beeline for his cubby next to the forge, where he hoped to retrieve a fresh tunic and throw a few necessities into his pack before escaping into the maze of the city.

He made it over the courtyard wall and was halfway to the smithy before torches lit the area around the castle behind him and the muster of guards signaled the beginning of a search. They knew where to look and who they were searching for. He didn’t have much time.

He scrambled into the cubby, fumbling for his things in the soft glow cast by the forge at the other side of the partition. He grabbed a pack that was already half full and added a coin purse he kept hidden under his sleeping pallet. He plucked a shirt from a stack of two folded on a shelf and hastily donned it, wincing as it reopened some of the scratches he’d received from his fall into the hedge. He was strapping on his sword when a large shadow stepped through the doorway and a gravelly voice announced, “Yer in big trouble, boy.”

Instantly, Tsing’s sword was in his hand.

“Easy, lad,” the voice rasped. “Ye’ll not get trouble from me. I’m here to help.”

Tsing took a half step back and readied himself for a fight, nonetheless, assessing the one he might be up against. Though they stood eye to eye, the man was twice Tsing’s width, and he looked like a chunk of granite. Colorful tattoos covered two massive arms that jutted from a sleeveless tunic, and a large “X” intersected over his left eye. Tsing squinted, and the “X” resolved into a scar that descended from his temple to his nose, crossed with a patch that covered the eye.

The piece of granite pointed at the sword in Tsing’s hand. “Do ye know how to use that?”

Tsing nodded. The monks at the monastery had taught him more than chanting and meditation. They had vigorously trained themselves in all manner of martial arts and weaponry for the day they believed would come when they had to defend their beliefs against the outside world. Tsing had been the best among his peers with a blade.

“Aye,” the man said. “I can tell by yer stance and yer grip on the pommel ye’ve had some trainin’. Sheath yer blade and come with me. The castle guards’ll be here in a quick minute. I can get ye out of here.” He beckoned with a huge finger. “I know a back way.” He turned and strode through the open doorway.

Tsing blinked. He could hear the clamor of approaching guards. Sheathing his sword and slinging his pack across his shoulder, he scurried after the man, leaving behind forever a life he’d only just begun.

It was only after they’d boarded a ship in the harbor and had safely set sail that the man introduced himself. Malor Shaltis was a pirate of sorts, preying on the merchant vessels in competition with certain nobility under which he was secretly employed, and Tsing had just been recruited as the youngest member of his crew. He was given a choice on the spot—accept his recruitment or be thrown into the Great Sea.

Tsing scanned the horizon and could see no land in any direction. He accepted Malor’s offer.

In the months that followed, he had plenty of chances to prove his skill with the sword, and because of it he rose quickly in the pecking order that existed among the crew. Soon he was instructing them in some of the techniques he’d learned at the monastery, which served in the long run to inflate their already fearsome reputation as a force to be reckoned with. Malor Shaltis became the closest thing he’d ever had to a father.

They bonded initially by commiserating over Isabella’s betrayal. Malor warned the boy that any woman would likely do the same—that any sort of romantic attachment was the most dangerous thing that could happen to man, especially a pirate. If a man felt the need for female companionship, it was unwise to saddle oneself with a long-term commitment. Pay the price in coin and have done with it. Tsing had taken those words to his heart ever since and, as a result, had yet to have it broken again.

Tsing had been with many women since then. Payment for services rendered had closed each deal, sealing any chink that might appear in the armor around his feelings. Yet, he had paid Erin more than a fair price, and here he was, following her around like a lost puppy. He was likely to pay a much higher price in the long run if he didn’t do something about it.

But Erin wasn’t Isabella. Was she?

Malor would have argued all women were the same, but that couldn’t be true. Men weren’t all the same, and Tsing’s experience with hundreds of women since—brief encounters though they were—had revealed they all had their differences, some subtle, some not so. There was an honesty and forthrightness in Erin that drew him like a magnet.

He shifted his head to observe her sleeping form. Was she really that honest and forthright, or was he just bewitched? She had some great secret she was holding back from him. It was obvious, yet he found himself ignoring the issue in favor of her company.

He watched the soft light reflecting off her cascading red curls as they gently rose and fell with each breath. He longed to bury his nose in that hair and fill his sinuses with the scent of her.

What the hell was he going to do?

---

Erin feigned sleep, her back turned to the man who lay on the pallet a very short distance away. She waited for the longest time for the deep regular breaths that would indicate he was sleeping, but they never came. Occasionally, she imagined his eyes upon her.

She’d seen a longing in his gaze during their shared meal—she may have imagined it—that both disturbed and aroused her, and she fantasized again and again what might happen should he decide to rise from his bed and come to her.

Would she resist? Not likely. She suppressed a shiver as her body tried to convince her how nice it would be to feel his warmth against it. The memory of their frantic lovemaking her last evening in Azurith had not faded over the past few days. Indeed, it had gained greater clarification in her thoughts as she spent more time with the man and got to know him better. She’d begun to fear there was some permanence to the effect of the Fae wine she’d so foolishly consumed … perhaps for both of them.

Maybe she should confess to him about the wine. He obviously had more experience as a lover and might have more control over his desires if he knew the truth. He’d certainly made a statement of such control when he’d paid for her services. But she feared the truth would be a slippery slope for her, leading to greater intimacy and the near certainty of revealing the secret she must withhold from him.

Gods, she’d nearly blurted to him about the prophecy over a shared meal. They’d only been together for a few days. How would she keep such a secret over the course of an entire winter … or longer? She swallowed in a dry throat. How would she stay away from his bed if he continued to look at her the way he had?

At long last, a soft snore told her Shing had succumbed to sleep. Finally! She waited a short time longer before silently rising from her pallet and tiptoeing across the chamber and into one of the tunnels leading further into the mountain, the one along which the little spring lay. Should she be discovered, she could always say she sought to quench her thirst in the night.

She fumbled along in the near dark until the light from the chamber disappeared and she was forced to light the torch she’d brought with her. Passing the little spring and following a few more twists and turns she deemed might prevent the light from her torch spilling back into the chamber where Shing slept, she found a spot on the floor relatively free of rubble and sat, making herself as comfortable as the cold surface would allow.

Taking a few deep, meditative breaths, she reached out with her mind. It took a moment to get any response, but presently the amber monochrome characteristic of Miriam’s dreams presented a picture in her mind. It was a blurry image of Miriam’s bedroom. As Erin had feared, she’d woken her mistress from her sleep. But Miriam had said to call on her any time.

The image of the bedroom gained focus and clarity as Miriam became fully awake. “Erin,” she whispered in alarm, as her face came into view, “is something wrong?”

“No … well, yes. I mean, Shing and I are safe in a cave in the mountains. I’m sorry to wake you, mistress. I just … needed to talk.”

There was a slight pause. “Very well.” There was a note of resignation in Miriam’s voice.

Erin chewed at her bottom lip. “I think we’ve managed to avoid the king’s men. No one knows we are traveling together. At least, I don’t think so. We’re on our way to the Valley of Kilaren. I’ve invited Shing to spend the winter with my family there. Once the snows close the passes, even if the king suspects he’s here, we’ll be safe until the spring thaw.”

Miriam’s tone brightened. “That’s an excellent plan! Very resourceful, Erin. I knew you were up for this task.”

“Thank you, mistress. Those are encouraging words, but … um … I was wondering. Just how crucial is it that Shing not know he’s indicated in the prophecy?”

“Very.” Miriam’s voice grew more stern. “Why? You’ve not told him, have you?”

“No, but if we’re to be spending so much time together—I mean, how am I supposed to keep such a big secret from someone … for that long?”

“I would just avoid the subject. Does the topic of prophecy come up often in your conversations?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then don’t bring it up. Seems simple enough.”

Erin winced. “It may seem simple, on the surface, but … I mean, just this evening I nearly blurted it out. He was telling me this delightful story about how he got his horse, and I almost let it slip.”

Miriam frowned. “I fail to see the connection between the topics. It was like, ‘Nice horse. Oh, by the way, you’re the orphaned king the prophecy speaks of?’”

“No, it wasn’t like that. It was …” Erin sighed. “I guess you had to be there.”

Miriam paused, cocking her head. “You say he’s a ‘delightful storyteller’?”

“No, not really. It was the story itself that was so compelling. I mean … I suppose there was a certain charm in the way he told it, but—”

Miriam’s frown deepened. “You’re not becoming infatuated with him, are you, Erin?”

Becoming? “I … I’m not sure.” It was a bald-faced lie.

Miriam gasped. “Are you sleeping with him?”

She swallowed. “No … not now. Not since you gave me my master’s task. It was … before. I … we … we …” Suddenly she broke down. In a flood of tears, she relayed the story of the Fae wine and their night of debauchery. Miriam’s shoulders sagged with each gory detail. When she’d finished, Erin wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, mistress. I should have told you.”

“You should have,” Miriam confirmed.

Erin bowed her head. “I’ll relinquish my master’s task. Give it to someone more worthy.”

“And who might that possibly be?” Miriam asked, her tone exasperated. She shook her head. “No, the task is yours now. We’ll just have to make the best of things. You’re concerned the effects of the aphrodisiac may be permanent?”

Erin nodded. “It would explain … some things.”

Miriam shook her head. “I’ll try to get more information about that. Meanwhile, you need to squash any infatuation he might have with you as quickly as possible. You’re supposed to lead him to his queen, not be his queen. Tell him about the wine.”

“I was considering that, but I’m afraid I’ll lose his trust completely. He already half believes I’m a witch who’s cast a spell on him.”

“What?”

“My red hair and green eyes. It’s a story Ian used to tell at the Goose to dissuade customers from requesting me, since I wasn’t a member of the Guild. He told it to Shing.”

Miriam shook her head. “Gods. That will have to be your call, then.” She gave Erin as piercing a look as ever she’d seen. “Use your best judgment.”

“Yes, mistress.”

A look of panic suddenly appeared on Miriam’s face. “You … you’re not pregnant, are you?”

Erin shook her head vehemently. “I took the usual precautions.”

Miriam gave a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods for that. If you were to have his child, it would complicate things to no end.” Her brows knitted together. “You understand the best precaution is to stay away from his bed entirely, right?”

She swallowed. “Of course.” Tears again began to well.

Miriam’s expression softened. “I know this can’t be easy, child. No great task is. I’ll find what I can about the aphrodisiac, its long-term effects, and what might be done to counteract them. Meanwhile, let’s both try to get some sleep. We’re going to need it. Remember, you are not entirely alone. You have a world full of dream walkers to support you.”

The amber light of Miriam’s dream faded, resolving into the shadowy semidarkness of the cave. Despite Miriam’s parting words of encouragement, Erin felt very much alone. As her torch burned lower, her soft sobs echoed through the tunnel walls.

---

Tsing woke to an aroma that made his mouth begin to water instantly. He smiled to himself. Whatever else might be said of his current predicament and the uncertain relationship with his traveling companion, he had never so enjoyed meals on the trail. He twisted in his bedding to check the pallet where Erin had slept. The bedding had been gathered up and packed away.

He sat up in panic, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Inside the chamber of the cave there was no way to tell how much of the morning he’d slept through nor how much precious travel time they may have lost before the passes closed from the storm.

Or if the storm still raged, and they were already trapped.

He rose from his pallet and went to relieve himself at a latrine that had been constructed down one of the side tunnels. Then he circled by the cooking pot before checking on the horses. He smiled. A concoction of the rice and lentils he so loved bubbled in the pot along with bits of sausage and spices that smelled heavenly. But where was Erin?

He shuffled across the chamber to where the horses stood. Apparently, Erin had already given them feed, as they both were munching companionably. Brawn accepted his strokes of greeting with an appreciative nicker.

“Nice and warm in here last night, wasn’t it, boy?”

Brawn nickered in agreement.

“Where’s Erin?”

Brawn pointed his nose in the direction of the cave entrance.

“Outside?”

Brawn nodded his head and snorted, as if to say, “Isn’t that what I just told you?”

Tsing patted his neck. “Thanks.”

He shuffled toward the tunnel that led to the cave’s entrance. The way was already lit by a torch set in one of the sconces, and when he rounded a bend in the tunnel, brilliant beams of sunlight reflected off the walls, illuminating the way further. He emerged from the cave under a clear blue sky. The sun had just risen over the eastern peaks, glinting off a foot of white powder dumped by the overnight storm. So, it was still early. He hadn’t slept that long.

Erin stood off to the right, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head, looking eastward, one hand shielding her eyes from the rising sun. Wisps of fog from her breathing swirled about her head and dissipated in the still, cold air.

“Good morning,” he called.

She turned to regard him. “You’re up. Good.” She returned to her gazing.

He grinned. “I’d still be asleep but for the delicious smell of breakfast bubbling. I think it’s ready, by the way.” He trudged through the snow to stand beside her, pulling his cloak closed against the cold. “Taking in the view?”

“And assessing our day’s journey.” She pointed. “The road runs along that ridge, then descends behind that peak before rising to the pass over there. Once we reach the pass, we’re home free.”

“Looks like we have a good day for traveling. The storm passed quickly.”

She nodded. “The snow may be deep in a few places, but it’s dry, and the horses shouldn’t have much trouble with footing. We’ll be able to ride most of the way. But look.” She pointed to the west, where dark purple clouds loomed behind peaks in the distance. “We’d best make the pass before the next storm hits.”

He eyed the route she’d just pointed out to him. It didn’t look all that far. “I think we’ll have plenty of time. I was worried I’d slept through the morning when I woke and saw you were already packed and had breakfast cooking. But it looks like we’ll have the better part of the day for travel, after all.” He blew on his hands for warmth. “Gods, this is an incredible view. Is that an eagle?” He pointed.

Erin followed his pointing finger into the southern sky. She threw back the hood of her cloak for an unencumbered view, and her gorgeous red hair spilled across her shoulders. “Where?”

He stepped close and pointed over her shoulder. “There. Higher and to the left. Circling.”

She rested her head against his bicep and sighted down the length of his arm. “Yes, I see it. Wow, it’s a large one. Wingspan over three longspaces, I’d guess.”

“Magnificent,” he murmured.

She turned to look at him, and their gazes locked. He frowned. She looked tired, and her green eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. She took a sudden step backward, away from him, stumbling over some object covered by the snow and nearly falling. He reached out and caught her, lifting her lightly off the ground and setting her down firmly again, his arms encircling her waist. “Whoa. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She refused to make eye contact, prying herself from his grip. “Thank you.”

“Maybe the footing isn’t as good as we think,” he suggested, light-heartedly. He tried to get a look at her face, but she turned away. “Erin, is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“You look as if you haven’t slept.”

“Nonsense.” She continued to avoid his gaze, staring into the east.

“You did that dream walking thing again last night, didn’t you?”

She gave a start. “What?”

“I heard whispers coming from one of the tunnels. You spoke with Miriam, didn’t you? Bad news?”

“Yes … no. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Are you sure? If it’s something you want to talk about, I’ll listen.” He went to put a consolatory hand on her shoulder.

She slapped it away. “It doesn’t concern you,” she snapped.

“Very well,” he replied, rebuked. He stood in silence for a moment, considering, before adding, “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

Her shoulders sagged. “You’re becoming too attached,” she said, her tone cold.

“Huh?”

“To me.” She turned to face him. The usual gleam in her green eyes was gone, her expression dull and unanimated. She looked like a different person. “Shing, what happened between us at the Royal Goose—that was nothing.”

“Not in my experience,” he murmured.

Her lips set in a thin line, and she looked away. “What I mean is … it was artificial. There were no feelings behind it. The wine was bespelled.”

His eyes widened, and he took a half step back. “You are a witch!”

She gave an exasperated shake of her head. “Not by me. It was a Fae concoction. I chose it by mistake, thinking it must be a good wine only because it was old. Turns out it was a powerful aphrodisiac banned by the king. That’s the real reason I left Azurith. I didn’t pay off my indenture, I was released from it and sent away to avoid trouble.”

He blinked. “I see.”

“So … in case you might be feeling any … lingering effects …” She swallowed. “… of the potion, they will hopefully fade … over time.” She looked back up at him, straightening her shoulders and looking him in the eye. “In the meantime, self-control must suffice.”

She held his gaze almost long enough to convince him of the truth of her words before looking away again. He found his voice. “I … understand. Thank you … for telling me.”

She shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “I thought you should know.”

He took a deep breath. “You know I would never force myself on you, no matter how much wine I consumed.”

She nodded. “That wasn’t my concern.”

“Good.”

“I’ll return the money you gave me.”

“Not necessary.”

“I spent some of it on our supplies, but I can make up the difference when I get home.”

“I said it’s not necessary. I don’t need the money, and you earned it.” He immediately regretted the words, as a deep red blush came over her face.

“True,” she admitted.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I—”

“It is what it is,” she said, pulling the hood of her cloak back over her head. “We should eat breakfast. You need to pack, and we’ve a long way to go.” She turned and trudged through the snow toward the entrance to the cave.

He watched her until she disappeared inside. Then he turned back to the east, his eyes tracing the route she’d pointed out to him until the road disappeared at the high pass. He sighed. “Fuck.” He turned and trudged after her.

CHAPTER 8

No Turning Back

21st Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Tsing ate in silence, Erin sitting at the far end of the table instead of across from him as she had the night before. Despite the aroma that had set his mouth watering on awakening, the food tasted bland and boring and settled to an unsatisfying lump in his stomach.

They cleaned up the place as best they could, not wanting to leave a mess for the next travelers who might use the cave, and Tsing packed his things as quickly as he could. As he was securing the last of the bundles to Brawn’s saddle, the horse nickered gently to get his attention and pointed his nose toward Erin, where she stood beside Sura near the entrance to the tunnel leading to the outside. He then gave Tsing a questioning look.

“I don’t know, boy,” Tsing murmured. “I think I hurt her feelings.”

Brawn gave a derisive snort.

“I apologized,” he defended himself.

Brawn nickered.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I fear it’s going to be a long day.” He tightened the cinch and stroked the horse’s neck. “And I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have gone to Arleanne after all.”

Brawn gave him one of his looks—the one he’d come to think of as disdain.

He shrugged. “It may not be too late to turn back,” he suggested.

Brawn snorted and walked slowly over to join Erin and Sura, leaving him standing alone. “Just a thought,” he murmured.

But it was a thought he began to dwell on as they led the horses along the path from the cave and onto the East Road. The snow was indeed deep in some places, and he suggested they start out by walking them, insisting they had plenty of time before the storm came and partly because he wanted the extra time to think.

Erin’s confession about the Fae wine had unsettled him greatly. It certainly explained the ardor of their lovemaking that night at the inn, but it didn’t explain away his feelings for her. He’d been strongly attracted before he’d drunk the wine. Her beauty aside, there was an honesty and realness about her that drew him, something he’d not seen in other women.

And that was the incongruity that disturbed him now the most. She was not being entirely honest. He believed her story about the wine. He had lived among pirates, the best of liars, and he’d learned a thing or two about picking out the truth in a tale.

Erin was not a good liar. She was holding something back from him.

If she had no feelings for him, as she claimed, why the hell had she invited him to her family’s home to spend an entire winter? Because she had some purely altruistic concern for his welfare? Bullshit. A simple warning about the king’s men would have sufficed were that the case.

It made no sense. And as he spun the dilemma over and over in his mind while they picked their way along the road, stopping for a silent lunch and ascending toward the pass in the afternoon, he became frustrated and angry with himself.

He had ignored one of the great lessons of his life. Women were not to be trusted. He was very likely trudging into a plight from which his skill with a blade could not extricate him.

Black clouds began to gather in the sky, and the first icy flakes of snow began to sting their cheeks as they climbed toward the summit of the pass. Erin spoke her first words since morning. “It looks like we’re just going to make it.”

He drew Brawn to a halt, looking at the sky. The storm would hit in earnest soon. Once they crested the pass and began the descent on the other side of the peak, there would be no turning back. He turned and looked back along the way they’d come. There were still two or three hours of daylight left. Despite the storm, he and Brawn could make it back to the cave before nightfall. He was sure of it.

Brawn tugged at his lead, ready to move on, but Tsing held him back. The horse gave him a questioning look. “I’m thinking,” he murmured.

At Brawn’s answering nicker, Erin drew Sura to a stop just ahead and turned to look back at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is something wrong?”

He stood frozen in indecision.

“Shing?”

Her pronunciation of his name, which had seemed so charming before, now seemed unnerving and sinister. The striking color of her hair peeking out from underneath the hood of her cloak and the mesmerizing green of her eyes seemed unnatural against the darkening sky behind her. How could eyes draw a man in so? The woman might claim she wasn’t a witch—she might even believe she wasn’t—but there was an inhuman power in those eyes.

“Are you coming?” she asked. And, suddenly, such a look of fear and vulnerability came over her face that his breath caught. She knew he was considering turning back, and it frightened her somehow.

It pulled at his heart.

Brawn nickered again and jerked his head toward their companions as if to say, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Tsing found his breath again, and he inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he said, “I’m coming.”

A look of relief came over her face, and she gave him a half smile. It wasn’t the brilliant, radiant smile that always warmed his heart, but it was the best he’d seen since the previous evening. He’d take it.

The storm hit in earnest as they crested the ridge and began negotiating a series of switchbacks in a steep descent down the other side. Gradually, they worked their way to the opposite side of the mountain and the storm. The snow stopped, and rays of sun broke through the clouds. They rounded a bend in the road and were afforded a magnificent view of a lush green valley in the distance.

“The Valley of Kilaren,” Erin announced. “My home.” She turned and pointed back the way they’d come. Dark, purple clouds obscured the peak of the mountain where the storm continued to rage. “No one will get through that pass after today.” She gave him a genuine smile. “You’ll be safe until spring.”

He returned her smile with a weak one of his own. Would he?

---

Trevor sniffed the air and dropped the quill on the ledger in disgust. The faint smell of sulfur warned him of the approaching visitor. A dragon. Whether the same one or another, it didn’t matter. He didn’t need this right now. He swiveled on his perch at the high stool in front of the desk and answered the knock on the door as soon as it came. “Come in.”

The door opened a crack, and a middle-aged human woman poked her head through, stray gray hairs protruding from beneath her mob cap. “A Mister Pieter to see you, sir. Says you was expectin’ him.”

The goblin sighed. He hadn’t been. “Show him in,” he said, resignedly.

The woman opened the door wide, and a nondescript male human strode into the room—nondescript save for the fact that the same man had visited several days before.

“Hello, Trevor,” the man said, his voice bright and affable.

Trevor scowled. “Hello, Pieter.” He turned to the woman, who remained standing in the doorway, staring curiously. “Mae, will you fetch us two goblets of wine?”

The woman frowned. “Bit early in the day for wine, innit?”

Trevor ground his teeth. “Please, just fetch the wine, Mae.”

“Very well, sir,” she acquiesced. She disappeared, closing the door behind her.

Pieter grinned. “Master of the castle now, I see.”

The goblin snorted. “Master in name, caretaker in reality.” He pointed at the door. “Even though the king appointed me, I get no respect from the staff …” He pointed at the ledger on the desk behind him. “… and finances in such disarray as I’ve never seen.”

Pieter chuckled. “I thought you were planning to leave.”

Trevor spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “How can I? I’m under constant scrutiny by the king’s ministers while they search for the Alchemist’s eventual replacement. I’ll take off when the opportunity arises. So far, it has not.”

“And the search for Ka’il Idreth?”

Trevor shook his head. “I’ve had no time with all this.” He spread his arms to indicate his surroundings. “But I have been considering your suggestion to use the mercenary Tsing to find it. Do you have news of him? A group of the king’s men were found slain along the East Road. The mercenary is indicated as the culprit. King Palatus has redoubled his efforts to find him.”

Pieter nodded. “Your swordsman is safe. He’s traveling in the company of a young dream walker. She’s already helped him misdirect the search by the king’s soldiers and has invited him to spend the winter with her in the Valley of Kilaren.”

“Excellent.” Trevor frowned. “But it will be impossible to contact him once the snows close the pass into the mountains.”

“Not necessarily. I could fly you there.”

“What?” Trevor’s stomach knotted at the thought of such a mode of travel. “Um … let me think about that. In the meantime, as long as Tsing is safe—” He suddenly held up his hand for silence.

There was a knock on the door, which immediately swung open before the goblin could answer. Mae swept into the room carrying a tray with two goblets of wine. “Here ye are, gentlemans!” She offered one of the vessels to Pieter with a smile and a curtsy, then set the tray with the remaining goblet on the desk in front of the goblin. “Is ther’ anythin’ else I can do for you two?” She stood smiling, her hands folded in front of her, looking directly at Pieter.

Pieter returned her smile, with a quick side glance in the goblin’s direction.

“That’s all for now, Mae,” Trevor said. “Thank you.”

She gave Pieter another curtsy and headed for the door, where she turned and added, “There’s more where thet came from, Mister Pieter. Just have Master Trevor ring that little bell o’ his, an’ I’ll bring it.”

Pieter raised his goblet in tribute to her. “Thank you, Mae. But I’m sure this will suffice. Like you said, it’s a bit early in the day.”

She beamed back at him before nodding and slipping through the door, closing it behind her.

“Friendly woman,” Pieter noted.

“She was widowed some five years ago,” Trevor explained. “Probably sees you as a prospect to take her away from all this and provide doweries for her three unwed daughters.” He plucked the goblet from the tray beside him and took several healthy swallows, setting it down with a sigh. “As I was saying, I’m glad the mercenary is safe. I’ll consider your offer. In the meantime, I’m going through the Alchemist’s extensive library of scrolls for any mention of the Sword that Sings.”

“Of course. That seems prudent.” Pieter took a sip of his wine. “Another reason I came …”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Please don’t let this be more trouble than I already have.

“Don’t worry, this should be no trouble.”

Again, Trevor had the uneasy feeling the dragon could read his mind. “Go on.”

“What can you tell me of this infamous Fae wine that is reputed to exist here in Azurith? An alleged aphrodisiac?”

“Humph,” Trevor grunted. “That. It’s a faerie concoction, as you might expect. It comes from a winery near the vineyards to the north. It’s a blend of several varieties of grapes grown there and a berry cultivated in the Forest of Baeth, which lies along the River Wiste to the south of here.”

“Ah, I see. That’s the realm of Fauche and Floreze, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Those two faeries are nothing but trouble. The neleh berry, which produces the aphrodisiac effect, isn’t native to Earth, and thank the gods it hasn’t taken hold as an invasive species, else the humans would fuck themselves into overpopulating the planet within decades. Fauche and Floreze cultivate it just to amuse themselves with the havoc it causes. Kudos to King Palatus for banning the use of the wine in Azurith, in my opinion.”

“Any permanence to the effects of the neleh berry in humans?”

Trevor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Could you find out for me?”

“Perhaps. May I ask why?”

“Apparently Tsing and his traveling companion consumed some of the wine. Some of the dream walkers are worried.”

Trevor cocked his head. Why would that be a particular concern of the dream walkers?

“Perhaps for the welfare of one of their own,” Pieter explained, again without being asked.

Trevor tried not to let the unbidden thought come to the surface. He was beginning to think Pieter could read his mind, and he didn’t want the dragon to know he suspected him of a hidden agenda. “I’ll look into it. How soon do you need an answer?”

Pieter shrugged. “Whenever.” He took another sip of wine, looking around the room with interest. “This is a library of sorts, isn’t it? It looks like your Alchemist had accumulated quite a large volume of scrolls and texts.”

Trevor nodded. “He did. It’s very disorganized, I’m afraid. The man was very project oriented. He would procure anything and everything he could for the sake of having it, but until he thought there was a use for it, he just let it lie about anywhere.” He took another swallow of wine. “Making my task of finding information about Ka’il Idreth that much harder.”

“I’ve been reading your reports.”

“I’m glad someone does.”

Pieter chuckled. “They’re very thorough.”

Trevor recognized the subtext of Pieter’s comment to read boring. Nevertheless, he said, “Thank you.”

“In the earlier ones, where you outlined your plan for retrieving the Eye of Ellindrell and Ka’il Idreth, you said you preferred to employ a human sorcerer to help you rather than a witch or wizard.”

“Right.”

“You reasoned that a sorcerer, being entirely human, would be less likely to abuse the power of a Fae artifact since they had no innate magical ability—that it would be safer in the long run.”

“Definitely.”

“Yet, what happened with your Alchemist—some might have called the outcome disastrous.”

“It could have been worse. If a witch or wizard had made the same mistakes with the Eye, adding an unknown amount of power that the Fae blood in their veins gave them, the entire city might have been destroyed.”

Pieter took another sip of wine. “I don’t disagree. You chose safety over efficiency—which I find prudent, by the way, considering what did happen—even though, as you pointed out in your report, it would be easier to find Fae artifacts with a witch or wizard, because the artifacts would call to them.”

“Correct. Depending on the power of the artifact and the percentage of Fae DNA in their genetic makeup, the pull would be weaker or stronger. And it would have to be the right species of Fae DNA. For instance, Ka’il Idreth is an elven artifact made for a faerie. Neither you nor I could find it, but an elf or faerie could.” He snorted. “If the elves had shown any interest at all in this project, we’d have retrieved the Sword that Sings already, but …” He shrugged.

“Indeed,” Pieter nodded, frowning. “Why, do you suppose, Ka’il Idreth has not called to some witch, wizard—or worse, some warlock with elven or faerie DNA?”

Trevor set his goblet down with a sigh, having drained its contents. “Either they aren’t looking, or they aren’t powerful enough, or the pull of the Sword that Sings is being blocked somehow.”

“Blocked?”

“It could be stored in a container of some sort that keeps it hidden. A simple iron box might do the trick. Or its pull could be masked by some sort of spell.”

Pieter rubbed his chin. “In either case, we’d have to assume whoever has it knows what it is and is hiding it on purpose.”

Trevor’s eyes widened. “Correct! Why, it must already be in the hands of the Fae! Then, we have nothing to worry about!”

Pieter shook his head. “I’m afraid not. If one of the Fae indeed has the artifact, they’d have no obligation to turn it over to the Protectorate. It would be theirs by right of possession. Why would they feel the need to keep it a secret?”

Trevor stiffened. “They plan to use it, for some nefarious means.”

Pieter nodded. “Perhaps, but why? Who would do such a thing?”

Trevor slammed his fist on the table. “Faeries! Faeries would do it just to create mischief!”

“And there are two of the most notoriously mischievous faeries we know of in the area.”

Trevor’s eyes went wide. “Fauche and Floreze! Ka’il Idreth lies hidden in the Forest of Baeth!”

“Possibly.”

“I’d say it’s a very high probability. It all makes perfect sense!” He scowled. “But how do we find and retrieve it?”

“That, my goblin friend, is a very good question.”

---

Tsing’s unease abated somewhat as they made their way into the Valley of Kilaren. Part of it had to do with Erin’s improved mood as they got closer to her home, which proved infectious. Her sullen silence was broken as she pointed out landmarks, and she even shared an anecdote or two regarding experiences involving them from her youth.

As they descended past the tree line, the sparse stands of pines at the upper altitudes began to thicken, with the occasional hardwood interspersed among them. The trail began to level, winding its way through a deciduous forest where the leaves were just beginning to show color with the coming season. Some of the maples were further along, and bright yellow and red leaves bespeckled sections of the trail where they had fallen to the ground.

And then they emerged from the forest where the trail ran through an orchard that stretched on either side as far as the eye could see. Erin pulled two ripe, yellow apples from an overhanging branch and tossed one to him. “This is the Anersen’s farm, and the oldest orchard in the valley. I swear, the apples get sweeter and juicier every year. Try it.”

He turned the fruit over in his hand, contemplating its color and firmness before biting into it. Sweet crispness exploded in his mouth, stimulating taste buds that must have lain dormant for years. It was so good it almost hurt. “Gods,” he murmured as he took a second bite.

“See?” she said. “Am I right?”

“Yef,” he grunted, through a mouthful of fruit. Even sweeter than the fruit was the radiant smile on Erin’s face and the sparkle that had returned to her eyes. For the rest of his life, Tsing would remember that face whenever he ate an apple.

Brawn nickered, and Erin giggled as she pulled two more ripe fruits from the branch. She tossed one to Tsing. “I suppose we should share.” She reached forward and offered her apple to Sura. He did the same for Brawn, and they resumed their journey, the two horses munching appreciatively.

They traveled through the orchard for a time, the sound of Erin’s voice lifting his spirits further as she expounded not only on the produce but the quality of life in the valley in which she’d spent her youth. The orchard ended where a split rail fence ran along one side of the road. A small herd of large, shaggy goats grazed on the other side of the fence.

“Those are umbrae,” she explained. “They usually range free in the higher elevations in summer and come into the valley during the winter, but the Anersens insist on keeping some on their farm year-round.” Her tone suggested she didn’t agree with the practice.

“You think that’s wrong?”

“They’re trying to domesticate an animal that’s meant to be free.” She shrugged. “Not that they aren’t well cared for, or anything, but you can tell they aren’t living the life they’re made for.”

Tsing looked at the herd. They seemed to be grazing happily, like a cow would. “How so?”

“Those are smaller animals than the herds we tend. Less robust. I think their confinement stunts their growth. They’re meant to be free.”

“I see.”

“Just my opinion, of course. But you’ll see what I mean once our herds descend from the mountains.”

“When will that be?”

“Sometime during the Witch’s Moon. Usually about the time the Festival is over.”

“Ah, so you celebrate the Festival of the Witch’s Moon?”

She nodded. “Definitely. It is a big deal here in the valley. It usually lasts for a full week. Several caravans come in from the east to exchange goods for produce, and they bring entertainers with them—dancers, musicians, fortune tellers.”

He snorted. “Fortune tellers.”

She grinned. “You must have fortune tellers during Witch’s Moon. It adds to the fun, and folks deserve some fun after the hard work of the harvest.”

“Your family has orchards too?”

She shook her head. “We have a small grove of plum trees and a few apple trees around the house, but mostly we’re herders.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “We produce the best cheeses in the valley, and we make some good umbra sausage, and of course the hides are popular trade items with the caravans. My mom’s a healer. Her salves and poultices are cherished all over the valley. Oh, and my father is clever with woodwork—tables and chairs—he made my little crossbow, too.”

Tsing nodded in approval. “A clever piece of workmanship, that.”

“Ask him to show you his workshop. He’s very proud of it.” She smiled. “It will endear you to him.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Forgetting himself in the enjoyment of her smile, he held her gaze for longer than he intended, until she blushed and looked the other way.

Conversation waned after that, as they made their way along the road, past the Anersen’s farm and further into the valley proper.

Erin broke the silence as they approached a fork in the road. “The East Road continues on through the village, but here’s where we turn. We’re almost there. My family’s home is up this way, only a few pentags more.” She sighed. “I can’t wait to taste mom’s biscuits with some butter and plum jam.”

The way she said it made his mouth water, but as they turned off the East Road and began to wind their way into the hills, a nervous feeling settled into his gut. He became conscious of how he might appear, dirty and unkempt from days on the road, armed with a large sword, riding into such domesticity as she described. Were he Erin’s family, he was not sure he would welcome such a stranger with open arms.

He reached for the buckle on his shoulder harness and removed the sword strapped to his back, slinging it over the horn of his saddle instead. At least he wouldn’t be wearing the weapon when he met them. He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. It was more than just stubble. He’d not shaved since his stay at the Royal Goose in Azurith.

He was a large man, and he was aware his visage could be intimidating to some. He’d cultivated that look over time, finding it more than useful during his years of pirating and mercenary activities since arriving in Panprama. He tested the feel of a smile, doing his best to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead. It felt unnatural. It probably looked even worse.

“What are you doing?” Erin asked, looking at him curiously.

“Nothing,” he murmured, looking away, as if something at the side of the road had drawn his attention.

“You were making a face.”

Well, that confirmed it. The smile wasn’t going to work, obviously. He cleared his throat. “Um … how can you be so sure your family will welcome me. I’m not the sort of man most people willingly take into their homes.”

She laughed, and the sound both warmed his heart and embarrassed him for his doubting her. “Because you’re with me!” she exclaimed. “I’m part of the family, too, you know. Don’t worry. They’ll love you because I … um … vouch for you. In fact—”

Suddenly, Erin drew Sura to a stop and gasped. “Oh, gods!”

“What’s wrong?” He followed her gaze. There, at the side of the road, in the shade of a small grove of plum trees, lay a fresh grave. A simple wooden marker in the shape of a double cross served as a headstone, from which a simple black silk sash wafted in the breeze.

Erin sat in her saddle, absolutely still, her back stiff. “Mother,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 9

A Fresh Grave and an Unwarm Welcome

“Gods, no!” Erin exclaimed. She urged Sura forward and took off down the road as fast as the mare’s burdens would allow.

Tsing peered into the shady grove at the grave. Foreboding replaced the nervousness in his gut. Brawn nickered. “Right,” he muttered, “follow them.”

Brawn soon caught up with Sura, pulling abreast as they rounded a bend in the road that passed through a small stand of apple trees and emerged into a clearing where stood a quaint wooden house with rose colored wood panels and a steeply pitched roof of yellow thatch.

Before he could say anything, Erin had vaulted from Sura’s back and was calling, “Father! Shia! Is anyone home?”

Tsing stayed in his saddle, taking in the scene. Under an overhang running the length of the front of the house was a railed porch where a line of wooden chairs sat, empty. Half visible behind the house, a large barn stood, its doors opened inward. He could see the outline of hay bales stacked just inside. To his right, a three-sided wooden shed sheltered a wagon, which must have been intended to be pulled by the two draft horses that stood in the shade of a large apple tree overhanging a split rail fenced corral next to it.

As Erin continued to call for her father and sister, the two horses clopped over to the near side of the corral and whinnied in greeting. Brawn nickered in response.

Presently, a lovely blond girl in a blue denim dress came running out of the barn, her unbound gleaming tresses streaming behind her. “Erin!” she shouted. “You’re home!”

Erin trotted to meet her, and the two sisters crashed into a fierce embrace. “I missed you so much, Erin,” the girl cried, pressing her face against her sister’s shoulder. Then her eyes wandered to Tsing, and she blinked. “Who’s he?”

“His name is Shing.” Erin held her sister by the shoulders at arm’s length. “Shia,” she said, refocusing her sister’s attention, “I saw the grave. Is it …?”

Shia nodded, biting her lip. “… Mother,” she finished for her. “The Farensens all came down with a fever back in the spring. Mother tended them—pulled them through it—then fell ill herself. We didn’t know how to reach you. Why didn’t you leave a return address in your letters?”

Erin didn’t answer her sister’s question. “How’s Father?”

Shia shook her head. “He’s still mourning. I mean … we all still are, but Father took it hard. He’s not been himself. Maybe … now that you’re home ….”

“Where is he?”

“In his workshop.” She pointed.

Tsing looked in the direction Shia indicated. To the left of the house stood a long, low-ceilinged shed. A stack of logs, cut to a common length, rose against the wall at one end. Several stickered stacks of hand-hewn boards were drying in the open air. They looked like they’d been there awhile.

“Staying busy, I guess,” suggested Erin.

Shia shook her head. “No, not really. He mostly just sits in there, by himself. Sometimes he—” She cut short her narrative as the door to the shed opened and a broad-shouldered man emerged, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. He was tall and blond, with some gray just beginning to show at his temples. He sported a scraggly, unkempt beard, that looked like it had grown from a neglect of shaving rather than on purpose. Erin gave a small gasp at the sight of him.

The man took a few steps forward, shading his eyes from the sun. “Erin,” he said hoarsely. “So, you’ve finally decided to show up.”

Erin ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. “Father, I … I’m so sorry.”

The man returned her embrace. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, child. I’m glad you’ve come. It’s truly good to see you. I just wish your mother were here to—” He choked on the words, and tears welled in his eyes.

They held each other silently for a moment, until the man’s eyes wandered to the stranger sitting on his horse some longspaces away. “You’ve brought a man with you. He’s yours now, is he?”

A blush came over Erin’s face, and Tsing steeled himself for the introduction he’d been dreading since leaving the cave early that morning. “He’s not … mine,” she said, making brief eye contact with Tsing before looking away again. “We’re just traveling together.”

Her father raised his eyebrows at this news, throwing his daughter a questioning look. He looked at Tsing and frowned. Tsing gave him what he hoped was a deferent nod. “Hello, sir.” He managed a weak smile.

“Father, this is Shing,” Erin said, giving formal introduction. “Shing, come meet my father, Casin Callen.”

Tsing pulled himself from his saddle and dismounted, dropping lightly to the ground from the stirrup. Brawn gave an encouraging nicker, and he absently patted the horse’s neck in thanks before striding over to Casin and extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Casin nodded, clasping Tsing’s outstretched hand. His grip was firm and more challenging than welcoming. “Shing?”

“Actually, it’s pronounced Tsing.”

“Tsing,” repeated Casin, releasing his hand.

“Tsing,” echoed Shia from behind him.

“Exactly,” he confirmed, a bit surprised. He looked at Erin. “How is it they can say it and you can’t?” She blushed, which brought an unbidden smile to his face.

Casin’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two, and he frowned. “Unusual name,” he murmured. “Can’t say as I’ve heard one like it.”

Tsing shrugged. “It was given to me by the monks who reared me. It’s supposed to mimic the sound of steel on steel.”

Casin’s eyes flitted uncertainly to the large sword slung over the saddle horn on Tsing’s horse. His eyebrows rose. “Monks?”

“The monks of the One—”

“Shing has an interesting history, Father,” Erin interrupted. “We can talk about all that over dinner while we’re catching up on … other things.”

“Dinner?” Casin murmured.

Erin grabbed Tsing’s arm and turned him toward Shia. “Shing, this is my little sister, Shia.”

“Younger sister,” Shia corrected, holding out her hand and giving a small curtsy. “I’ve almost come of age. It’s nice to meet you, Tsing,” she said, emphasizing the correct pronunciation. Tsing took her hand, and she squeezed his enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to hear all about you. So, you’re staying for dinner?”

Shia started to pull herself closer to him, but Erin intervened, stepping between the two and pulling him around to face Casin once more. “Actually, Father, I’ve invited Shing to stay with us for the winter.”

“What?” Just as Tsing had feared, her father was clearly shocked at the prospect. “Child, we can’t …” He turned to Tsing. “I don’t mean to be inhospitable, Tsing, but we have no room and—”

“He can have my room, Father,” Erin said. “Shia and I can share a room.”

“Yes!” Shia agreed. “That’s fine with me.”

Casin glowered at his daughters. “… and times have been hard since the wife passed. We’ve barely enough food to feed ourselves for the winter, and—”

“Look at all the supplies we brought from Elm Grove, Father!” Erin exclaimed, pointing to the packages with which the horses were burdened. “And I have some money.” She pulled her purse from her belt and handed it to him. “Here. We can buy whatever else we need in the village. We should want for nothing, the four of us.”

Frowning, Casin opened the purse and looked inside. His eyes went wide. “Erin, how did you come to have this much coin? There’s nearly a thousand krin in here!”

“Well, not quite that much,” she chuckled. “Only about half that. But it’s still plenty to help us through the winter. Shing’s path takes him to the east, and it would be so much better if—”

“I’m not blind, child,” Casin insisted. “I count nine hundred-krin gold pieces in here, along with a bunch of coppers.”

“Huh?” Erin grabbed the purse from him and looked for herself. Tsing avoided eye contact as she shot him a glance.

“How did you manage to accumulate so much gold, Erin?”

She swallowed. “I … um … worked hard … and saved all I could. Father, please let Shing stay with us. We have room, and we can afford it.”

“Obviously, we can,” Casin murmured, seemingly nonplussed. “Tsing, of course we will offer our hospitality. You are welcome to stay.”

“Yay,” Shia blurted, clapping her hands.

“But,” Casin said, holding his palm up to stifle Shia’s glee, “I can’t have you staying here in the house with my two unwed daughters.”

“Father!” complained Erin. “That’s silliness. Why, Mother would have—”

“And your mother’s no longer with us,” Casin snapped. “Who’s to chaperone the two of you while I’m off in the workshop or managing the herds? No, it would be irresponsible of me to allow that. He can stay in the herder’s shack in the south meadow.” He turned to Tsing. “It’s warm and dry in winter. There’s a place for your horse—might need a bit of fixing up. But it’s comfortable and not so far away as you can’t take an occasional meal with us if you’re craving company. No offense to you, but I’m sure you can appreciate the situation.”

Tsing gave a slight bow. “Certainly, sir. It sounds perfect.” It did sound somewhat appealing. He didn’t want to put Erin out of her room, and if he was going to have to stifle the growing attraction he felt for her, being around her all day and night would not have made that any easier.

“You can stay here, tonight. I’ll take you up to see the place in the morning. And you might as well dispense with the ‘sir’. Call me Casin.”

“Thank you, Casin.”

Casin turned to Erin. “You two best get your mounts put up in the barn for the night. Show Tsing what he needs to see of the place, then come back and help your sister put something together for dinner.” He gave his daughter a half smile. “It really is good to see you again. Now, go on. Get to it.” He waved her away and went back into his workshop.

---

Erin noted her sister’s indignant posture. Shia stood with her hands on her hips. “Chaperones!” she huffed. “As if we weren’t both grown women.” She turned to Erin. “You’re right, if Mother was here …”

Erin stared at the door through which her father had just disappeared. “He’s really not himself, is he?” She looked at Shia. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Shia bit her lip, and her eyes moistened. She threw her arms around Erin. “I’m so glad you’re home. Things will be better now.”

Erin held her sister tightly for a long moment, resisting the urge to tell her she’d probably be leaving in the spring. Her future was suddenly more uncertain than ever, and that would be a conversation for a better time.

Shia helped them unpack the horses. They set all the bundles on the porch temporarily, and Shia headed for the kitchen. Erin began walking Sura to the barn, and Tsing brought Brawn along beside her.

“When did you put that extra money in my purse?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

“Last night, in the cave, while you were off dream walking.”

She shot a glance his way. “You needn’t have done that.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes a bit of coin adds weight to a difficult proposal.”

“It may have,” she admitted. “It’s so unlike Father to refuse someone hospitality. But I had enough money already to ease any burden he might have felt. I wish you hadn’t done it.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t necessary, and … Shing, I just hope you’re not trying to buy my affection.”

He blinked. His posture stiffened. “Think of it as covering lodging expenses. I’d spend twice that staying the winter at an inn in your village.”

“I doubt that. And the herder’s shed is certainly no inn.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s not. It’s a shack.”

“Casin said it was warm and dry.”

“I’m giving the money back.”

“You can’t do that. It would just arouse suspicion.”

Frustration built inside her. “I can do whatever I want.”

“As always. And damn the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” Shing was nearly jerked off his feet when Brawn stopped in his tracks and pulled back on his lead. “What the—?” Shing looked at the horse, frowning.

Brawn snorted and shook his head. He then stepped forward, nudging Shing to the side and inserting himself between Erin and his master.

Erin bent at the waist so she could look at Shing past Brawn’s outstretched neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she insisted.

Shing struggled to make eye contact as Brawn continued to push him out of the way. “It means … you don’t—get out of the way, Brawn—you don’t care … how your actions affect other people!”

“I do so! Why do you think—what is it with this stupid horse?” She stepped in front of Brawn, forcing him to stop to keep from running her down. “Why do you think I invited you here?” She regretted the question as soon as the words left her mouth.

Brawn gave a frustrated nicker and backed away, leaving Erin and Shing facing each other. Shing took a step toward her. “That’s an excellent question. Why did you?”

“I told you. To save your scraggly hide from sailing to your death at the hands of the king in Lakronos!”

“Humph. A simple warning would have sufficed. I’ve been taking care of my scraggly hide quite well on my own until now.”

She took a step closer. “Really? You’re being hunted by kings on two continents who want your head on a pike. You call that taking care of yourself?”

He leaned forward, towering over her. “I’ve been in worse predicaments, and I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“You’ve been lucky, then, obviously,” she retorted, staring back at him defiantly. “Your luck will run out eventually.”

He ground his teeth. “It started running out when I met you,” he growled.

She scowled at him. You, arrogant, ungrateful …. Why, if it weren’t for me … She swallowed. His feelings were probably justified. No doubt she’d thoroughly disrupted what he viewed as a manageable life. She squinted hard, and her vision began to blur. Oh hell, don’t start crying. But a single tear made its way down her cheek.

Shing straightened, and his expression softened. “Sorry,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll tell me the truth eventually. Or maybe I’ll just figure it out.”

Gods, he knew she was keeping something from him. He might even think everything she’d told him was a lie. She really wished she could talk to her mother.

“Um … sorry for your loss, by the way,” he murmured.

His words and tone opened the flood gates, and tears began rolling down her cheeks. He reached for her, and she stepped into his arms, surprising herself at how quickly and easily she accepted his comforting embrace. She sobbed against his chest. He felt so solid and real compared to the surreal circumstances in which she found herself, and for a moment she allowed herself to absorb some of that solidity.

Eventually, she was able to pull herself together enough to talk, but she remained in his embrace. “I’m sorry, Shing. This must all be very awkward for you. And you’ve been nothing but kind.”

“I can’t imagine it feeling awkward holding you in my arms.”

Nor I. She took a step back, putting a little space between them without leaving his embrace. “I meant bringing you here, into this situation, and the less-than-warm welcome you’ve received.”

He released her, letting his arms fall to his sides, and she resisted the urge to pull them around her again. “Oh, right,” he said. “Under the circumstances, your father’s caution is understandable. Were I in his shoes, I would think twice about welcoming a man like me into his home.”

“He doesn’t know you.”

“And you do?”

Touché. But she felt like she did know this man. Sure, he continued to surprise her at every turn as she learned more about his past, but she felt like she’d known the man underneath all that from the very first moment she’d met him. And his acts of kindness, consideration, and integrity had confirmed her first impression ever since. If this man was destined to be a king, he would be the kind of man under whose rule she’d want to live. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry about the money I put in your purse. I should have asked, and … what you said about trying to buy your affections may have had some truth to it. I didn’t know about the wine at the time, and now that I do … well, it makes a lot of sense. I wish you’d told me sooner, because it’s made all this a bit easier. And, if you could just be completely honest about why you invited me here …”

She wrung her hands together. “Can’t I just be showing concern for the welfare of another human being?”

“I know you’re holding something back.”

He sees right through me. “Okay,” she blurted desperately, “you’re right. I felt guilty about the wine and … and the trouble I caused everyone. I guess I saw an opportunity to do something good … to make up for my wrongs and … balance the scales somehow. It was probably foolish, but … here we are.”

He scratched his head. “I like you, Erin.”

Oh, gods. I can’t hear this.

“I liked you before I drank the wine, so … And you liked me, too. I mean, why did you try to find a special bottle of wine for me and accept my invitation to stay and share it? You weren’t one of the courtesans—”

“Then, why did you pay me for my services?”

He looked taken aback. “I … I—”

“Shing, there can be nothing between us.”

“Why?”

“There just can’t.”

“Because of some secret you’re not willing to share.”

Brawn nickered, and she broke eye contact. “We need to put up the horses and get back to the house.”

He sighed in resignation. “Of course.”

---

Erin’s feelings of guilt that Shing would be relegated to the herder’s shed for the duration of his stay turned to gratitude the more she thought about it. He knew she was keeping a secret from him, and she didn’t think she’d be able to resist his insistent probing forever. Having him staying a few pentags away would certainly help her avoid the subject—perhaps give her time to construct a more believable story.

The process of stabling the horses helped her stave off the topic for the time being, and on the way back to the house she kept up a running commentary, pointing out where things were and what they were used for, giving Shing no chance to bring up the subject again. When they reached the house, she gathered up some of her things from the porch and went straight to her room, leaving him to fend for himself.

She ascended the familiar short flight of stairs and automatically counted the fifteen steps it took to reach the door to her room, a practice she’d begun in childhood to help her sneak around in the dark. She pushed open the door, and a stream of memories flooded her mind.

Nothing had changed. The same small four-poster bed, covered with the quilt she and her mother had made together. A small dressing table her father had made for her for her twelfth birthday, the bench now a bit too small for her grown-up frame. A chest of drawers made from one of the field maples they’d cleared from the land when they first arrived in the valley, also constructed by her father.

She dropped her bundles at the door and wandered around the room for a time, examining the knickknacks mounted on the walls and reliving the stories they told. She picked up a small rag doll perched on the bed pillows. It was the first gift she could remember from her mother, and it had made the journey with them across the Great Sea when they’d emigrated to Panprama.

Her mother had been her teacher and confidant growing up—even her confessor at times. She’d been the hardest one to leave when Erin had decided to take her indenture to help the family through a hard time. Erin had never considered she’d never see her again. Fresh tears began to flow, and she made no effort to hold them back as the light from the single window dimmed in the setting sun.

---

Tsing was sitting at the opposite end of the dining table from Casin, both men with a goblet of wine before them, while Shia bustled about setting out plates and serving dishes, having refused his offer of help. He was trying to maintain an awkward conversation with the older man and was grateful to see Erin descending the stairs from her room, hoping her presence and participation would smooth things a bit.

“Ah, you’re here,” Casin greeted her. “How did you find your room? Is there anything you need?”

“Everything’s fine, Father.” She gave him a half smile. “It’s just the way I left it.” She nodded Tsing’s way but didn’t make eye contact. “I’ll see if Shia needs help in the kitchen.”

Tsing frowned as he watched her recede into the adjacent room. It looked like she’d been crying again. He returned his gaze to Casin, who himself had been watching after his daughter. Casin sighed, and both men took a sip of their wine in unison.

“So how do you make your way in this world, Tsing?” Casin asked.

Tsing set his goblet down, considering the best way to answer the question. “I’m a blacksmith by trade.”

Casin raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, you’ve got the frame to handle a forge. Useful work, that. Is that how you came by that big sword you carry?”

“It is. I made it when I was sixteen. It was my masterpiece to join the Guild on Lakronos.”

“Seems a bit large for a lad of sixteen. In fact, seems a bit large even for a man of your stature.”

“You’re not the first to say that, sir. But, with the proper technique, it takes less strength to wield than you might think. And it cuts a wide swath, if you want to keep an opponent at bay—or more than one.”

“Sounds like you may have had some experience with it. I’ve the impression you’re not doing a lot of smithing these days.”

Tsing nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t been near a forge in some dozen years. I miss it, sometimes.”

“That so? And how is it—”

“Father!” Shia had just emerged from the kitchen carrying a large serving dish. “Wait until we’re all seated before you start grilling our guest. You’ll spoil it for the rest of us.” She set the dish down on the table and turned to Erin, who had followed her from the kitchen with a smaller serving dish in each hand. “Of course, I guess you already know all about him, but …” She smiled at Tsing. “… I want to hear everything!”

Erin blew a breath between pursed lips as she set the two dishes on the table, giving him a sideways glance he interpreted as a plea for caution. “That looks like everything,” she said. “Do you two need any more wine before we start?”

He looked at his goblet. “I’m fine.”

“Same here,” echoed Casin.

“Then, let’s eat.”

The young women took seats opposite each other between the men and began passing the serving dishes around the table. There was an umbra stew with carrots and peas in a thick gravy, which Tsing poured atop a bed of rice and lentils, spiced the way Erin had prepared on the trail and he had so quickly become used to. There was some sort of colorful vegetable salad he eyed skeptically when Erin heaped a large serving on his plate but turned out to be quite tasty mixed with a sweet dressing. There were biscuits, butter, and honey. It was all delicious.

Conversation centered on the food at first, instigated by Tsing as he attempted to divert it from himself by complimenting the cooks. But it wasn’t long before Shia asked, “So how did you two come to meet?”

Seeing the sudden look of panic in Erin’s eyes, and fearing she couldn’t lie very well, especially to her family, he answered quickly, “Erin showed up at a campsite along the East Road, just north of Azurith. She hadn’t expected to find it occupied, but since it was getting dark, and there had been reports of bandits in the area, I persuaded her to stay.”

“And you spent the night together!” Shia exclaimed, then blushed as she realized the implication of her words.

Casin frowned.

“We talked,” Tsing said hastily, “and discovered we were both headed in the same direction. I offered to accompany her out of concern for her safety, and …” He smiled. “… it turns out she is a much better cook than I am.”

“You shouldn’t have been traveling alone, Erin,” chastised Casin.

“In her defense,” Tsing noted, “she was safer than I thought. She is armed with a marvelous little handheld crossbow that apparently you made for her, and she knows how to use it. Had it come to a fight, she probably could have taken care of herself. But the bandits that prey on travelers along the East Road are of the type that aren’t looking for a fight. A visibly armed escort can be a good deterrent.”

Casin nodded. “Good thinking.” He still didn’t look like he totally approved.

“In addition, she knew a shortcut through the forest that saved us both a day’s journey, at least.”

“It was the forest road we used to take from Baron Hanmur’s estate when we took the produce to the market in Elm Grove,” Erin explained.

“I see. Bad business all that, with Hanmur,” Casin said. “We hoped you would come home, but by the time we heard, you had already gone to Azurith.”

Shia must have misinterpreted Tsing’s curious expression. “Baron Hanmur’s estate was Erin’s original indenture,” she explained. “She didn’t tell you?”

Pleased that the conversation had turned from himself, Tsing pressed for more. Obviously, Erin had withheld information from her family, just as she was withholding it from him. It might be interesting to hear the story from another perspective. “What happened?”

Casin grunted. “She didn’t tell us either, not right away.”

“I’m sorry, Father. It all happened rather quickly,” Erin said. She turned to Tsing as if to explain, but Shia broke in before she could say anything.

“King Palatus seized his lands as soon as he took the throne in Azurith,” Shia blurted. “For unpaid debt. It was heartless, if you ask me.”

“I thought so, too,” Erin agreed. “And Baron Hanmur wasn’t the only one. There was a blight that destroyed most of the cherry crop for two seasons in the area. The king seized several farms, claiming they were mismanaged and the owners indigent.”

“Anyways,” Shia interjected. “The king regarded Erin’s indenture as part of the property and put her up for auction to the highest bidder. Apparently, the owner of an inn in Azurith purchased her.” She looked at Erin. “And that’s really all we know.”

Erin was blushing, pushing the food around on her plate and not making eye contact. “It was Ian Tanner of the Royal Goose Inn,” she said, her voice soft.

“The Royal Goose?” Casin echoed. “What sort of—”

“Ah!” Tsing interjected. “The Royal Goose Inn! No wonder Erin was able to accumulate so much gold.”

Erin shot him a look of horror.

“You’ve been there?” Casin asked.

“Not me,” he chuckled. “It’s a bit pricy for one of my means. But it has a reputation. That’s where all the rich merchants and nobility stay when visiting the city. Quite luxurious, from what I hear. I’m sure the staff is well paid, and I imagine the clientele is generous with gratuities.”

Erin’s chest heaved a visible sigh of relief. Gods, she was a terrible liar. Casin looked at her curiously. “That so?”

Erin nodded in affirmation. “Pretty much,” she said, her blush fading somewhat.

A moment of silence descended. Casin’s frown deepened. He seemed to be trying to work something out in his head. Shia’s gaze flitted from Tsing to her sister and back. It was she who finally broke the silence. “You were raised by monks?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Of the One Way.”

“So, you’re a religious man?”

Tsing’s brow furrowed. He often felt he was walking on eggshells when discussing his upbringing. Outside the monastery, he’d found the monks were often considered strange and fanatical. Indeed, their obsession with martial arts training—in preparation for the day they believed would come when they had to defend themselves from the outside world—certainly reinforced that image.

He cleared his throat. “The One Way is more of a philosophy than a religion. I don’t subscribe to all of it, but some of their teachings are quite useful.” He was expecting her to ask him to elaborate, and he was preparing to answer when she crossed him up.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not religious.”

“Oh?”

“Religious men are prudes. Like Conner Anersen.” She gave a shiver of revulsion. “Ugh. He’s so boring.”

Erin chuckled.

“Don’t laugh, Erin. He’s threatened to ask Father for my hand, and Father’s considering it!”

“It would be a good match,” Casin confirmed.

“Conner?” Erin speculated. “Why he’s …”

“… twice my age!” Shia finished for her. “I know, right?”

Erin grinned. “I was going to say, a ‘nice man,’ but you’re correct. He is a bit older than you.”

“And boring!” Shia wailed.

“He’s responsible,” Casin corrected. “He would be a good provider.”

“Father, I would be miserable for the rest of my life!”

“Of course, I won’t do anything against your will, child. But you should consider it.”

“I have! And I consider it a horrible prospect to be bored for the rest of my life. I want someone interesting!” She looked at Tsing.

Oh, hell. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he turned his attention to the plate in front of him. “This is some of the best stew I’ve ever eaten.”

“I made it myself,” Shia bragged. “It’s basically a family recipe, but I added some extra spices.”

He nodded, looking at Erin. “And you say this is umbra meat?”

Erin gave an amused snort. “Yep.”

“So, Casin. I was thinking, I’d be fine sleeping in the barn tonight. It’s plenty warm, with lots of straw for bedding. Much nicer than what I’m used to on the trail, for sure.”

Casin looked horrified. “Nonsense. I’ve already set up a pallet for you in there.” He pointed through the wide doorway behind Tsing and into the next room.

Tsing twisted in his seat to look. “Oh, I recognize the workmanship. It’s just like the ones in the cave last night. Very comfortable. Erin said you made those.”

Casin straightened in his chair. “You spent the night in Wayward Cave?”

Tsing gave Erin a questioning look. “It has a name?”

She glanced away quickly. “Yes, Father, we did.”

“Strange name for such a welcome place,” Tsing noted.

“The legend says it was discovered by two lovers having an illicit affair,” Shia explained. “They used it for years before they were found out and killed by a jealous spouse.” She cocked her head. “And you two slept together there.”

Erin frowned at her sister, who continued, oblivious, “Let’s hope you weren’t affected by the curse.” She grinned.

“Curse?”

Erin gave an exasperated sigh. “Shia …”

“What curse?” Tsing insisted.

“On lovers who spend the night together there,” said Shia.

“Oh?”

Shia leaned forward and announced in a stage whisper, “They’re both destined to die by the hand of a jealous rival.”

“That’s all nonsense, Shia,” Erin chastised. “Besides, since we’re not lovers …”

Tsing looked at her and grinned. “Good thing, huh?” He regretted having spoken the words, as a deep blush passed over Erin’s face and her father’s visage darkened, his eyes flitting between the two suspiciously.

Thankfully, Erin picked up the conversation from then on, inquiring into goings on in the valley since she’d left and not allowing the conversation to return to either one of them. Shia was visibly frustrated with the tactic, especially when she attempted to extract more stories from Tsing, but Erin insisted there would be plenty of time for stories in the coming weeks, that right now she needed to catch up.

After dinner, Erin dragged her sister into the kitchen to clean up, and the two men stepped outside into the cool night air, where Casin took a seat on the porch and lit a pipe. The more pointed questions Tsing feared from the man never came as they sat in companionable silence while the evening sky darkened, and the stars came out in abundance.

The longer they sat, the more relaxed he became. Tsing decided he liked this man, and his thoughts wandered to speculation as to what it may have been like to grow up with such a man as a father. The sounds of the night and a full belly conspired to make his eyelids grow heavy, and he was startled when the door opened, and Erin invited him inside to orient him to his sleeping accommodations.

The pallet Casin had set against the wall in the family common room had been made up with fresh linens. “Do you think you’ll need an extra blanket?” she asked.

He eyed the crackling fire in the fireplace and the recently filled log rack nearby. “I doubt it.”

“Well, if you do, you’ll find several in that cupboard there.” She pointed. “And there’s a small inside garderobe near the backdoor if you need to relieve yourself and don’t want to go outside to use the big one.”

He nodded.

She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It looks very comfortable.”

“No, I mean … this whole situation.”

He shrugged.

“You handled yourself well at dinner, by the way. Better than myself, I think.”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled. Upon seeing her frown, he added quickly. “You have a nice family.”

“I think my sister likes you.” She swallowed. “Be careful.”

He gave her a sideways look.

“And Father will come around … eventually.”

“I like him. He’s a good man.” He looked down at her, struck by the earnestness of her expression. Her green eyes glistened in the firelight. “I see a lot of him in you,” he whispered.

She blinked and stepped away. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning … or, maybe not. I … I think I want to visit my mother’s grave tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Good night, then.” She turned and hurried away.

He sighed. It was probably a good thing he’d be staying several pentags away from her in the coming months.

The day had worn on him both physically and emotionally, and he suddenly felt very tired. He might as well turn in. He banked the coals in the fireplace, sat on a chair near his sleeping pallet, removed his boots, and set them to the side. He looked around. Lamps in the adjacent rooms had been extinguished. The rest of the house was dark. Erin had retreated upstairs, and he assumed Shia had done the same. He was alone.

He removed his shirt and hung it over the back of the chair. He pulled back the covers from his sleeping pallet and snuffed the candles in a candelabra on the nearby mantel. Standing in the remaining light from the fireplace coals he began to unbutton his trousers.

Suddenly, there was another light in the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Shia stood in the doorway, a holder with a single lit candle in her hand. Her hair was undone and splayed out across the shoulders of a night shirt that fell a few inches below her knees. “I didn’t think you’d be going to bed so soon.”

He pulled his trousers back up and held them together at the waist with one hand. “It’s been a long day, and I thought everyone else had retired.”

“I think they have. I wanted to talk to Erin, but she’s asleep.” She took a few steps into the room. “Do you need anything? I have an extra quilt if you get cold.”

He shook his head. “It’s quite warm in here. I’ll be fine. But thank you anyway.”

She nodded and took another step into the room. Her eyes scanned him up and down. He’d never been particularly modest, but right now he wished he’d at least had a shirt on. “I know Father wasn’t very welcoming, but I’m really glad you’ve come—bringing my sister home safe and all. I’m glad you’re staying with us for the winter. I’m looking forward to—”

The front door opened, and a blast of cool air accompanied Casin as he came in from the porch. His shadow loomed behind Shia at the entrance to the common room. “Shia! What are you doing wandering around undressed?”

Startled, she turned and backed away from him, toward Tsing. “I’m not undressed,” she argued, looking down at herself. “I’m … covered.”

Casin stepped into the room, the light from Shia’s candle revealing the scowl on his face. He eyed Tsing, who was still holding his trousers closed with one hand. He looked at Shia. “Barely,” he said. “What are you doing up?”

“I … I thought Tsing might need an extra quilt. I was going to offer him mine.”

Casin looked at her empty hand. “Where is it?”

She looked up at him uncertainly. “In … my room?”

Casin’s scowl deepened. “Then, go get it.”

“I really don’t need it, sir,” Tsing interjected. “It’s plenty warm in here, and Erin told me there were extra blankets in the cupboard.”

Tsing was hyperaware of his half nakedness as Casin looked him up and down. “Yeah, you seem comfortable enough.” He turned back to his daughter. “Go on to bed, Shia.”

“Yes, Father.” She hurried from the room.

The two men were left standing in the glow of the dying fire. Casin sighed. “Shia’s always been a free spirit.” He looked at Tsing. “Not as levelheaded as her sister. You’ll watch yourself around her, I trust.”

Erin was levelheaded? He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“We’ll get an early start in the morning. Hope you sleep well.”

“Right. Thank you, sir.”

“And stop calling me ‘sir’. It’s Casin. Good night.”

“You, too … Casin.”

The man receded into the darkness, and Tsing could hear him mounting the stairs. He blew out a long breath. Yes, it was going to be a really good thing that he would be staying several pentags away.

CHAPTER 10

The Herder’s Shack

22nd Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Tsing awoke to the smell of meat cooking. He got up, and after making a trip out the back door to the outside garderobe, he wandered into the kitchen to find Shia busy cooking. She turned from the stove and gave him a wide smile. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. That smells delicious.”

“It’s some of the bacon you brought from Elm Grove. Erin said I could use it. How do you like yours?”

He shrugged. “I’m not particular. Where is she?”

“She went to visit our mother’s grave. She said she’d be there most of the morning.”

He nodded. “That’s right. She told me.”

“So, it’s just us for breakfast. Here, open wide.” She held up a cooked piece of bacon in front of his mouth. “Tell me if this is okay.”

He reached for the piece of bacon and started to thank her when she slapped his hand away and shoved it into his open mouth, pushing the last bit in with her finger, which she then put in her own mouth, sucking it free of grease. “Good, huh?” She grinned.

Casin chose that moment to poke his head into the doorway. “Ah, you’re up.”

“Yef,” he said through a mouthful of bacon, hoping the man hadn’t seen him with his daughter’s finger in his mouth.

“You said you wanted to see the shop.”

Tsing nodded, swallowing.

“Come on, then.”

Tsing followed him outside and across the yard to the shop. Casin stepped inside and held the door open for him to enter. He stepped into the dim light and looked around as Casin closed the door and lit a lamp on a nearby table.

“Here it is,” Casin announced. “Not much to see, right now. Lathe’s broken, so I haven’t been able to make much progress on those chairs.” He pointed to an area where stacks of planed and wicker seats, and dowels of various lengths and thicknesses, stood gathering dust. “Normally I’d have two or three dozen ready for the Festival by now.”

Tsing assumed he meant the Festival of the Witch’s Moon that Erin had told him about. There were other signs of neglect in the room, but the organized clutter of the place spoke to Tsing of familiar industry. Lumber of the same grade as that stickered in the yard was stacked near a table where a heavy planer and hand saw lay ready to cut and hone them. Several racks held mallets and chisels arranged by size and function. A large whipsaw also hung on the wall.

“Who helps with the whipsaw?” he asked.

“Neighbor down the way brings his logs to my pit out there, and we help each other out. We both have all the lumber we need right now.”

“What’s wrong with the lathe?”

“Broken gear.”

“Really? Can I see?”

“Sure.” He led Tsing over to the lathe and lit another lamp. He pointed to a broken iron gear on a nearby table. “That’s the culprit.”

Tsing picked it up. “I see.” He shook his head. “It’s done for, all right. Probably not even worth trying to repair. You’ve got a smith in the village, though, right? Couldn’t he make a new one?”

Casin snorted. “Not Nathan. Oh, he does a fair job at shoeing horses, but that’s about all. I’ll have to get one in Elm Grove come spring. I’ve tried to fashion a replacement from wood, without much success.” He pointed to a cluster of wooden carvings. “That field maple’s the hardest wood we have in the valley, but the lathe chews it up fast.”

Tsing picked up one of the wooden gears and held it against the broken one. “Maybe I could help. Mind if I take this with me?”

Casin shrugged. “It isn’t doing me any good.”

As he was pocketing the wooden gear, his eye was drawn to a section of the wall now illuminated by the second lamp. Several crossbows, of various sizes, hung on the wall. “Ah,” he exclaimed. “Erin told me those were one of your specialties. May I look at one?”

“Help yourself,” Casin shrugged.

Tsing carefully lifted the largest from its mount and examined it. “I’ve never put much store in these things,” he said. “I’ve always thought a long bow was more accurate. But that little handheld one your daughter carries made me reconsider. I’ve seen her hit a bullseye at fifty paces.”

“Right. The secret to that is the design of the bolts and how they fit in the flight groove. I’ll show you. Come over here.”

Tsing followed him to another area of the shop, where Casin lit another lamp that illuminated an array of unassembled parts on a low worktable. He held up a length of wood with a shallow indentation running down the middle.

“See these little grooves etched into the wood? I put a tiny little notch on my bolts that fits into those grooves. It makes the bolt spin, which stabilizes its flight. It cuts through the air better, even in the wind.”

Tsing thought a moment, trying to imagine how that worked. He blinked. “Brilliant,” he murmured.

“The trick, of course, is lining up each side of the flight groove—has to be exact. But I’ve gotten pretty good at it, with practice.”

Tsing frowned. “Don’t the grooves wear out with use?”

Casin shook his head. “If you do it right, the bolts will deepen the groove over time, making it more efficient. The problem is the heat the bolt generates spinning through the flight groove. It can catch fire if you don’t let it cool down after two or three shots.”

Tsing nodded. “Still … this is an amazing piece of work. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get the idea for this?”

Casin shrugged. “Sort of niggled at me since I was a boy—throwing rocks and stuff. You ever skip flat pebbles across a lake? The spin makes it more effective; you know?” He mimicked a throwing motion.

Tsing was thinking how the monks of the One Way would love to talk to this man. Master Kling would certainly find some numerical equation that related or explained what Casin had intuited. He was also thinking how a grooved piece of iron might solve the overheating problem.

“Well,” Casin said, looking around the shop, “that’s about all there is to see. Let’s get a bite of breakfast, and I’ll take you up to the south meadow.” He extinguished the lamps, and they headed back to the house.

---

Trevor lifted his eyes from the scroll and sniffed the air. Again? A knock on the door was immediately followed by Mae’s mob capped head inserting itself into the room.

“Mister Pieter’s come for a visit again,” she announced enthusiastically. “You decent?”

Why wouldn’t I be decent? “Of course,” he sighed. “Send him in.”

Mae had already flung the door wide, stepping aside to let Pieter in. She smiled at him as he walked by. “Would you two be wantin’ a goblet of wine, perhaps?”

Pieter returned her smile. “Bit early in the day for wine, isn’t it?”

She beamed, obviously pleased he’d remembered her observation from the day before. “True. Just tryin’ to be polite.”

“I’ll have some,” Trevor said.

“Then I suppose I will, too,” Pieter added. “Just a small amount—to be polite.” He grinned.

“Very well, gentlemens,” she curtsied. “I’ll be right back.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Trevor sighed. “You’ve charmed that woman completely.”

“Nonsense,” the dragon demurred. “She seems a willing and friendly servant.”

“You’re welcome to take her with you when you go, which by the way, I thought you had already done.”

“I spent the night in your fair city,” Pieter explained.

“It’s not my city. I’m leaving at the earliest opportunity.”

“Oh?”

Trevor tapped the scroll stretched out on the table before him. “After our conversation yesterday, I’ve been reading up on the Forest of Baeth—or The Enchanted Forest, as this scroll refers to it. The more I read, the more convinced I am of your theory that Ka’il Idreth is in the possession of the faeries Fauche and Floreze. I’ve decided to go there.”

Pieter raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to confront them? Is that wise?”

“No, I agree that it isn’t. Not without evidence, anyway. Which is why I’m going. Confirming they have the Sword that Sings is the first step, don’t you think?”

Pieter gave him a curious look. “Of course. I just think that’s … dare I say … brave?”

“And you’re surprised to observe such a quality in a goblin?”

“I … didn’t mean to imply—”

“Don’t worry. I’m not offended. We don’t believe in bravery. There’s no need for it with the proper amount of caution. And I promise you, I will be cautious. I’m only going to gather information.”

“Good.”

“So—” He cut himself off as the door was flung open and Mae swept back into the room with two goblets on a tray.

“Here you are!” As she had done the day before, she handed one to Pieter with a curtsy and set the tray on the desk next to the goblin while completely ignoring him.

Trevor sipped his wine quietly as he watched her flirt with the dragon, them bantering back and forth. He rolled his eyes. Finally, he’d had enough. “That will be all, Mae.”

She frowned at him, gave Pieter a final curtsy, and left.

“My offer still stands to take her with you,” he said.

Pieter chuckled, taking a sip of his wine.

“So,” Trevor continued, “I was about to ask what brings you back.”

“Right. I spent the night at the Royal Goose Inn.”

“The brothel?”

“It’s more than just a brothel, my friend. I had a fine meal, and the room was very comfortable. It’s the place where Erin and Tsing had their little … indulgence.”

“I see. A brothel.”

Pieter rolled his eyes. “I wanted to see if I could glean any additional information about the aphrodisiac they consumed. From what I hear, no one believes its effects are permanent.”

Trevor nodded. “Right. My own research confirms that. The molecule in the neleh berry that produces the aphrodisiac effect bonds with the alcohol and is broken down along with it in the human liver.”

“Great. I’ll pass the information on to the dream walkers. They’ll be relieved to hear.”

Trevor cocked his head. “I’m still a little puzzled at their concern.”

Pieter smiled. “Have you not observed the chaotic nature of the mate bonding process in humans?”

“I haven’t paid that much attention. They procreate at an alarming rate, which is the major concern to me.”

Pieter gave another chuckle. “The humans themselves refer to it as falling in love—emphasis on falling. Both parties involved are prone to illogical behaviors, particularly in the early stages.”

“More illogical than usual?”

“Yes. The dream walkers believe that Erin and Tsing are the keys to a prophecy that’s been circulating.”

Trevor stiffened, suddenly making a connection between what he’d thought were random dots. “An orphaned king with a sword that sings …”

“That’s the one.”

“… will follow a witch who walks in dreams.” He blinked. “Gods,” he whispered. “What if their destinies are tied to Ka’il Idreth?”

“It’s only a prophecy.”

“Right, but something I have observed in humans is their obsession with such predictions. They’re always looking for some shortcut to knowledge of the future. Why, they have people that make a living telling fortunes. Such obsession often makes these prophesies self-fulfilling … in some perverted way.” He gave Pieter a wide-eyed look. “No wonder the dream walkers are concerned about those two. If they are looking for the Sword that Sings, they indeed bear watching.”

“I believe the prophecy implies they are looking for a queen, not a sword.”

Trevor bit his lip. “Still …”

“My offer to fly you to the Valley of Kilaren still stands.”

The goblin swallowed. “It might be better for all concerned if I found Ka’il Idreth myself, before they do.”

“That makes sense,” Pieter agreed. “So, when do you leave for the Forest of Baeth?”

Trevor gave a helpless shrug. “As soon as I can slip away unnoticed by the king. Could be days … or weeks.”

Pieter drained his wine and stood. “You’ll keep us informed?”

“It’ll be in my report.”

“Good. Don’t hesitate to call on me if you need assistance. Right now, I have some errands to attend before leaving Azurith. I’ll let myself out.” He gave a slight bow, turned on his heel, and left.

Trevor sat for a moment, drumming his long nails on the table in thought, before returning his attention to the scroll.

---

Though not sure exactly what he would have said to her, Tsing wished that Erin had returned before they had to leave for the herder’s shed. But, since Casin had hitched the two draft horses to their wagon, now sat beside Shia with the reins in his hand, and Brawn was saddled, packed, and ready, there wasn’t much else he could do to give her more time.

“Ready?” Casin asked.

Tsing took a final—he hoped, surreptitious—glance back down the road in the direction of Erin’s mother’s grave. Brawn followed his gaze and gave a nicker that sounded like resignation. “Sure.”

Casin clucked at the horses, along with a twitch of the reins, and the wagon lurched forward. Tsing pulled himself onto the saddle and followed.

The wagon track wound steadily upward into the hills, switching back and forth through stands of forest and open meadows. It was steep in places, and the going was slow, but after about an hour, it ended at the edge of a wide-open meadow that stretched to the base of the mountains. The breeze sent waves running across tall grass and wildflowers.

Casin pointed to a low hill in the distance, where a small cluster of wooden structures stood among a stand of trees. “That’s the herder’s shack,” he announced. He set out across the field, and Tsing only then realized the road hadn’t ended but was only overgrown. Tsing urged Brawn forward, following in the wake of the wagon.

Casin called over his shoulder, “We won’t be using this meadow for herding this year. We’ll let it grow wild for a few more seasons, rotating between the west and east meadows before gathering the herds here again a few years hence. This year, we’ll be herding over in the west meadow.” He pointed to the right, where the grass and wildflowers ended at the edge of a forest. “I’d suggest putting up some posts to mark this trail. It’ll be impossible to find once the snows come, and it looks like the ones we put up last year got knocked down somehow.”

The grass began to thin as they reached the bottom of the hill and began the gentle climb to the herder’s shed. It was a single-story dwelling with a high-pitched thatch roof and a stone chimney at one end and a three-sided structure off the other side that looked like a multi-purpose work area sheltered from the elements. As they got closer, Tsing could see a large pile of firewood stacked at the far end, a long worktable, and a stall that might house several horses. Casin pulled the wagon to a stop and set the brake. “Here we are,” he announced, climbing down from the seat. “I’ll show you around.”

Tsing dismounted and scanned the building from one end to the other. His natural curiosity drew him toward the end of the shed with the woodpile and worktable, and he ambled in that direction. Brawn followed his master, of his own accord. Tsing was vaguely aware that two pairs of footsteps had changed direction to follow also. Whoops, Casin probably wanted to show me around. He stopped and turned. “Sorry, do you mind? This looks … um … interesting.”

Casin shrugged. “Go ahead.”

The first thing Tsing noticed was the woodpile was more than firewood. Longer logs of pine and field maple were stacked at the end, ready to be hewn into lumber. An old adze and splitting maul were propped against them. He picked up the adze to see what kind of shape it was in. The haft seemed sturdy, though in need of sanding, and the head was rusted but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“Do you know how to use one of those?” Casin asked.

“A little,” he murmured. He looked at the sparse stand of trees at this side of the shed. “I don’t imagine those trees shelter this hilltop much from the winter winds. I was wondering if I might use some of this wood to enclose the stable area.”

“Yeah, your horse might appreciate that.” Brawn nickered, seemingly in agreement, which caused Casin to chuckle. “Feel free to make any repairs or renovations you want. Any and everything you can find is at your disposal.”

“What about those?” He pointed to several shaggy hides draped over a railing near the worktable.

Casin grunted. “Umbra hides. The wife was going to turn those into leather goods for the Festival. Have at ‘em … if you can find a use.”

Tsing nodded. “How about that big iron kettle?”

“Mother used that to boil the hides,” Shia volunteered. “But I think there’s a hole burned in the bottom, and it won’t hold water anymore.”

Tsing walked over to the kettle, the lip of which rose to his mid-thigh, and peered inside. “I see what you mean.” He ran his hand along its surface. “Lot of good iron left here, though,” he murmured.

“Come on,” Casin motioned for him to follow. “I’ll show you the inside.” They walked around to the front of the shack, Brawn clopping along behind. Casin lifted a wooden latch on the front door and pushed it inward. Its wooden hinges creaked, but it swung true.

Tsing took notice of the workmanship. “You built this yourself, didn’t you? I’ve rarely seen better craftsmanship.”

“If you’re going to build something, might as well build it to last,” Casin stated.

The three of them filed through the door. For being called a shack, it was spacious, a single long room with a fireplace at one end in which hung an iron kettle like the ruined one outside but about a third the size. Next to it stood a brick oven upon which sat a clay kettle and skillet. Rows of shelves lined the wall on the far side of the oven, empty save for a few bound volumes at one end.

“Whose books are those?” Tsing asked.

“The girls’ mother loved to read,” Casin said. “She’d collect them at every opportunity. She treasured those. So did Erin.”

A table and four chairs were positioned in the center of the room. A four-poster bed and two low sleeping pallets were set along the front and back walls at the opposite end of the room, on opposite sides of a window that looked out over the wood pile outside.

The high-pitched roof rose to about six long spaces at its peak over an unfinished ceiling that Tsing could reach with his outstretched hand. An angled ladder gave access to the rafters, where boards had been secured to form a floor along the back wall.

“The girls liked to play up there,” Casin explained.

“When we were little,” Shia qualified.

“Right,” Casin said softly, “when you were little.” His voice resumed its normal tone. “We used to bring the whole family up here in late spring, after calving season was over. Lots of milking to be done and some shearing before the herds disperse back into the mountains.” He sighed. “Not sure how we’ll handle that this year.”

“Maybe Tsing can help,” Shia suggested.

Casin frowned. “I expect he’ll be long gone by then, child.”

Tsing was saved from commenting by a nicker that pulled their attention to the front door. Brawn had pushed his head through the doorway and was looking around the room.

Casin chuckled. “That horse follows you around like a dog.”

Brawn shook his head and whinnied.

Tsing laughed. “If you don’t want to be called a dog, quit acting like one,” he called.

Brawn snorted and withdrew his head from the doorway.

Casin clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s get the wagon unpacked, Shia.” He turned to Tsing. “We brought some linens and quilts for the bed, and some of those supplies you brought from Elm Grove. Erin said you were fond of rice and lentils, so we brought plenty.”

He gave Casin a weak smile. “I’ll give you a hand.”

It didn’t take long to transfer the things from the wagon to the shack. Shia took it upon herself to make the bed while the men stocked the shelves next to the stove. The place began to look almost homey, and Tsing figured he’d be as comfortable here as anywhere.

Presently, he stood outside next to the empty wagon with the two of them, the last sack of rice and lentils under his arm. “I reckon we’ll leave you to get settled in,” Casin said. He motioned for Shia to climb onto the wagon. She frowned but reluctantly complied. Casin offered his hand.

Tsing accepted the handshake. “Thanks for everything.”

Casin climbed up into the driver’s seat and took up the reins. He looked back down at Tsing. “Erin said she’d come check on you in a day or so. In the meantime, if you need anything, you know where we are.”

“Thanks.”

Casin nodded, clucked at the horses, and the wagon lurched away.

Shia turned and gave a weak wave of her hand. “Bye.”

He raised his hand in return, lowering it as she turned away. He watched the wagon rumble its way down the hill and into the tall grass, receding into the distance. He looked up. The sun was still high in the sky. Brawn sidled up to him and nickered. “Yep,” he agreed, “we’ve got some work to do.”

CHAPTER 11

Settling In

25th Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin stood beside her sister at the stove, gazing out the kitchen window at the streaks of morning sunlight stretching their way across the yard.

“Your man’s been up to something up there in the south meadow,” Shia proposed, spooning porridge into her breakfast bowl. “Have you noticed that column of smoke rising throughout the day?”

“He’s not my man,” Erin answered as she took the serving bowl from her sister.

“Your boyfriend then?” Shia teased.

“Stop,” Erin scowled. “I’ve told you, there’s nothing between us.”

Shia giggled. “You don’t like me saying it because it’s true. Don’t you think so, Father?”

Casin accepted the serving bowl from Erin and gave his youngest daughter a neutral look. “I’ve noticed the smoke. Reckon he’s working on fixing up the place. Early riser, too. Didn’t strike me as the type to just lay about.”

Erin noticed Casin’s implied approval of the character of the man she’d brought home, and she felt a strange swelling of pride in her breast. Where did that come from? She decided to ignore it.

She watched her father for a moment. His head was down, and he was shoveling porridge into his mouth as if completely focused on the task. She knew he wasn’t though. He was planning his day, the way he had during so many breakfasts when she was growing up. Something had shifted in him over the past few days. He didn’t seem as lost as he had when she first arrived. She glanced at her sister, who nodded and smiled. Shia recognized it, too.

“You know, Father,” Shia said, “I bet Tsing would be willing to help us with the herds come spring, if you asked him to stay.”

Casin grunted, and Erin frowned at her sister.

“What?” Shia objected. “I bet he would. It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, girl,” Casin said. “Give him time to settle in.”

Oh gods. He’s considering it! Erin fought down panic.

Her father looked at her. “You haven’t spoken with him since he moved up there, have you?”

She shook her head.

“I told him you’d check in on him in a few days.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” she murmured. Truth was, she’d been putting it off. She missed him more than she wanted to admit, and she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be alone with him, especially if he gave her another one of those looks—the ones she thought of every waking moment.

“Can I come with you?” Shia asked. “Let’s go see him today. We can take him some biscuits and leftover porridge. I don’t really think he likes those rice and lentils as much as you claimed.”

Erin looked at her sister. It might be good to have Shia with her, just in case. She chewed at her lip. “Sure, why not? Father?”

“Huh?”

“Would you like to go with us?”

He shook his head. “Got work to do. If I can keep the lathe running long enough, I might be able to finish a few of those chairs before the Festival.” He pushed himself back from the table. “Speaking of which, I best get started. Give Tsing my regards and tell him to let us know if he needs anything.” He got up and left.

He’s almost back to his old self,” Shia beamed. “And he likes your boyfriend.”

“You have to stop calling him that!”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot myself.” Shia pushed her chair back from the table. “I better get started on those biscuits.”

Erin sighed. “You do that. I’ll clean up the dishes.”

Shia shuffled over to Erin’s chair and hugged her from behind. “I love you, sister, I’m so glad you’re home.”

Erin patted her hand. “I love you too.”

Shia planted a kiss on her cheek. “And I like your boyfriend, too.” She leapt back just in time to avoid Erin’s swing, then ran into the kitchen, giggling.

Erin propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms. She blew out a long breath. “Gods,” she whispered.

---

Mazuom looked down at the brown-skinned minstrel stretched across the rack, his almond shaped eyes wide with terror. The man had long since given up pulling at the strips of leather that bound his hands and feet, stretching his limbs to the point where the tendons in his hips and shoulders barely held his body intact. He was certain the minstrel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt his fate was in the hands of the hooded figure who loomed over him.

He pulled his cowl back now to reveal his face to the minstrel, knowing his red gaze would strike further fear in his victim. The only light in the room came from a nearby forge, where implements of torture lay … warming. In the shadows his red eyes would take on a frightening glow. He spoke the minstrel’s name in a deep baritone voice. “Garoumb.”

Garoumb tried to swallow but gagged—his mouth would be dry with fear. “Yes?” the minstrel rasped.

Mazuom narrowed his gaze. “I have a few questions for you, Garoumb. I want you to answer them truthfully. Will you?”

The man tried again to swallow, hacking a few gagging coughs.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Mazuom affirmed. He settled himself onto a stool beside the rack. “Why do you come to my kingdom spouting prophecy, Garoumb?”

Garoumb blinked. “I … I … don’t know what you mean,” he croaked.

Mazuom raised his hand, spreading his fingers wide. The straps around the minstrel’s hands and feet tightened and began to stretch his limbs further. Garoumb emitted a hoarse scream. “The truth, Garoumb.”

“It … it is the truth,” the minstrel gasped. “I swear, I don’t know of any prophecy.”

Mazuom stood and leaned over him, peering into the man’s eyes. “An orphan king with a sword that sings,” he quoted. He raised his palm once more, threatening to spread his fingers.

“It’s just a song,” the minstrel whimpered. “I … I learned it traveling with a caravan across the Great Eastern Desert. Aaargh!” Mazuom held his fingers wide while the minstrel emitted a satisfying scream, after which he relaxed his hand along with the minstrel’s bonds.

“It’s true,” whimpered Garoumb. “I swear on my life.”

Mazuom smiled. “You certainly do.” He leaned close, wiped a bit of sweat from the minstrel’s brow with his finger and held it close to his nose. He wiped the finger on his cloak, sat back down on the stool and sighed. He closed his fist, and the pull on the minstrel’s hands and feet relaxed. “Where is the Sword that Sings, Garoumb?”

The minstrel shook his head. “I … I don’t know. I don’t think there is such a thing. It’s just a song.”

The dark man cocked his head. “Is that so? How did you know I was an orphan king?”

The minstrel’s eyes widened. His brow furrowed, as if he were beginning to pull the pieces of a puzzle together. “I didn’t.”

Mazuom stroked his chin in speculation. “I guess you do now, though.”

Garoumb swallowed, successfully this time. “If you don’t want anyone to know, I won’t tell.” There was a note of desperation in his voice.

Mazuom snorted. “I’m afraid I can’t take that chance.” He raised his hand, and the minstrel winced. Smiling at his victim’s reaction, he signaled to a large shadow in the corner of the room. He watched Garoumb’s eyes widen with renewed fear as a huge mountain of black muscle stepped into the dim light, its shadow looming over them both.

“This is Zim,” Mazuom explained, turning to look the man up and down. His massive arms hung limply at his sides, and he stared blankly at his master, awaiting his next command. Mazuom turned back to Garoumb.

The minstrel tried to swallow, but his throat was again closed in fear. He uttered a gagging sound.

Mazuom turned back to the hulking mind slave. “Zim, this is Garoumb. He’s yours to play with. Just be sure to clean up afterwards.”

A light came on in Zim’s eyes as he turned his blank stare on the minstrel. A wide, toothless grin spread across his face.

---

The minstrel’s screams faded behind him as Mazuom closed the door to the torture room and ascended a flight of stone steps from the dungeon. As he emerged into the daylight, he paused at an archway to look out over the Falls of Ozua, inhaling the sulfur-tainted mists that rose as the water from the great swamp plummeted over a hundred longspaces into the lake below.

His gaze wandered to the southern horizon across the great lake to where, at this height, one could just make out the edge of the jungle into which his kingdom stretched its tendrils along the five rivers that emptied from Lake Ozua into the dark interior of the continent.

His kingdom—he snorted—such as it was. A bunch of half-naked savages, barely enough population to provide the necessary mind slaves to work the mines. But that would soon change. His fists clenched at his sides. Soon he would have an empire befitting a warlock of his stature.

He ground his teeth. Peche would tell him to be patient, but patience wasn’t his strong point. He decided to go see her now instead of waiting for whatever news she might have. He ascended another flight of stone steps and turned down a long hallway that led deeper into the castle. Torches burned in sconces at distant intervals along the wall, shedding just enough of their oily light to prevent a misstep by someone unfamiliar with the passage. Mazuom could have found his way in the dark, and after a number of twists and turns stood before a wooden door guarded by two armed mind slaves whose postures stiffened in acknowledgment of his presence but continued to stare blankly into space.

He waved his hand slowly across the front of the door until he heard the faint click of a latch from within, then he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The light in the room was even dimmer than in the corridor, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

A wizened old woman standing by a stone cistern in the middle of the room stiffened. “Mazuom? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be, Peche?”

The old woman cackled. “Indeed, who? What did you learn from the minstrel?”

He sighed. “He knew nothing of any value.”

“I told you. The prophecy takes on a life of its own. Not all of its messengers are players.”

“Whatever. Have you found the Sword that Sings?”

“It has a name. Ka’il Idreth.”

He took an eager step forward. “You found it?”

“No, but I may have found the witch who walks in dreams.”

“I need the Sword, Peche. It is the key to power.”

At those words, the old woman straightened and turned from the cistern to regard him with pale, colorless eyes—eyes that shouldn’t have been able to see him through their milky cataracts, but most assuredly did. “You are too short-sighted, Mazuom. Ka’il Idreth may be the key to power, but how will you hold on to that power? For that you need a queen.”

He snorted. This was an ongoing argument he knew he couldn’t win—for now. “Who is it, then?”

“I’ll show you.” She turned back to the cistern and beckoned with a finger. “Come.”

He crossed the remaining space between them and took up a position on her left side. Together, they peered into the dark waters of her divining pool, which presently began to swirl with clouds of color before coalescing into the face of a young woman with red hair and green eyes. “She’s little more than a child.”

“Yet, the dream walkers have chosen her, and they are definitely players in our little drama. She is Erin Callen, lately of Azurith. She is already guiding an orphan king-to-be in his search.”

“They are looking for Ka’il Idreth, as well?”

She cackled again. “No, my foolish king, they search for a queen. Unlike you, they understand the importance of it. They’re not concerned about any sword of power.”

He grunted. “And you call me foolish. Who is this impostor king?”

“His name is Tsing, for the sound made by steel upon steel. The dream walkers believe his skill with a blade fits the prophecy in lieu of some powerful artifact.”

Mazuom shook his head in disbelief. “That’s crazy. Show him to me.”

She shook her head. “That I cannot do. I got the image of the witch from the mind of a dream walker. None have yet seen the man. But Erin has taken him to the Valley of Kilaren in the Darinian Mountains.”

“To find a queen?”

She shrugged. “I assume.”

“Seems an unlikely place.”

“Perhaps, but that is where she has taken him.”

He frowned. “Is it possible the dream walkers are misleading you, and they have gone there to look for Ka’il Idreth?”

“The dream walkers are unaware of my eavesdropping.”

“Are you sure?”

She turned her disconcerting milky gaze upon him. “Yes. But you may have a point that they are looking for more in that valley than a queen. I cannot gain access to Erin’s mind—at least, not yet. We’ll need some help to gather more information—a spy of some sort.”

Mazuom’s eyes narrowed to slits of red. “Perhaps that could be arranged.”

---

It was almost noon and unseasonably warm for the latter days of the Frost Moon when Erin and Shia emerged from the woods and began to make their way across the east meadow to the herder’s shack. The first thing Erin noticed was that new posts had been erected marking the trail across the meadow.

Shia noticed them, too. “Those will make it easier when the snows come,” she commented.

The column of black smoke that had been visible from their farmhouse separated into two smaller columns as they approached, and the two girls postulated several explanations for what sort of industry they indicated with no agreed-on conclusion.

As they neared the rise upon which the herder’s shack was built, Brawn suddenly appeared at the top of the hill, whinnying in greeting and trotting to greet them. As they pulled to a stop in the yard, the horse sidled up to Erin’s seat and dropped his head into her lap.

Laughing, she stroked the bridge of his snout while he nickered in appreciation. “I missed you, too, Brawn. Where’s your master?”

“There he is,” Shia gasped. Shing had just emerged from the woodshed next to the house, naked to the waist, his chest glistening with sweat, which he was toweling off with his wadded-up tunic. “Praise the gods, that man is gorgeous,” she whispered. “If you don’t want him, I do.”

Erin glanced at her sister, frowning. “He’s too old for you, Shia.”

Shia didn’t return her glance, her attention riveted on the smiling figure approaching them across the yard. “He’s not as old as Conner Anersen,” she murmured. Her voice took on a frustrated tone. “No, no, don’t put your tunic back on. Darn.”

But Shing had finished toweling off his chest and shoulders and was pulling his tunic over his head. Erin’s gaze fell to his rippling abdominal muscles as he pushed his arms through the sleeves and adjusted the material across his shoulders. Her thoughts flashed back to their night of passion at the Royal Goose, and how her lips had felt pressed against those taut muscles. She swallowed and shook herself.

Shia pulled a basket from under her seat and jumped to the ground, prancing up to him and holding it up for him to see. “We brought you some biscuits and sausage,” she beamed.

Erin watched her sister as Shing took the basket from her, thanked her, and told her how good it smelled. She was blatantly flirting, touching him and thrusting her chest out so he couldn’t avoid noticing her cleavage. The little hussy. She wasn’t kidding.

Shing turned a wide smile to Erin. “Can you both stay and help me eat these?”

“Of course!” Shia blurted.

Erin nodded, and Shing handed the basket back to Shia, who stood there taken aback as he strode over to Erin and offered a hand to help her down from the wagon.

Erin took his hand and swung her legs around to step from her seat but missed the running board and started to fall. He caught her easily, his hands clasping her waist, and set her gently to the ground. She stood there for a moment, her hands grasping his forearms. She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She looked up into his face. There was that look, the mixture of concern and devotion—the look she’d so feared. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. “Y … yes,” she stammered. “Thanks.” She stepped out of his arms and straightened her dress, avoiding eye contact. She looked around. “So, what have … um … you been up to?” She pointed to the source of one of the columns of smoke. An iron barrel sat in the yard, about thirty longspaces from the woodshed. Its top was covered by another thin piece of iron. On top of it all was a hollow log acting as a chimney, from which the smoke spouted. “What’s that?”

“I’m making charcoal.”

“Huh?”

“For steel.”

She blinked.

He grinned. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

The girls followed him over to the contraption, Brawn clopping along behind. “It’s hot, so don’t touch it.” It was an unnecessary warning since the intense heat didn’t allow them to get close enough. “I used that big, burned-out cauldron to make the barrel. The fire burns around the outside of a smaller barrel inside, filled with pieces of field maple that will become the charcoal. This batch won’t be ready for another few hours, but I’ve almost made enough to last the winter.” He pointed to a pile of large black bricks near the woodpile.

Erin frowned. “And you’re going to use it for steel?”

“To make steel. Come, I’ll show you my forge.”

He led them to the woodshed, the front of which was now half boarded over. “I hope to have this whole area enclosed before winter sets in, but I at least wanted to get the stall ready for Brawn.”

They stepped inside. The stall was now lined with straw, and a new feeding trough had been added, which was partially filled. At the far end was the source of the other column of smoke. A raised earthen fire pit had been constructed wherein a glowing fire fed an iron flue reaching through the ceiling. A bellows, made of sewn-together umbra hides, was suspended from the ceiling. “That’s my forge,” he explained. “Not pretty, but it works. And it’ll keep it warm in here for Brawn.”

The horse nickered at his words.

“Wow,” Erin said. “You’ve been busy.”

“Father would love to see this,” Shia added.

“Oh,” Shing said. “I have something for him.” He sidled to the back wall and pulled something from a shelf. “Here,” he said, handing it to Erin, “I think this should work well.”

She held it up to the light. “A gear?”

He smiled. “For his lathe. He said he’d have to wait until spring to get one in Elm Grove, so I made one.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You made this?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been carrying a set of tools around for years. It was good to finally get a chance to use them. I wanted to make one of steel, but I won’t have any for a while, and he was struggling to run the lathe with these.” He pulled from his pocket the wooden gear Casin had given him and showed it to her.

She took the wooden gear from him and held it up next to the iron one. “It’s a perfect match. I … I can’t believe you made this.”

“Let me see,” Shia said, inserting herself between them. She plucked the iron gear from her sister’s hand, gasping. “It’s perfect! Old Nathan could never do something like this.” She looked at Tsing. “He’s the blacksmith in the village.”

Shing chuckled. “Casin said his skills were limited.”

Shia turned the gear over in her hand. “You should make some more of these—set up a booth at the Festival. People all over the valley would commission you for all sorts of things once they saw your work.”

There was truth in Shia’s words, and Erin’s mind raced into a future where Shing settled into a life in the valley … chose a mate … raised a family. She shook herself. And Shia’s thinking the same thing. She retrieved the gear from her sister’s hand and dropped it into the pocket of her dress. Time to change the subject. “Who’s hungry? We don’t want those sausage and biscuits to spoil.”

Shia gave her a sideways look.

Shing clapped his hands together. “Eating sounds like a great idea! Let me dampen the fire here, and we can go into the house. You two will be my first guests at table. And frankly, Shia, I’ve missed your biscuits.”

Shia beamed, Erin’s abruptness immediately forgotten. “Well, we should do something about that, shouldn’t we? Erin, why don’t you go get the basket—I left it in the wagon. I want to stay and watch Tsing dampen the forge.”

Erin hid an eye roll. “Fine. I’ll set the table. You two join me when you’re ready.” She turned on her heel and left the shed, passing Brawn on the way out. The horse followed her, clopping along behind as she made her way to the wagon, the sounds of Shia’s tittering giggles fading behind. The basket of biscuits and sausages was sitting on the seat of the wagon. She grasped the handle and turned toward the house, only to find Brawn blocking her path.

“What?”

Brawn craned his neck to look back toward the woodshed. He snorted.

She chuckled. “You don’t think I should leave him alone with my sister either, do you?”

Brawn looked at her and gave a definite shake of his head, accompanied by a long nicker.

She reached up to stroke his snout. “There’s not much I can do about it,” she sighed.

The horse lowered his head, stepped around, and nudged her from behind, sending her stumbling forward in the direction of the woodshed, from which a fresh peal of giggles emanated.

“Hey,” she complained. “What the—” She gave Brawn a sideways look. “No way. He can take care of himself. I’m not getting involved.”

Brawn lowered his head and fixed her with a single eye.

She gave him a curious look, then shook herself. “And I’m talking to a horse.” She headed in the direction of the house. Brawn whinnied, but she didn’t alter her course. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, cutting off the sound of a more insistent whinny.

She looked around. Not much had changed since she’d last seen the place. There was evidence of a fire in the fireplace, and the bed had been slept in, but in contrast to how industrious he’d been with the woodshed and the forge, Tsing was obviously not the decorating type. She wondered how much time he’d spent here since he came.

One anomaly caught her attention. One of her mother’s books lay open face down on the bed. Had he been reading it? Intrigued, she set the basket on the table and walked over to the bed, where she sat and picked up the book. It was her favorite book of children’s stories her mother had read to her as a child. It was opened to her personal favorite, Neddy and the Dragon, and an illustration of the young heroine riding on the back of a green dragon, her long red hair blowing in the wind.

How often had she imagined herself as Neddy, flying to rescue her family from the trolls who had taken them as slaves? She sighed as she brushed her fingers across the illustration, which was slightly raised from the page by the colored ink used in its creation. The color was beginning to fade, and the edges of the page showed signs of decay. The book would not last another generation, especially sitting on a shelf out here in the herder’s shack.

Her eyes misted over as a flood of memories from her childhood washed over her. She hadn’t appreciated the boring simplicity of her life then. She’d wanted to escape it any way she could, jumping at the excuse of helping her family when the opportunity arose to take an indenture. Well, her life certainly wasn’t boring anymore.

She was startled from her reverie as the front door crashed open and Shia burst into the room ahead of Shing, looking back over her shoulder at him, laughing and giggling at something he must have said. She abruptly fell silent at the sight of Erin sitting on the bed with the book in her hand. “Oh, what are you doing?”

Erin held the book up for her to see. “Reminiscing. Do you remember this?”

Shia rolled her eyes. “How could I forget? You were always begging Mother to read it to us.”

Erin looked at Shing. “You were reading this?”

He grinned. “I like the one with the dragon.”

Erin looked down at her lap, nodding. She reopened the book to the page with the illustration.

“That was always her favorite,” Shia said. “I think she wanted to be the girl in that story.”

“Really?” he laughed. “Because Neddy reminds me of Erin. She’s fearless.”

Fearless? Does he really believe that? She looked up from the page, meeting his gaze. There was that look again, and she felt the blood rise in her cheeks.

Shia looked back and forth between the two, a curious frown on her face, before everyone’s attention was diverted by a nicker coming from the doorway. Brawn had poked his head in and regarded them curiously. “He really is like a dog,” Shia giggled.

“He’s just curious,” Erin defended, “that’s all. He likes to know what’s going on. He’s smart.”

“That’s debatable,” Shing murmured, shaking his head. “You can’t come in here, Brawn,” he called. “I’ve told you. You won’t even fit through the door.”

Brawn shook his big head and nickered, eliciting another giggle from Shia.

“You should tell Shia the story of how you and Brawn got together,” Erin suggested. She looked at Shia. “That horse saved him from a life of piracy.”

Shia’s eyes went wide. “You were a pirate?”

“I was a sailor,” he corrected. He frowned at Erin. “I never said I was a pirate.”

Erin smirked. “Some of us can read between the lines.”

Brawn nickered.

“See?” Erin added, “he agrees with me.”

“Go away, Brawn.” Shing made a shooing motion with his hands. The horse snorted and withdrew his head from the doorway. Tsing walked over to the door and poked his head outside. “Go bother the other horses.” There came an answering nicker, after which he closed and latched the door.

He looked at Erin. “I think he misses Sura. You should bring her up sometime. We could go for a ride, and you could show me the rest of your farm.”

And that would mean being alone with you. “There’s not much else to see,” she said. “Just more of the same.”

He regarded her in silence. “I see,” he murmured. “Well, it was just a thought.” He shrugged.

Shia looked at her sister in disbelief before blurting. “I want to hear the story!”

He frowned. “About Brawn?”

“Yes!”

He rolled his eyes. “Very well. But I want a biscuit.”

They gathered around the table, Erin taking a seat at the head, distancing herself from Shing, while Shia grabbed a seat beside him. While they ate, he related the story he’d shared with her that night in the cave.

Shia cupped her chin in her palm and stared at him, rapt. “So, you never got back to your ship?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve been wandering around Panprama ever since.”

“What was it like, being a pirate?”

“Sailor,” he corrected, glaring at Erin.

Erin blushed, suppressing a smirk.

“It was mostly long weeks at sea, trying to position the sails to catch the wind, or manning the oars when there was none. The rest of the time was spent trying to find shade from the sun.” Shia opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “It was a long time ago. Tell me about this festival coming up.” He glanced at Erin. “I’ve never been to a Festival of the Witch’s Moon. What’s it like?”

“I told you about it,” Erin said.

He turned to Shia. “She said there were fortune tellers.”

Shia’s eyes gleamed. “Yes! They’re so much fun. They tell you such enchanting things, like who your future love will be.” She batted her eyes at him. “Last year, one told me I would be a queen.”

“That sounds promising,” he chuckled.

“I know,” she giggled. “Can you imagine?”

He smiled. “I think you’d make a fine queen.”

Erin got a sudden queasy feeling in her stomach. She set her biscuit down and reached for a sip of water to wash down the bite she’d just taken, her mouth having gone dry.

Shia continued, oblivious to her sister’s reaction. “Anyway, the Festival’s much more than that. People set up booths to sell their crafts. There is food, games, contests … and dancing! Oh, Tsing, you must promise me a dance.”

He grinned. “How could I refuse a future queen? It sounds like fun.” He looked at Erin. “Will you be dancing, too?”

Erin shrugged.

“There will be a ton of broken hearts if she doesn’t,” Shia said. “Last Festival she was here, the men were lined up for a chance to dance with her.”

He glanced Erin’s way. “Really?”

She blushed. “My sister’s exaggerating. I don’t remember it being like that.”

“You don’t?” Shia gasped. “Why, Thomas and Caleb Mavers almost got in a fight over who got to her first.” She giggled. “Erin made them draw straws.”

“Well, that seems fair,” he chuckled, turning back to Erin. “So, I won’t have to fight anyone to get a dance with you … as long as I wait my turn?”

She snorted, examining the biscuit in her hand.

“Is that a yes?” he prompted.

She looked up at him and was nearly drawn into his blue eyes before tearing her gaze away and focusing on the biscuit again.

“You’ll dance with me?” he insisted.

She swallowed. “Of course, I’ll dance with you, Shing. It’s … the Festival.”

“Good.” He looked at Shia. “You heard her say yes?”

Shia nodded.

He took a bite of sausage and biscuit and leaned back in his chair, giving Shia a thumbs up. “Good biscuit,” he said.

---

It was midafternoon when they said their goodbyes and Erin clucked the horses into motion, turning the wagon back down the hill and across the meadow toward home. Shia turned from a last farewell wave to Tsing and twisted in her seat to face her sister. “Okay, you need to tell me right now. What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?”

“That man likes you, Erin. And you like him, too.”

“Of course I like him. We’ve become … friends.”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. There’s more than friendship going on.”

“I think you’re reading a lot more into it than—”

“Horse manure! You turn bright red whenever you look in his eyes. Gods, you’re blushing right now, just thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“I’m not blind, Erin.”

She swallowed. “I’m just … embarrassed, okay? Yes, I think he likes me, but I just don’t like him that way, and it’s awkward.”

“What’s not to like that way? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re very different people.”

“I’ll say. He’s extraordinary. Not that you aren’t. I mean, you’re my big sister, and I love you, but he’s—wow. And what’s wrong with being different? Why should that stop you from—”

“I can’t be with him, Shia.”

“Why?”

“I just … can’t.”

“I just … can’t,” Shia mimicked in a whiny tone. “That’s no reason! Why—”

Erin shot her a furious look. “Drop the subject, Shia.”

They jostled along in silence for a while, until she heard Shia give a little sniffle. “Stop pouting. That might work on Father, but it won’t work on me.”

“You’re hiding something, Erin. I’m your sister. You can tell me.”

“I would if … there was anything to tell.” Oh hell, I almost admitted it.

Shia sighed. “You’re wasting a perfectly good man. What’s going to happen when we take him to the Festival? If you don’t claim him, there are fifty girls in the valley who’ll try.”

Erin shrugged.

“One of them might be me,” Shia warned.

“Fine.”

As they wound their way along the wagon track, Erin could feel her sister’s eyes upon her, speculating, looking for clues. This was going to be nothing like the quiet winter at home she’d hoped for. And I just gave my sister permission to seduce the man I love. She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

CHAPTER 12

Fair Exchanges

28th Day of the Frost Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

The sun was beginning to sink behind the tall willows along the west bank of the Wiste River when the captain directed his crew to move the barge out of the main current and pole the craft toward a dock jutting out in the water past a bend in the river. Trevor rose from a chair he’d set up in the shade of an overhang below the pilot’s tower and sidled to the railing. It was the end of two long days on the water, and he was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to have his flat goblin feet on solid ground once more.

Their destination was Holly’s Landing, a trading post and inn recognized as the only safe place—if they were careful—for travelers to spend the night as the river wound south through the Forest of Baeth. No one stayed here for long. The captain of the barge Trevor sailed on had forbade his crew to sleep at the inn. They would only be allowed to take a meal, then bed down in their usual berths on the barge. They would conduct their business and leave as soon as possible the next morning.

When Trevor had told the captain he was planning to stay, the grizzled mariner had looked at him askance, regaling him with tales of travelers who had been lured into the forest at night, never to be seen again. Trevor had to assure the man he had no intention of leaving the inn, that he was merely here on behalf of the king in Azurith to negotiate some business he had with Holly Trill, the proprietor of the inn. He would be staying a few days, then catch a north-bound barge back to Azurith.

It was, of course, a lie.

The king didn’t even know he was gone, and Trevor would certainly not be able to return to Azurith any time soon, else he was sure to face consequences. His hope was to retrieve Ka’il Idreth and get it back into the hands of the Protectorate. If he could not accomplish that, he hoped at least to confirm the Sword that Sings was in the possession of the faeries that ruled the Forest of Baeth, in which case he could defer to the Protectorate to handle negotiations for its return. In either case, his mission would be complete, and he could return to the realm of the Protectorate, and his cozy office cubby, to finish his term of service in peace.

Of course, the more likely scenario would be that he found himself on a wild goose chase, that Ka’il Idreth was nowhere in the area. If so, he would be forced to board another barge going south, taking him into the kingdom of Ozua, where he would need to lie low for a while. Going into Ozua was not an attractive prospect. It was ruled by the warlock Mazuom, and he did not want to have to deal with a warlock.

As the crew eased the barge around the river bend and the dock took shape in the distance, the captain sidled up beside him at the rail. “I can have one of the boys help you with your bags,” he said. “But he’ll have to come right back to the boat.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Trevor said. “I can handle them.”

“Sure you won’t reconsider staying here? I can’t imagine what business the king could have with Holly Trill that would be worth the risk of being here for more than a night. I like you, little goblin. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

Trevor gave the captain a surreptitious glance to see if he was being facetious, but the man’s sentiment seemed genuine. “I appreciate your concern.”

The captain gazed into the distance. The cluster of buildings that was the trading post was now visible. The structure looked more imposing as they approached. “You’ll be invited to stroll the gardens after dinner. Beware. They’re beautiful … enchanting, I dare say … but there are paths from them leading into the forest.” He looked into the goblin’s eyes. “You will feel the pull of the forest in those places. Resist it. Nothing good can come from going into those trees.”

Trevor nodded, turning back to the rail. “I’ve heard. Thank you for the warning.”

“And the satyrs. Stay away from the satyrs.” The captain’s gaze took on a faraway look. “Strangely seductive, those beasts.” He shook himself and turned again to the goblin. “They’ll try to take you into the forest as well. Don’t go.”

“I’ve been warned about those, too. Don’t worry. Goblins are not so easily seduced.” He could see the dock with greater clarity now. It stretched a good hundred longspaces into the water from a break in a stone foundation that had been constructed on the riverbank. It was wide enough to accommodate the width of a large cargo wagon, and one such vehicle stood ready to be loaded, pulled by four large draft horses. They were pointed in the direction of two heavy wooden doors that led through the opening in the stone at the base of the dock.

The tall structure that had blended so perfectly into the canopy of the forest from a distance was now revealed to be a formidable castle. From within its keep, two towers rose above the stone walls, the tallest of which was four tiers high, with roofs in a gabled style and curved eaves that resembled the wings of a crane. The windows facing the river were tall and narrow. Several were rolled open from the bottom, revealing their possible function as a perfect perch for an archer with a long bow to fire at unwanted visitors on the water.

“It’s a fortress,” Trevor murmured.

“Aye,” the captain agreed. “For anyone fool enough to attack it.”

The barge pulled up alongside the dock and the crew secured its moorings. A gangplank was laid, and crewmembers began to unload some of the cargo into the waiting wagon in exchange for a few large crates with a curious rune etched on the cover.

Trevor bade the captain farewell, hoisted his bags, and made his way onto the gangplank. As he passed one of the stevedores carrying a runed crate, he caught the distinctive smell of neleh berries. He wondered if his benevolent captain was engaged in some black-market trafficking. More likely, the resident faeries were expanding their distribution south into Ozua.

Picking his way carefully through the loading and unloading activity, he sidled by the wagon and trudged down the dock toward the open doors leading into the keep. Despite the formidable ramparts and other implications this could be a fortress, there were no guards stationed anywhere. In fact, as he stepped through the archway into the keep, he saw the place was strangely deserted. He snorted, reminding himself this was a faerie domain—strangeness was to be expected.

He found himself facing the wide base of the shorter of the two towers he’d seen from the river. There were low steps leading to an awninged porch that stretched the length of its front. Tables and chairs were placed at intervals, like an outdoor café, but were all unoccupied. Sliding doors of stained-glass depicting scenes of revelry stood open at the entrance, and since there seemed to be no other place that resembled an inn, he ascended the steps and entered.

The room was open and airy, with a high ceiling and tall windows through which the late afternoon sun shed beams upon at least a hundred dining tables surrounded by empty chairs. At the back of the room was a long counter behind which the concierge, a female giant, stood with her elbows propped, regarding him intently. From the description he’d been given, she would be Holly Trill, the proprietor.

He approached her. A grin appeared on her face, which widened as she watched him make his way through the cluster of empty tables. He set his bags down and craned his neck to look up at her. “You must be Holly Trill,” he said.

“I am,” she confirmed. Her grin widened. “And who might you be, little goblin?”

He was tired of being called that, and he sensed she knew it somehow. He also sensed she wasn’t really a giantess, but some other shapeshifting Fae. “Trevor, at your service, madam.” He gave a slight bow, which was hard to do for a being of his stature while still maintaining eye contact.

She leaned over the counter, still grinning, and eyed his bags. “And it looks like you’re planning to stay for a while.”

“A few days.”

“That’s unexpected.”

He frowned. “Did I need a reservation?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Hell, no!” She threw her head back and guffawed.

Trevor waited for her to compose herself before asking, “You have a room, then?”

“We have plenty of rooms, little goblin,” she chortled. “Trevor.” She inclined her head. “You can have our finest suite.”

“What do you charge?”

“Our prices are negotiable,” she smirked. “How will you be paying?”

“Azurithan coin.”

She snorted. “Twenty krin per night.”

“How about fifteen?”

She again threw her head back and guffawed. It seemed to take longer for the laughter to abate this time.

“You said the prices were negotiable,” he explained.

“Not if you’re paying with the coin of Azurith.” She gave him a whimsical look. “I was thinking of another sort of … fair exchange. Something we could do … for each other.”

He was taken aback by her suggestive tone. “Um … no, I’ll be paying in coin.” Who is this woman? Could it be—?

“Twenty krin, then, in advance … for the first night.”

“Very well.” He dug in his purse and produced the exact number of coppers, which he stacked on the counter.

She eyed the coins for a moment, then clapped her hands together. “Curtis!”

A blank-faced, bedraggled looking young human shuffled through a door behind the counter.

“Show Trevor, here, to the King’s Suite.”

Curtis shuffled around the end of the counter and picked up one of Trevor’s bags, the smallest. “This way,” he grunted.

Trevor gathered the rest of his things and followed.

“Dinner won’t be for another two hours,” Holly called after him. “Make sure you get here early so you can find a good table.”

Trevor paused, looking around at the huge, empty dining room in disbelief. He turned to her. “Thank you, I will.”

“And, hey,” she added, “if you want to kill some time before then, why not take a walk in the gardens out back? They’re lovely.” It sounded very much like a challenge.

“Thank you,” he said, “I might.” He turned and shuffled after Curtis, her chuckles fading behind.

---

“Hey, Shia!” Erin called as she walked through the front door. “Where are you?”

“In here,” her sister answered.

Erin followed the sound into the kitchen, where she found Shia stirring a simmering pot of some bitter-smelling goo. “You’re making salve?”

Shia turned from the pot and wiped away the tears that had formed from standing over the vapors. “I’m trying to make salve. I watched Mother do it a hundred times, but this doesn’t seem to be thickening the way it should.”

Erin peered into the pot. “It doesn’t smell exactly the same, either.”

Shia’s shoulders sagged. “I think maybe the canis root is too old.”

“I don’t think canis root gets old.”

Shia sighed. “Maybe I should give up. If I try to sell this at Festival, and it causes hives instead of curing them, we could be in trouble.”

Erin chuckled. “It looks like it’s simmered long enough, anyway. Why don’t you just let it set and see what happens?” She held up a brand-new crossbow. “Father made this for Shing. He asked me to take it to him.”

“You’re going for a visit? Can I go too?”

“Yes, if you like.”

Shia stepped back from the stove and looked down at herself. “I need to change.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Hurry, please. We’ll need to be back for supper.”

Shia hurriedly removed the pot from the stove and set it on a nearby table to cool. She turned to her sister. “Should we take some biscuits or something?”

“I’ll put a basket together while you change.”

“And you’re going like that?” Shia pointed at the clothes Erin wore.

“Yes.” She gave Shia a pointed look. “I’m going to deliver this crossbow, not to try and seduce our guest.”

“Well,” Shia said indignantly, “I at least want him to know I’m a girl.”

“I’m sure he knows that already. Hurry. I’ll meet you out front with the wagon.”

With a snort, Shia turned and hustled from the room. Erin looked down at her tunic and work trousers, stained from her recent mucking out of the stables. Perhaps she should— No, don’t. She sighed. The less attractive she appeared, the better for all concerned.

But she had second thoughts twenty minutes later, when her sister bustled up to the wagon wearing a colorful frock trimmed with red lace and a tight bodice emphasizing her youthful curves and providing an enticing eyeful of cleavage.

Shia held the skirts with both hands and twirled around. “What do you think? I made it for Festival, and I thought this would be a good opportunity to see what kind of reaction I get.”

And make me look like a pig. Erin shook her head. “You look lovely, Shia.” It was the truth. “Climb up and let’s go.”

She waited barely long enough for Shia to get situated on the seat beside her before snapping the reins and propelling the wagon forward with a jerk.

“Whoa,” Shia said, grasping the side rails to keep from falling. She gave Erin a look. “You should at least have washed your face.”

Erin grunted.

“Here, I think I have a kerchief.” Shia dug a small linen cloth out of the pocket of her dress and moistened it with a bit of spittle. “Hold still. I’ll see if I can get that smudge off your cheek.”

“Stop,” she objected, pulling the kerchief from her sister’s hand, and throwing it to the seat.

Shia was taken aback. “What’s with you? I’m only trying to help.”

“And I’m trying to steer the wagon. Do you want us to run off the road? I’ll do it myself before we get there, okay?”

Shia muttered something under her breath. “Where’s the crossbow?”

Erin thumbed behind her. “Back there.”

Shia twisted in her seat and pulled the bow from the bed of the wagon. “Wow. It’s a nice one. Father made this just for Tsing?”

“In thanks for him making that gear for the lathe, I think.”

“And I think Father likes him, too.”

Erin grunted in agreement.

“It’s really great to see Father in the shop again—working, I mean. Honestly, Erin, it had gotten bad before you arrived. He’d sit in there in the dark all day, moping and drinking. He was terrible company at dinner. I couldn’t get him to talk about anything.”

Erin responded with another grunt.

“Much like you right now.”

Erin looked at her in exasperation. “What do you want to talk about?”

“How about what happened with you and Tsing back in Azurith and what the big secret is you’re keeping from me?”

Adrenaline pumped into Erin’s veins, as she fought back a moment of panic. Had she mentioned her and Shing meeting in Azurith? She didn’t think so. No, she’d been very careful in saying they had met traveling on the East Road. Shia was fishing, the conniving little—. “We’ve already had this conversation, haven’t we? I met Shing on the East Road, and I’m not keeping …”

“… any big secret from you,” Shia finished in unison with her. She shrugged. “Fine. I just thought it was worth a try. Okay, how about why you claim you’re not attracted to him and won’t give him the time of day?”

Erin scowled. “Again, we’ve already had …”

“… that conversation,” Shia joined in again. “Of course. Gods forbid we should talk about it again. How about Festival? You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I said I would.”

“Do you have a dress? I’ll be happy to make you one.”

“No, thank you. I have something that will be appropriate, I’m sure. I can probably still get into the one I wore last time, before I left.”

Shia eyed her up and down. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve filled out a good bit … up top.” She cupped her own breasts.

Erin frowned. “Yes, I should probably check the fit. I don’t want to flaunt myself like you are.”

“What do you mean, ‘flaunt myself’?”

“I can see half your breasts.”

“But not all,” Shia pointed out.

“Well, there’s not really that much more to see,” Erin chuckled.

Shia gasped. “That’s mean.” She punched Erin’s shoulder. “Just because I’m not the cow you’ve become.” She pouted, looking down at herself. “I wish I was a little bigger, though.”

“You will be,” Erin consoled her. “Give it time. Besides, you’re already the prettiest girl in the valley. The boys will be following you around like dogs at Festival.”

Shia sighed. “I don’t want the boys to follow me around. I want the men to follow me around.”

“Well, it sounds like some already are. I wonder what Conner Anersen’s reaction will be to you in that dress.”

Shia shuddered. “Oh, gods. Don’t remind me. What am I going to do about him?” She was silent for a moment. “You know, if I had Tsing on my arm, Conner Anersen would surely stay away.”

Erin glanced at her. She seemed serious. “So would every other man,” she pointed out, hoping it might deter her.

Shia nodded. “Yes, I know. It would be well worth it, however. And think of how jealous all the other girls would be.”

Erin swallowed. “Shia, I don’t think you should pursue Shing.”

Shia raised her eyebrows. “Really? You told me the other day it was fine.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Because you really do want him, don’t you?”

“No, because I … just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Because …?”

“Because he’s … experienced. I mean … he seems like the kind of man who is experienced. He’s been around. You can tell. He’s had … I mean, he’s probably been with a lot of women.”

“I bet he knows how to please one, too.”

Ugh. This isn’t going well. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

Yeah, you are, aren’t you?

“I don’t understand why you aren’t, Erin. It’s not like you,” Shia insisted.

“I’ve grown up.”

“Horse manure. Look, all you have to do is tell me you want him, and I’ll back off.”

Erin shook her head and sighed.

“Very well, then.”

The two exchanged no more words for the duration of the ride, until Brawn trotted out to meet them when they arrived at the herder’s shack and again plopped his huge head in Erin’s lap.

“That horse really is like a dog,” Shia laughed.

Brawn nickered as Erin stroked his snout. “Where’s your other half?” she asked.

The horse raised his head and snorted, pointing his nose in the direction of the far side of the house.

“In the corral out back?”

Brawn gave another nicker and nodded. He turned and trotted in that direction.

Erin set the brake on the wagon and jumped to the ground. She retrieved the crossbow from the bed of the wagon and strode after the horse. Shia climbed down and hustled after her, holding up the skirt of her dress to keep it from dragging in the dirt. When they rounded the side of the house, they both stopped in their tracks. Erin let out an involuntary gasp.

There he was, stripped to the waist, broadsword gripped in both hands … cavorting. It was the only word that came to mind. He had set a wooden post into the ground in the center of the corral, several longspaces in height, and he was jumping back and forth around it, swinging and twirling the huge blade in all directions. He was totally absorbed in his activity, oblivious to the presence of his visitors.

“Gods, he’s beautiful,” Shia whispered.

Erin nodded, her mouth hanging open.

“Don’t interrupt him,” Shia whispered.

Erin shook her head, still staring.

“I want to watch,” Shia whispered.

“Uh-huh,” she whispered back. Silently, she closed the distance to where Brawn stood at the railing. Shia joined her, crossing her arms on the top rail and resting her chin on them with a sigh.

As they watched, Erin began to recognize a pattern in his movements. He wasn’t just cavorting. It was more like a choreographed dance, with each complex series of steps ending with the blade against the wooden post. The patterns varied, starting slowly, and ending at an almost blinding pace, always with the blade at a perfectly controlled tap along the post, sometimes with the tip, sometimes with the edge.

He’s practicing.

“Look at his arms,” Shia sighed.

And his back … shoulders …chest … abdomen. Memories of how every inch of his body felt flooded her mind. It isn’t doing me any good to watch this.

Brawn whinnied, and Shing halted in mid-step. He turned, regarding his audience, his chest heaving from exertion. A big smile stretched across his face. He took a long, slow breath and blew it out before calling to them, “Hello, there!”

Erin stiffened, returning a feeble wave.

“Don’t let us interrupt,” Shia called in return. She lowered her voice to a murmur. “We were enjoying the show.”

Erin nudged her. “Hush.”

Shing jammed the tip of his sword into the soft ground, leaving it upright and wavering as he strode over to greet them. “It’s good to see you both. What have you been up to?” He eyed Erin up and down. “I’m guessing you’ve been mucking out the stables.”

She caught herself staring at his bare chest and forced her eyes to his face. That may have been a mistake, as she was just as drawn into his blue eyes as she had been to his body. She became acutely aware of the visceral reaction she was having, and she could feel the dreaded blush rising to her cheeks. Unable to find words, she nodded.

“Yeah, never my favorite job,” he said, his tone commiserative. “Hey, you’ve got a little piece of something there.” He reached out and cupped her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. She suppressed a gasp as he withdrew his hand and wiped his thumb on his trousers. “Just a smudge,” he said. “Got it.”

Seconds passed as they stared at each other, until he seemed to become aware of the intimacy of his gesture and his own face reddened a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“N-no,” she stammered. “I-it’s fine.”

“We’ve been getting ready for the Festival,” Shia blurted, drawing his attention. “I’ve been making salve to sell at the market—or, at least trying—and I made this dress. Do you like it?” She backed away from the railing to present a full view.

“That’s very nice,” he said. “You’ll be turning quite a few heads in that, young lady.”

“What about your head?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You already turned my head long ago,” he answered smoothly.

Shia beamed.

Gods, she really lapped that up. Erin shook herself back into focus.

Shing put his hands on his hips and looked back and forth between the two. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Erin cleared her throat. Feeling as if she’d recovered her senses somewhat and compelled to assert herself, she held up the crossbow. “We brought this, and I’ll make you a deal. I’ll show you how to use it if you show me how to do what you were just doing.” Oh, hell. Are you insane? Where did that come from? But she couldn’t back down now.

“The forms?” Shing glanced back at the wooden post and his sword, still swaying slightly in the breeze. He turned back to her. “There are seven of them, with seven variations in each form. I was only up to the third form when you showed up. It’s a lot to learn.”

“Very well. Teach me one, then. And I’ll make you an expert with this.” She waved the crossbow in the air.

“Expert?” Shia scoffed.

He cocked his head at Erin and grinned. “Sounds like a fair exchange. I’m game.”

“Don’t be silly, Erin,” Shia scoffed. “You’re not even strong enough to lift that sword.”

“He told Father it didn’t take that much strength, with the proper technique,” she rebutted. She looked at Shing. “Didn’t you?”

“I did. You don’t need as much muscle as you think. It’s all about balance, momentum … centrifugal force …”

“What force?” Shia blurted.

“Centrifugal,” he said, waving his finger in a circular motion. “Using spin and the weight of the blade to create force. Erin can do it,” he stated confidently.

“Could I do it?” Shia asked.

“Certainly. Come on,” he beckoned, “I’ll show you.”

Shia started to climb over the railing, then looked down at her dress and reconsidered. She started for the corral gate, but before she had taken a step, he reached over the rail and grabbed her by the waist. She squealed in glee as he lifted her over the railing and set her gently on the ground. “Follow me,” he said, striding toward the sword.

Behind his back Shia turned to her sister and made a fanning motion at her neck. She clapped her hands together gleefully and hustled after him.

Erin swallowed. This was going to be hard to watch. Brawn nickered, and she turned to find him eyeing her. “I know,” she murmured. Letting out a long sigh, she pulled herself up on the fence and sat on the top rail to observe her sister’s antics.

Shing pulled the sword from the ground and held the hilt out to Shia. “Use both hands,” he said.

Shia took hold of the hilt, and when Shing let go of the blade, it fell to the ground with a thud, nearly bringing her to her knees. “It’s too heavy,” she complained.

“Don’t try to lift it,” he instructed, stepping back out of the way. “Use your legs and your body as an anchor and swing it.”

“Huh?” She tried again to lift it and failed. “I can’t. Can you help?”

“Sure. Let me show you what I mean.” He sidled around behind her, placing his hands over hers on the hilt of the sword.

Shia nestled her back snugly against him and twisted to give him a look of pure innocence. “What do I do now?”

Brawn sidled up closer to Erin’s perch on the railing and nickered softly. She reached out to pat his neck. “I know. It’s disgusting.” The horse snorted in response.

“We’re going to take a step back,” Shing instructed, “and twist around.” The tip of the blade dragged through the dirt. “Lean back a little and use your body weight.”

Shia leaned back against him and giggled. “This is fun.”

Brawn nickered again.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Erin muttered. She pushed herself from the railing and strode toward the pair. “Give me that,” she said, interrupting her sister in mid-giggle. She wrested the sword from Shia’s grasp. Ignoring her sister’s shocked expression, Erin said, “This is what he’s trying to show you.”

Shing pulled Shia back a few longspaces. “Better give her some room,” he murmured.

Erin gripped the hilt firmly in both hands. Gods, the thing was heavy as hell. She glanced up at the other two. Shia stood scowling; her fists clenched at her sides. Shing stood behind her, his eyebrows raised, an amused smirk on his face.

She swallowed. Okay, here goes. She took a deep breath and gathered her legs under her. With a mighty grunt, she took several running steps backward and twisted her body. The huge blade came off the ground. Pivoting on her heel and toe—the way she’d seen the men do when throwing the hammer in the games at Festival—she spun several times, leaning against the weight of the massive weapon, then took a single long stride out of the turn to slam the edge of the blade into the wooden post.

She stepped back from the post and stood, breathing deeply from the sudden exertion. The blade was embedded in the wood halfway across its width, quivering at the hilt and tip. She looked at Shing. “Like that, right?”

His face split with a wide grin. “Exactly,” he beamed.

Shia stood with her mouth open, looking back and forth between the two.

Erin stepped forward to remove the sword from the post. It wouldn’t budge. She grasped the hilt with both hands and pressed one foot against the post, straining with all her might, until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Here,” he offered, “I’ll get that.” He bent over and jerked the blade free with one hand. “Technique,” he explained, grinning.

Erin blushed.

“But I think you have a point,” he added, looking at Shia. “The sword is a little heavy for purposes of instruction. We need a better alternative.” He turned back to Erin. “If you’re really interested?”

“I am,” she said.

“Me, too,” Shia echoed, frowning at her sister.

Oh, gods. Now she’s angry with me. “When can we start?”

“Give me a day or so to come up with something.”

“Very well. Um …” She looked around, feeling suddenly awkward. “We should probably be going.”

“Already?” Shia asked. “We brought biscuits and sausage,” she added, looking at Shing, in search of an ally.

“We … we need to get back. Chores and stuff. And you’re making salve.” She looked pointedly at her sister. She turned to Shing. “We’ll leave the biscuits and sausage, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“And that.” She pointed to the crossbow leaning against the railing of the corral.

“And you’ll teach me how to use it?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s the deal, in exchange for you teaching us how to use a sword.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He smiled.

“Yeah, me too.” The three of us. Gods, what was that going to be like? “Um … the basket of food is in the wagon?” She pointed in that direction.

“I’ll accompany you.”

Erin caught Brawn eyeing the three of them as they passed through the gate. The horse then clopped along behind as they walked in silence to the wagon. Erin handed Shing the basket of biscuits and climbed into the driver’s seat. She watched Shia accept Shing’s hand to steady her as she climbed into the seat beside her. “See you soon,” she waved as she clucked the horses into motion.

As they made their way along the wagon track through the meadow, she could feel her sister’s eyes upon her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Shia replied.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence.

---

It didn’t take long for Trevor to settle into his rooms. The King’s Suite was opulence personified, but Trevor was a goblin of simplicity. His bags were packed well, with quick access to anything he might need, so he didn’t bother to unpack them. After giving himself a brief tour of the suite, he found he did indeed have time to kill before dinner and decided he would answer Holly Trill’s challenge to visit the gardens.

Before doing so, however, he extracted a small device from one of his bags. It was an egg-shaped piece of metal with a small indentation on its smooth surface, which he thumbed to test its function. A holographic image of the trading post and its grounds appeared in the air before him and expanded to include the surrounding forest as he applied more pressure.

Good. The locator was fully charged and working. If he did decide to succumb to the lure of the forest, he would not get lost. He slipped the device into one of the large pockets in his trousers.

The dining room was still empty. As he passed through, observing the dust motes dancing in the beams of light from the setting sun, he couldn’t imagine the place being as crowded for dinner as Holly Trill had warned. The giantess herself was still behind the concierge desk, her elbows propped on the counter, watching him with interest.

“The gardens?” he inquired.

She grinned. “Right through those doors.” She pointed to a set of sliding stained glass doors matching the ones he’d come through from the front porch. They led to a wooden deck covered with more empty café tables. He gave her a slight bow. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy,” she called after him, followed by a deep chuckle that resonated through the room. “If you find yourself lost, just keep to the right.”

He stepped through the doors onto the deck and surveyed the landscape below. He now understood her warning about getting lost. The gardens were laid out among a maze of flowering hedges. For a normal human, the hedges were low enough to see over. But for a goblin, he would be blind to their pattern once inside the rows. Keep to the right, huh? He fingered the locator in his pocket, glad that he had chosen to bring it.

He descended a flight of wooden stairs from the deck and entered the maze before extracting the locator from his pocket and thumbing it to life. Very well, he could see the pattern. Holly Trill’s advice about keeping to the right was valid. Still, there had been something in the tone of her warning that made him distrust her.

He made his way deeper into the maze, checking the locator as he went. The gardens were as beautiful as advertised. He noted that many of the exotic plants were not native to Earth. He even recognized a species of cactus from his own world. Great care must go into maintaining such plants, yet he saw no evidence of gardening staff.

He found himself wandering toward the garden’s edge, where benches were scattered in the shade of the overhanging branches of the oaks and willows from the surrounding forest. He pocketed the locator and sat for a moment on one of them facing outward from the garden.

He looked up into the trees. The overhanging canopy was dense and thick, in sharp contrast to the open landscape where he sat. And, as the captain had warned, he could feel the pull of its dark recesses. There was faerie magic here, to be sure.

His gaze dropped to the hedge opposite his bench, where an opening he hadn’t noticed before led into the forest proper. As he stared into the verdant darkness, a faint glow seemed to illuminate the pathway from deep within. He leaned forward, squinting to make out the detail.

Suddenly, he became aware that he had risen from the bench and stood at the entrance to the path, staring into the forest and wondering at the source of the light. He shook himself. The pull is strong.

He reached into his pocket, where his hand closed around the locator. Its smooth metal surface felt comforting. I’ll be fine. Without further hesitation, he stepped into the trees.

The path he followed was well-worn, and the faint glow he followed illuminated the darkness so that he could find his way easily. As he proceeded, the eerie quiet was broken by animal sounds and the buzz of insects, making it feel more natural—even comforting. He lost all sense of time, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when he rounded a bend in the path and entered a clearing to find the source of the glow he’d been following.

Light from the sun streamed into the clearing from the open canopy and illuminated a scene that took his breath. Water trickled from a stream over a small waterfall at the far side into a clear pool in its center. And squatting before the pool in front of him was a little female goblin, swathed in ribbons of coral colored silk. Startled, she rose to face him.

She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Thick reddish-brown eyebrows perfectly complimented the baggy folds around her wide brown eyes, and a matching ridge of curly hair crested the crown of her head. The tips of her ears didn’t rise to a point but had that unusual exotic droopy flap that always made his heart race. Her mouth hung open in surprise, revealing a perfect array of pointed teeth.

A waxy green blush rose to her cheeks. “Oh! You caught me,” she purred. “I … wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here.” She looked him up and down. “Especially, someone like … me.”

Like her? He’d never seen anyone like her. At a loss for words, he just nodded.

She approached him with wide-eyed caution. “Are you real?” She reached out to touch his face, a feather-like stroke that set his heart pounding.

She smiled. “You are real.” She blushed again. “I was about to go for a swim,” she cooed. Her fingers hovered at the base of her throat where a bejeweled clip fastened the silks that barely covered her body. “Would you … care to join me?”

Would I? By the gods of Urgule, yes! He swallowed. Is this really happening? What are the odds? He frowned. The odds were extremely low, indeed. He found his voice. “Floreze?”

The gorgeous female dropped her hand from the clasp, and a disgusted look crossed her face. Gossamer wings began to sprout from her back as her limbs and torso began to elongate and her skin to change color. In seconds, a fierce-looking faerie towered over him, scowling. “Clever little goblin, aren’t you?” she spat.

He was getting really tired of being called that, but under the circumstances, he was reticent to express his objections. “In your defense, that was a perfect creation—exactly my type. Just a little too perfect.”

The faerie’s expression softened. “Couldn’t you just … pretend?”

He shrugged. “Sorry, I’m working.”

Floreze rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ugh, you goblins are all alike. No fun at all.”

“Not while we’re working, anyway.”

The faerie crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what are you working at—besides being a pain in the rear end?”

He cleared his throat. “My name is Trevor. Nice to meet you, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Right.”

“I represent the Protectorate.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not those people. Ugh. This just keeps getting worse.”

“We’re trying to locate some artifacts that we believe could be dangerous if they fell into human hands. We have reason to believe one such artifact may be in your possession, Ka’il Idreth.”

Floreze didn’t blink. “What would I want with a sword that sings?”

“That’s what we’re worried about.”

She scowled. “What are you trying to say?”

“Just stating our position. You’re already creating havoc by introducing the neleh berry into the local population—”

“Just a bit of harmless fun.”

“… and I see you’ve begun expanding your distribution into Ozua—”

“Again, harmless fun.”

“… where the warlock Mazuom rules. How can that be harmless fun?”

She shrugged. “What could happen?” she asked, smirking.

“I can only imagine.”

“Care to share your imaginings? I’m always open to new ideas.”

“I’m sure. As for Ka’il Idreth, the Protectorate will compensate you for its return.”

“What sort of compensation?”

“The local coin of your choice.”

She snorted. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange. How about you stay here for a while and play with us?” She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand, and a little jolt of static electricity stung his jaw. He jerked back involuntarily. “Please?” she added.

He watched as her wings melted into her back and she morphed back into the female goblin. She ran her hands sensually up her body, pausing at the clasp to her silks. “I promise, it will be fun.”

He stared. Floreze had made this one even more voluptuous than before. He watched with fists clenched at his sides as she undid the clasp, and the silks fell in folds at her feet. “I promise,” she whispered.

He closed his mouth and shook his head.

“Fine,” she said, her tone petulant. She put her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t have your little singing sword, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.” She turned and dove into the water, where she swam gracefully to the center of the pool, turning to look at him while treading water. “Good luck finding your way back to the gardens.” Her head disappeared beneath the surface.

He watched as the ripples made their way to the banks of the pool and its surface smoothed. The female goblin never came up for air. The clear water turned cloudy, then black. The light in the clearing began to dim. He looked up and saw the tree canopy had grown over to block the sunlight.

He turned to look back along the path he’d come. It was now overgrown, the roots from the surrounding trees making it nearly impossible to discern. In a panic, he pulled the locator from his pocket and thumbed it to life. He sighed with relief as the path appeared clearly on the holograph before him, having been recorded on his way to the clearing. He plunged into the dense undergrowth, following its direction.

The sun had set by the time he emerged from the forest, scratched and bleeding from pushing his way through dense foliage. As he made his way through the garden, he could hear the sounds of many voices coming from the dining room, and when he stepped through the stained-glass doors, he saw the place was packed.

Where had all the people come from? Diners talked and laughed as slack-faced waiters looking like clones of Curtis, the one who’d shown him to his rooms, moved silently among them, serving plates and pouring wine.

The giantess Holly Trill was still at her place behind the concierge desk, surveying the activity with a critical eye. When she saw him, she scowled, then pointed to a table in the center of the room, where his barge captain and crew were devouring their meal. He made his way in their direction.

The captain looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What happened to you?”

“I went into the forest.”

The captain shook his head. “I told you not to do that. Here, I saved you a seat.” He indicated a vacant chair beside him.

Trevor sat down. A Curtis clone appeared immediately, setting a filled plate before him and pouring wine into the empty goblet before him.

“Are you okay, little goblin?” the captain asked.

Trevor sniffed the wine, confirming it contained no neleh berry, then took a sip. Swallowing, he noticed his jaw was a little sore where Floreze’s touch had shocked him. Damn faerie. He was lucky to have escaped without more damage than that. “Yes, I’m fine, but I should have taken your advice.”

“Aye. Ye should have. But I’m thankful ye made it back.”

“And I’ve decided not to stay. If my berth is still available, I’d like to accompany you south in the morning.” He winced as the captain clapped him on the back.

“Wise choice, little goblin. We’ll be glad to have ye.”

CHAPTER 13

Hard Lessons

1st Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin looked up from the kitchen table in response to her sister’s curse. She rose from her chair and joined Shia at the stove, where she was stirring a pot of foul-smelling goo.

“What am I going to do, Erin?” Shia complained. “This didn’t turn out at all. It never set, and it doesn’t smell right.”

Erin pursed her lips as she peered into the pot they stood over. She grasped the handle and tilted it so the rays from the morning sun streaming through the kitchen window could illuminate the inside. “It’s very runny, isn’t it?”

“What did I do wrong?” Shia whimpered. “I tried so hard.”

Erin dipped a finger into the goo and massaged it into the skin with her thumb. She began to feel an unusual tingle in the tips of both digits. She frowned. “Wait, you said you used canis root?”

“I was very careful to measure the correct proportions.”

“Are you sure you followed the right recipe?”

“It was the one labeled For Hives.”

“Where is it?”

Shia pointed at a small leather-bound book shelved on the opposite wall. Erin shuffled across the room and pulled it from the shelf. She thumbed through the pages until she found the page labeled For Hives. She scanned the list of ingredients as she returned to the table where Shia had begun stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon, a discouraged look on her face. “Why didn’t it thicken?” she murmured.

“The recipe doesn’t call for canis root,” Erin said.

“Sure, it does,” Shia insisted. She looked over Erin’s shoulder. “You’ve got the wrong recipe. Turn to the next page. Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Shia, this says For Wives, not For Hives.”

“What?” Shia peered at the page. “Oh, gods. Mother’s handwriting was so bad. What did I make, then? What does that mean, For Wives?”

“Well, it’s for their husbands, really. It makes them … you know, hard … down there.”

Shia gasped. “Oh, no.” She lifted the spoon and watched the goo drip from it back into the pot. “I … I can’t sell this.”

“Actually, you probably can. It was one of Mother’s more popular items.”

“Really?” Shia’s mouth formed a surprised Oh. She frowned. “What if mine doesn’t work?”

“You followed the recipe, right?”

Shia bit her lip. “We need to test it … somehow.”

Erin giggled.

“I’m serious. What about Tsing?”

“He doesn’t need—I mean … no.”

“It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m not proposing we watch, or anything. Just give him some to test in private and let us know.”

Erin shook her head, vehemently.

“I bet if you ask him—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Father?”

They looked at each other.

“Who, then?” Shia insisted.

“I don’t know. Not Father … and not Shing.” She grinned. “Why don’t you ask Conner Anersen?”

Shia snorted. “Forget—”

She was interrupted by a loud whinny, and their attention was drawn to the kitchen window, where a large black bridled horse’s head peered at them from outside.

Erin gave a startled cry. “Brawn! What in the world …?” She hustled to the window. Brawn stepped back out of the way as she flung the window open, then stepped forward and thrust his neck into the kitchen to accept her hug, nickering contentedly as she stroked his mane and forehead. “What are you doing here? Is Shing with you? Where’s your saddle?”

Brawn withdrew his head from the window and looked in the direction of the workshop. She could see his saddle slung over the railing in front of the shop. “Shing’s in the shop with Father?” Brawn nodded his head and nickered.

Shia abandoned the pot of goo and joined her sister at the window. “It’s fate,” Shia postulated. “This would be a perfect opportunity to ask him—”

Erin turned from the window to interrupt her sister. “No!” She turned back to the window. Brawn had trotted away a few paces and craned his head around to look at her. “What do you want?” she murmured.

The horse trotted a few more paces in the direction of the horse pasture, looked back at her, and whinnied.

She grinned. “You want to visit Sura?”

Brawn nodded his head up and down and nickered.

Shia shook her head. “That horse is really smart, isn’t he?”

Erin smiled. “I’m going to go let him in the pasture.”

Shia sighed. “I’ll come with you.”

They met Brawn in the yard, and he trotted ahead to the pasture gate, where Sura stood on the other side. He waited impatiently for them to catch up, pawing at the ground with one hoof. When they got there, he stepped out of the way as Erin opened the gate, then stood passively as she removed his bridle. Brawn gave a whinny that sounded like thanks, and the two horses galloped away into the pasture.

Erin closed the gate and leaned against it, watching the two horses cavort.

“Those two could make the beginnings of a horse farm,” Shia speculated. “They look good together. I bet their offspring would be fine animals.”

“I bet they would,” Erin murmured. In seconds, her mind had taken her to a possible future where Shing set up a forge here at the farm and began a thriving business as a smith. They could add on to the farmhouse, or build a new one beside it, with room for the children—”

“If we could just persuade Tsing to stay,” Shia added.

Erin’s musings ground to an abrupt stop. She could feel her sister’s eyes on her as she shook herself from her reverie. She was bracing herself for the inevitable what are you thinking question when Shia sighed.

“What am I going to do with the For Wives stuff, Erin?”

“I don’t know. There’s still time to make salve, though, right?”

“I guess … if we have enough of the ingredients left.”

Erin pushed herself away from the railing. She hung Brawn’s bridle over the gate. “Let’s go see.”

When they returned to the kitchen, they found Shing sitting at the table eating a biscuit he’d taken from a basket in the center of the table. Casin was at the stove monitoring a kettle of coffee. He looked up and greeted them. “Hey, you girls want a cup? I’m making enough.”

Erin shrugged. “Sure.”

“Sure,” Shia chimed in, taking a seat beside Shing.

Erin crossed to a row of shelves and extracted four cups, which she distributed around the table. When she placed one in front of Shing, he looked up at her and smiled. “Hi.”

She looked into his upturned face and recalled her reverie of moments ago. She felt the blush rising to her cheeks. “Um … hi. What … uh … brings you down here?”

“He asked me to make those for you two,” Casin piped up, pointing to several wooden swords leaning against the wall in a corner.

“I thought they’d be a little easier to handle,” Shing explained. “And safer, too.” He grinned.

“And,” Casin added, “he asked my permission to instruct you two in their use, which I appreciated.” He nodded in Shing’s direction.

Shing shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if he’d want his daughters learning swordplay.”

Erin looked at her father. “I didn’t think I’d need to ask permission.”

Casin rolled his eyes. “Don’t get all huffy. I know you’re a woman now, and you can do what you want. But Shia isn’t of age—”

“I will be in another week,” Shia interjected indignantly.

“I’m very well aware of that,” Casin said. “Calm down. Anyway,” he continued, “I think learning to defend yourselves isn’t a bad thing at all, considering the times we live in—bandits on the roads and such. For what it’s worth, I gave my blessing.” He looked back at the kettle. “This is ready.”

“Do you want me to pour, Father?” Erin asked.

“I’m not helpless,” he said, waving at her to sit. “I can pour a cup of coffee. Shia, get that pot off the table. It stinks.”

Shia jumped up and grabbed the pot of For Wives goo, hastily putting it back on the stove and out of the way.

Casin began to fill their cups. “What did you make that stuff for, anyway? I thought you were making salve.”

Shia blushed. “I got the wrong recipe by mistake,” she explained, retaking her seat.

Casin looked up. “Shannon’s handwriting?”

Shia nodded.

“It was bad, wasn’t it?” Casin sighed, his eyes misting over. “She couldn’t even read her own sometimes. I remember she made the same mistake once—she’d put the recipes next to each other in the book.”

“You know what it is then?” Shia asked timidly.

“Oh, yes.” Casin chuckled.

“Should I throw it out?”

Casin frowned. “Did you follow the recipe correctly?”

“I’m pretty sure I did, but … it needs to be tested. We were thinking about asking Tsing—ouch!”

“We were not!” Erin exclaimed, glaring at her sister. Shia pouted back and rubbed her shin where Erin had kicked her under the table.

Casin finished pouring and took his seat at the end of the table, opposite Shing. “Erin’s right. Tsing’s a little young, anyway. You need to test it on an older man.”

“What is it?” Shing asked.

Erin and Casin chimed in unison, “Never mind.” Shing blinked in surprise. Shia giggled.

“I know someone who’ll test it for us,” Casin said, ignoring the titters of his youngest daughter.

“Who?” Shia asked.

“You don’t need to know,” he said. “Just put some in a bottle. I’ll let you know in a few days. Meanwhile, why don’t you make some real salve? There’s still time before Festival. And if you need more ingredients we can go to the village. We have coin to spare.”

“Yes, Father.”

Shing swallowed the rest of his biscuit and took a sip of coffee. “By the way, have either of you seen my horse? It looks like he slipped his tether again.”

Shia giggled. “He came to the window and asked Erin to let him play with Sura.”

Shing winced. “Sorry about that.”

Erin chuckled. “I let him in the pasture. His bridle’s hanging on the gate.”

Casin shook his head. “That horse is one of a kind. I’ve never seen one behave the way he does.”

“You should hear the story of how Tsing came to own him,” Shia said. “It’s hilarious.”

“Really?” He looked at Shing.

Shing shrugged.

“I’m listening,” Casin insisted.

Shing launched into the tale. It was now the third time Erin had heard the story, and she noted how he had embellished it a little with each retelling. She was beginning to wonder if there was any truth to the tale, except that, from what she’d seen of Brawn’s behavior, the horse’s part in the story remained in character. Still, she found herself laughing with the others at key moments.

When the story was done, Casin wiped the tears from his eyes and chuckled. “That is indeed a tale for the ages.” He took another sip of his coffee. “So, you were a sailor?”

Shing gave Erin a cautious glance. “Yes, I was.”

“Erin thinks he was—umph,” Shia blurted, wincing as Erin’s kick landed on the already-bruised spot on her shin.

Casin may or may not have noticed his daughters’ interaction. “Was that before or after you became a smith?”

“After.”

“What made you decide to go to sea?”

Shing hesitated, dropping his eyes to his cup. He let out a long breath. “A girl.”

Casin gave an understanding grunt. “Not an uncommon reason, I hear.”

Shing shrugged. “Same reason for half the crew I sailed with, as it turns out.” He gave a whimsical smile.

Erin and her sister exchanged a look.

Shing cleared his throat. “Anyway, I should probably be going.” He looked at Casin. “I’m eager to get started on that project we talked about.”

Erin raised her eyebrows. “Project?”

“Tsing’s got an idea that might solve a problem with my crossbows,” Casin explained. “If it works, I bet we can ask double the price at Festival.”

Shing held up two hands with crossed fingers. “Wish me luck.” He pushed himself back from the table and stood, looking back and forth between the girls. “I’ll see you two tomorrow?”

Shia brightened. “For our lessons?”

He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of the wooden swords. “Don’t forget to bring those.”

“We will!”

He looked at Erin. “Now, if I can tear my horse away from yours …” He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll come help,” Erin volunteered. She pushed herself away from the table.

“Me, too.” Shia said, rising from her chair.

“Why don’t you stay here and do something with the stuff in that pot before it stinks up the whole house?” Casin suggested, pointing to the stove.

Erin gave her father a curious look. Was he trying to give her time alone with Shing? He nodded to her. Gods, he was! She swallowed. She’d need to have a talk with him about that, but … what would she say? She shook herself mentally. Things were getting more and more complicated.

They stepped from the shade of the porch into the warmth of the late morning sun. “Nice day, isn’t it?” Shing said.

She nodded, taking note of the cloudless blue sky. “Warm, for the first day of Witches Moon,” she answered. They began strolling toward the pasture gate.

“I like it here, Erin. It’s peaceful. I’m glad you invited me … for whatever reason.”

She braced herself, expecting he’d just segued into the subject of why she had. When he didn’t pursue it, she went in another direction, just to make sure. “What’s the crossbow project you’re working on with Father?”

“Ah, right. You know how he makes the bolts fly so accurately?”

She nodded. “The spin.” She made a twirling motion with her finger.

“Uh-huh. He carves a little groove inside the wall of the flight groove …”

“… and when the nock on the base of the bolt passes through the groove, it causes rotation,” she finished for him. “He’s explained it to me.”

“Right. Well, the problem is, the groove gets worn out over time. In fact, if you don’t give it time to cool between shots, it can catch fire.”

“Not a big problem when you’re hunting.”

“Depends on what you’re hunting. I imagine that little handheld one of yours heated up quite a bit when we were attacked by the king’s soldiers.”

“You didn’t tell him about that, did you?” she gasped.

“No, of course, not. But what if we inlaid the flight groove with a little steel barrel, and put the grooves in the metal?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Can you do that fine a work with steel?”

“I think so.” He grinned. “We’ll see.” They’d reached the pasture gate. “So, where’s my horse?” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Brawn! Brawn! Where are you?”

She joined him. “Sura!”

They leaned against the gate and waited. Presently, the heads of the two horses appeared above the top of the rise. Shing held up the bridle and called, “Brawn! Time to go!”

Brawn turned away and disappeared from view.

“Damn,” he muttered.

She chuckled. “Sura! Sura, come here, now!”

The little mare took a look back over her shoulder then galloped toward her mistress. A few seconds later, Brawn reappeared at the top of the rise and followed at a trot.

He sighed. “He misses her. Why don’t you bring her with you tomorrow? Otherwise, he’ll try to take it out on me during our training session.”

She laughed. “You’re probably right. I will.”

“Good.”

He smiled down at her, and warmth spread through her being. Brawn arrived with a nicker, and he turned to the horse. She rested against the gate and watched him as he attached the bridle and good-naturedly chastised the beast for being such a pain. Sura poked her head over the gate to solicit strokes on her snout, and for a moment Erin felt such a comfortable connection between the four of them that she totally forgot about the future and the monumental task of managing it. As they walked Brawn back to the shop, where his saddle rested over the porch railing, she caught herself about to reach for Shing’s hand.

Get a hold of yourself, Erin!

“About tomorrow,” he said, as he began to saddle Brawn. “Make sure Shia wears something she won’t mind getting dirty. Something loose and comfortable.”

She smirked. “I’ll pass on your advice, but I can’t promise anything. You realize she’s flirting with you.”

“I noticed,” he grunted. “At least someone is,” he added, swinging himself up into the saddle.

She put a hand on his thigh. “Shing …” She blushed, removing her hand. “… she’s my sister … and she’s not used to being said no to.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It’s a hard lesson to learn.” He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

Her brow furrowed as he trotted away. Up until moments ago, she’d assumed his frustration at her resistance to his advances had been grounded in the same thing. But, after his admission to her father of his reasons for going to sea, she was having second thoughts.

She was beginning to peel away layers as she got to know this remarkable man better. He’d been hurt before, possibly very deeply. She sighed. But not as deeply as I fear we both will be before this is over.

---

Holly Trill was aggravated. She took the steps winding to the top of the high tower two at a time, until she emerged onto the roof and turned her gaze southward to see the barge rounding the first bend in the river on its journey toward Ozua. Squinting, she could just make out the tiny figure of the goblin next to the captain at the vessel’s railing. She wished she could eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Damn,” she muttered.

The giantess turned her back to the sun rising over the trees on the eastern bank of the river and sighed. Large gossamer wings began to sprout from between her shoulder blades, absorbing energy from the rising star as her body morphed into its true form. Launching herself from the roof, she dropped into a smooth glide, descending to the treetops of the forest surrounding the gardens below. Then, pumping her freshly charged wings, she flew purposefully over the dense canopy toward the interior of the forest.

Soon her destination came into view, marked by flocks of colorfully plumed birds cavorting in the air above a large clearing in the trees. The flocks parted as she descended through them to alight softly next to a clear pool amid a grove of neleh bushes. She strode along one of the rows of bushes, inhaling the heady scent of their blooms, until she found who she was looking for. Smirking at the scene she encountered, she greeted her brother. “Good morning, Fauche. Working hard, as usual, I see.”

Her twin sibling reclined in a spot of sunlight beside a small stream that fed the grove of neleh bushes. A female satyr sat straddling his knees, enthusiastically performing fellatio. He opened his eyes, raising himself to his elbows. “Hello, sister. Did you bring me any new playmates?”

“I’m afraid not. There have been no human females—or any other species—stopping at the inn since the king in Azurith put his restrictions in place.”

Fauche reclined and closed his eyes again. “Pity.”

“Brother, we need to talk.”

His eyes reopened. He sighed. “Very well.” He tapped the satyr on the shoulder. “That’s enough, Lily.”

The satyr pulled her mouth off him and reversed her position, impaling herself on his erection. She began humping furiously.

Floreze giggled, rolling her eyes.

“No, Lily,” Fauche explained. “That’s all for now. Come back later.”

Pouting, Lily extracted herself and scampered away.

“With her around, do you really need another playmate, Fauche?”

He grinned. “Yes. I wish I had a dozen more like her. So, what do we need to talk about? Did you get that shipment sent off to Ozua?”

“Yes, it’s on its way. The fun should begin there soon. But I have some bad news.”

“Oh?”

“We had a visit from a goblin, a representative of the Protectorate.”

“Oh, bother. What do those prudes want?”

“Ka’il Idreth.”

“Oh … hell. You didn’t give it to them, I hope.”

“Of course not. I told the goblin we didn’t have it. But he didn’t believe me … and once the Protectorate suspects that it’s here …”

“… they’ll never let it go.” Fauche sighed. “Ugh. The last thing we need is a bunch of elves roaming around the forest.”

“Or, worse, dragons.”

“Uck. Where’s the goblin now?”

“On his way downriver. I assume he’ll end up in Zemburith, but who knows? I did manage to place a tracking needle in his jaw—don’t worry, he didn’t suspect a thing—so we can find him, if necessary.”

“Good thinking. How much time do you think we have?”

“The little green snit was carrying a locator. I assume he has similar tech to communicate with his superiors. So, probably not much.”

Fauche snorted. “Damn.” He shrugged. “Well, I’d hoped to let our little prophecy percolate a bit longer, but I guess it’s time to let the Sword that Sings call to its next master. Take it out of the box.”

She smiled. “I already did.”

He grinned. “Good girl.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let the fun begin, sister. Let the fun begin.”

---

2nd Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin finished tethering Sura to the back of the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat next to her sister, who was tugging at the sleeves of her blouse in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“The sleeves are too long … and I look like a boy,” Shia complained.

“No, you don’t. You’re dressed appropriately for a lesson in swordplay. We both are. And, you’ll want to roll those sleeves up anyway, so it won’t matter.” She clucked the horses, and the wagon jerked into motion. “Remember, we’re not trying to impress Shing. We’re trying to learn something.”

“That’s easy for you to say. He likes you no matter what you wear or how you look. Maybe if I rubbed some horse manure on my cheeks, I could get his attention.”

Erin smiled to herself, remembering the incident a few days before when he had wiped a smudge from her face—and the thrill his touch had engendered. “Maybe you should,” she chuckled.

Shia pouted as she began laboriously rolling her sleeves back until most of her forearms were exposed. “Why are we doing this, anyway? I can’t see much use for learning how to use a sword. We don’t even have swords—just those stupid things.” She thumbed over her shoulder at the two wooden practice weapons lying in the back of the wagon.

“You were enthused enough about it the other day when I proposed Shing teach us.”

“Well, I couldn’t just stand idly by and get left out of things, now, could I?”

Erin chuckled. “Heaven forbid.”

Shia grunted. “This is stupid.”

“No, it’s not. I agree with Father. Learning to defend oneself in these times is smart. There are bandits on the roads. It’s good to be prepared.”

Shia reached into the back of the wagon and retrieved one of the practice blades. “And I’m sure that waving one of these at them will be a sufficient deterrent.”

Erin smirked. “Then, think of this as a way to get some attention from Shing.”

Shia snorted. “I can think of a lot better ways. Like, dancing at Festival.” She looked down at herself. “Which will be the last thing on his mind once he sees me like this.”

We can only hope. Erin did have mixed feelings about dragging her sister along in this. On the one hand, her presence felt safe—she didn’t fully trust herself to be alone with Shing for long. On the other hand, she doubted Shia would be unable to find some way to flirt with him before the day was over.

As usual, it was Brawn who greeted them when they arrived at the herder’s shack. He pranced up to the wagon and nickered a greeting to Erin in passing on his way to Sura. When she braked the wagon and dropped to the ground from the driver’s seat, she caught him working at the knot on the mare’s tether with his teeth.

“Patience,” she chastised him, pushing him out of the way so she could undo the tether. She removed Sura’s bridle and stroked her mane, whispering in her ear, “Have fun, but don’t let him take advantage of you.” Brawn flicked his ears and nickered as if he’d been insulted. She laughed. “You two have fun.” She watched them gallop away across the meadow.

“Thanks for bringing her.”

She jumped at the voice, startled. She hadn’t noticed Shing’s approach. She turned and looked up into his smiling face. “Looks like we won’t have to worry about him for a while,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied, tearing her gaze away as she tried to fight off the blush she knew was rising to her cheeks. “We’re ready. And we brought the practice swords.” She pointed to the bed of the wagon.

“Good,” he said. He looked up at Shia, who had scooted to the driver’s side of the wagon seat. “Hi, Shia. You ready for this?”

Shia gave him a weak smile. “Sure.”

“Hey, it won’t be that bad,” he said, offering a hand to help her down.

Her smile widened as she took his hand. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” she insisted.

He turned to Erin. “You want to stable the horses?”

Erin looked out across the meadow. “I bet they’d like to graze.”

After they’d unhooked the two horses and hobbled them in the meadow. Tsing gathered the two practice swords and led the girls to the corral at the back of the herder’s shack. He opened the gate and took them over to the wooden post, against which his broadsword leaned, the blade gleaming in the sun. He handed them each a practice sword and picked his up, resting the blade flat on his shoulder.

“So, our agreement …” He grinned. “… is for me to teach you the first form.”

“And, you said there were seven variations,” Erin reminded him.

He raised an eyebrow. “There are. And, actually, a defensive compliment that goes with each variation. You want to learn them all?”

“Yes,” Erin said.

Shia looked at her and frowned.

He looked at Shia. “Are you in agreement with that?”

Shia quickly forced a smile. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Very well. There are seven steps in each form, variation, and compliment.” He rolled his eyes. “The monks of the One Way love their sevens.”

The sisters exchanged a glance.

“Here is the starting position.” He spread his legs and squatted to a crouch, extending his left arm and raising his blade with his right, pointing it in the same direction as the left arm.

The girls mimicked him.

He eyed them critically. “Almost,” he said. He stood straight and jabbed his sword point into the ground, walking over to Erin first. “Straighten the left arm a bit.” He tapped her elbow. “Don’t quite lock it.” He lifted her right arm. “Up a little higher. That’s good. Bend the knees a little, until you feel it in your thighs.”

She squatted lower.

“Good. Hold that.” He turned to her sister. “Shia?”

She had come out of her crouch to watch, and he waved her back into position. “That’s it,” he nodded. “A little lower. Good.”

He circled the two girls, observing. “How does that feel? Balanced?”

Erin wavered. “No.”

He stepped up behind her and placed his hand on her sternum, pushing gently. “Get your hips up under your shoulders a little more. Better?”

She nodded.

“It hurts,” Shia complained.

He chuckled. “Your thigh muscles aren’t used to it, yet. Stand up straight. Relax for a moment.”

They both came out of their crouches.

He waited all of five seconds. “Back into position.” He settled back into his crouch, running a critical eye over their forms. “Looking good,” he complimented.

Erin could feel her leg muscles beginning to quiver. “What’s next?”

“Patience,” he said. “Let’s get this right first. Relax for a moment.”

They stood back up. Just as the feeling began to return to her thighs, he commanded them back into position. He repeated the pattern several more times.

“My legs are burning,” Shia complained.

He laughed. “Stand up, both of you. Relax.”

They stood up straight. Erin’s legs felt shaky.

“You’ll probably be a little sore tomorrow,” he chuckled, “but you’re both doing great. Here’s the next position.” He went back into his crouch. “From here, we take a long, slow step, dropping the hilt into both hands, and thrust.” He demonstrated.

They both tried to mimic him, several times, while he moved between them and made adjustments. After about ten minutes of agony, he seemed satisfied they’d gotten it. “Way to go,” he said approvingly.

Erin stood on wobbly legs and drew in slow, deep breaths. Her heart was pounding.

Shia was panting from exertion, sweat staining the back of her shirt. “Gods,” she complained, “that’s only the first two steps?”

He nodded, looking back and forth between the two, a concerned look on his face. “Let’s take a short break,” he suggested. He walked over to the railing and retrieved a water skin, which he gave to Shia first.

She took a long draught and handed it back to him. “Wow, I feel like I’ve been running for an hour! This is hard.”

He frowned, passing the skin to Erin. “Should we call it a day?”

Erin shook her head. “Shouldn’t we at least learn the first seven steps?” She turned the skin up. The cool water felt heavenly on her parched throat.

“That was my goal for the day, but—”

She took a final gulp and gasped for air. “Then, let’s do it,” she said, handing the skin back to him.

He held her gaze for a moment before taking a sip of water for himself. He looked at Shia. “Do you want to continue?”

Shia gave her a pleading look, but Erin was firm in her resolve. Her sister’s smile was a little more forced than before. “Sure.”

“Very well. I’ll try to go a little easier—not be so insistent on perfection.”

But if that was his intent, it didn’t show. An hour later, Erin could barely stand, and a precarious balance was needed to complete the seven-step form he’d taught them. Still, both she and her sister did it, and a warm feeling of accomplishment accompanied Shing’s nod of approval.

He spread his arms and shrugged. “And that’s it,” he smiled. “Good job, both of you.”

Shia leaned against the practice post, the tip of her wooden sword dragging the ground. “Yay, us.” She pushed herself away from the post and stumbled to the railing where the waterskin hung, now nearly empty.

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you the defensive compliment.”

Shia pulled the spout of the waterskin from her lips. “Tomorrow? We’re doing this again tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Getting right back into it will help ease the soreness in your muscles. And, believe me, you’re going to be sore.”

Shia’s shoulders sagged.

He laughed. “I think you’ll like the defensive compliments, Shia. They’re more …” He waved his hand in the air, searching for the right word. “… like dancing.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Come, I’ll show you what I mean.” He motioned her forward. “Get into position and go through the form I just showed you.”

With a sigh, Shia assumed a wobbly crouch. He took up a similar position in front of her.

“Now, take the second step,” he instructed.

“You’re in the way.”

“I’ll move,” he chuckled.

She dropped her sword into a two-handed grip and stepped toward him, thrusting. He took a step back and blocked the thrust. “Oh,” she giggled.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

“Right.” She executed the next step, and the next, as he easily blocked each of her offensive moves. The final step ended with an overhead chop that he blocked with the flat part of his blade.

“It is like dancing,” she laughed, “with swords.”

He stood and bowed from the waist. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

She curtsied in response. “My pleasure, sir.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. “May I?”

He bowed in her direction. “Of course.”

She assumed the first position. As soon as he was in place, she launched herself into the form, executing the steps to perfection, her wooden sword whacking hard against the blocks of his steel blade. She completed the last step with a vicious overhead chop that sent a painful shock through her forearms. She winced, gritting her teeth.

“Good technique,” he murmured. “Make sure you grip the pommel tightly at contact, so it won’t hurt so much.”

She stood and nodded in acknowledgment, rubbing her forearm. She glanced at Shia. Her sister was staring at her, wide-eyed. She cleared her throat. “Ahem, I guess it’s time for your first crossbow lesson.” She looked around. “Where’s the bow?”

“It’s at the forge. I’ll get it.”

As he disappeared around the side of the house, her sister sidled up next to her. “You looked like you were trying to kill him.”

“What?”

“Just now, when you were doing the form with Tsing, the look on your face was fierce. What if you had hurt him?”

She looked at her askance.

“Okay, I guess that’s not likely to happen, but I mean—really, Erin?”

She frowned. “We’re not learning to dance; we’re learning to fight.”

“If you say so,” Shia murmured. Her shoulders slumped. “Do we really have to do this again tomorrow? I’m so tired.”

“So, you’ll sleep well.”

“I sleep just fine as it is.”

“Shing’s probably right about working out the soreness. Besides, it looks like the defensive form is easier.”

“That’s because he did it. Everything looks easy when he does it.”

“That’s just because he’s had lots of practice. Let’s see how he does with the crossbow.”

Shia snorted. “I bet he hits the bullseye on the first try.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Winner gets first dance with him at Festival.”

She gave her sister a sideways glance. “Agreed.”

Shia spit in her palm and held her hand out. Erin spit in hers as well, clasped her sister’s hand, and shook it, rolling her eyes. When the handshake was complete, Shia clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh, boy. Here he comes.”

Tsing had reappeared, waving the crossbow in one hand and a fistful of bolts in the other. “I’m ready,” he announced.

“Good,” she said, looking around. “Let’s use the post for a target. Hand me the waterskin, Shia.” Her sister handed her the skin, and she carried it over to the post, where she poured a bit of water into the dirt and stirred her finger into the puddle. Extracting her finger, she wiped it on the post, creating a small reddish ‘X’. “This is our bullseye,” she called, looking purposefully at her sister, who nodded.

She walked back to where they stood. “I’ll demonstrate.” She took the bow and a single bolt from him. “Set the bolt into the clip like this. Make sure those little nocks fit into the groove. Then wind the string back until it clicks into place behind the bolt … like that.”

He grunted in admonition.

“Rest the flight groove in your left palm, like so, and point your left foot at the target. Bring it up to eye level and rest your cheek against the stock while you sight your target between the notch at the end of the flight groove. Wrap your hand around the trigger, and hold your elbow out straight to the side, like this.” She waved the tip of her elbow in the air.

“Got it,” he said.

“Don’t jerk on the trigger. Take a deep breath and let it out while you squeeze gently and …” The bolt flew from the bow and embedded itself firmly into the post, about an inch below the mud bullseye.”

“Good shot,” he complimented.

She handed him the bow. “You try.”

He cradled the bow in his hands, turning it this way and that. “Your father’s design is incredibly accurate.” He looked at the target. “You aimed directly at the bullseye?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. Facing the target, he began walking toward it with measured steps, counting them off as he went. “Twenty-two,” he called as he reached the target. He placed his finger between the middle of the ‘X’ and where the bolt sat in the wood, then held the digit up, marking the distance with his thumb. “About a quarter of a shortspace,” he announced. He turned and retraced his steps, recounting up to twenty-two as he passed them and continued to the railing of the corral.

Erin and Shia exchanged a glance.

“Fifty-seven,” he called as he reached the railing. He stared into space for a moment. Then he inserted a bolt into the clip and wound back the string. He waved them to the side, and they scurried out of his line of fire. Bringing the weapon to bear, he copied Erin’s stance and repeated aloud her instructions. “Cheek against the stock. Sight the target. Elbow out. Deep breath. Exhale and …” The bolt whizzed past them and embedded itself precisely in the middle of the muddy ‘X’. “Bullseye!” he exclaimed. He lowered the bow and looked at it admiringly. “This thing is amazing,” he said. He gave Erin a thumbs up. “Good teacher.”

“Fast learner,” Shia chortled. “And I get first dance.”

Erin swallowed. “Yeah.”

CHAPTER 14

Festival of Witches Moon

6th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Gentle rays of the full moon glistened off Shing’s shirtless body as he moved slowly and gracefully into the second step of the third offensive variation of the first form. Erin retreated into the second step of its defensive complement, blocking the soft press of his steel blade against her wooden one.

“You’re going too slowly,” she complained. “How can I learn to fight if you don’t present a challenge?”

His blue eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, boring into her soul as he slowly took a third step, bringing the huge broadsword in a slow graceful overhand arc. “It’s not a fight, Erin. It’s a dance. And you look so lovely in that dress. I want to make it last.”

Taking another step back, she lifted the wooden practice sword over her head to block his slow-motion attack. Dress? She was suddenly conscious of the warm breeze on her bare shoulders and the rustle of her skirts in the tall grass of the meadow. What am I wearing, and why are we practicing the third variation of the first form in the meadow … at night?

He smiled, his full lips stretching wide, forming those adorable dimples in his cheeks that always melted her heart. The heavy broadsword made gentle contact with hers. But instead of continuing with the steps of the form, he continued to press gently against her block, pushing her puny wooden sword to the side. His blue eyes glistened. “I want to kiss you, Erin.”

Her heart began to race as, with a flick of his wrist, he sent her wooden practice sword flying from her hand. He tossed the huge broadsword to the ground and encircled her waist with one arm, pulling her close. She melted against him, flinging her arms around his neck as his lips descended toward hers.

The full moon that haloed his silhouette took on an amber tint, and the meadow dissolved into a small library, where amber infused sunlight streamed through a window to illuminate a figure sitting at a desk. Erin gasped.

“Oh,” Miriam said, “did I wake you?”

“I—no, it’s fine, mistress. I was … having a dream.”

“Oh, my. I’m sorry. I can never get the time of day right where you are.”

A rooster’s crow sounded from somewhere outside the dream, and Erin was dimly aware of activity downstairs in the kitchen. “It’s morning, I think. I should be up anyway.”

“I wanted to check in. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you having any problems?”

Erin’s fingers went to her lips, still tingling from the almost kiss of her dream. Problems? I’ll say! “No, everything’s fine.”

Miriam gave her a sideways look. “How are you and Tsing … um … getting along?”

She could feel the blush coming to her cheeks. Don’t mention the dream. “I don’t … um … see him every day. That is, not until recently. He’s been teaching me and my sister how to use a sword, so we’ve been having daily sessions.” She swallowed. “The both of us.”

Miriam cocked her head.

“He’s staying in the herder’s shack in the west meadow,” she continued, trying to stave off further interrogation. “Nearly three pentags from here. Shia and I have been going for training in the afternoons, and we come home … before dark. There’s nothing going on between us.” Why did I even say that? “You know … in case you were worried.”

Miriam’s expression was unreadable. She nodded. “I wasn’t.”

“Um … good.”

“But since you brought it up …”

Oh, hell.

“… I have good news. You have nothing to worry about from the neleh berry. Apparently, its effects wear off along with that of the alcohol with which it is consumed.”

“I figured that, since …”

“… there’s nothing going on between you,” Miriam finished for her. “Right. It is addictive, though. If you were to drink it regularly—”

“Don’t worry.” Erin shook her head vehemently. “Once was enough.”

Miriam nodded. Her expression remained neutral. “Well, it seems your strategy is paying off. So far, no one knows where Tsing is. King Palatus’ soldiers are scouring the North Road between Azurith and Arleanne, still convinced he must be in the area. King Stralos is beside himself, but as yet has no clue that Tsing is off the island of Lakronos. It looks like you’re keeping him well hidden.”

That could change once he shows up at Festival. He’ll stand out like a sore thumb. A handsome, blue-eyed, sore thumb.

“What are your plans for spring, when the passes are cleared of snow and travel resumes on the East Road?”

Erin sighed. “I don’t know, mistress. The story we’re using now is that he plans to leave the valley, joining one of the caravans going into the Great Eastern Desert.”

“That’s not a bad idea. You’ll go with him, of course.”

Erin bit her lip. “We haven’t talked about it … yet.”

“Hmm.” Miriam nodded slowly to herself. “I’m curious …”

Oh, gods. What now? Erin steeled herself for what was to come. She had no plan for what was to come in spring. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get through the winter—or the next few days.

“… what’s he … um … like?”

Erin blinked. It wasn’t the question she was expecting. “Huh?”

“Your impressions of him … as a man. The prophecy says he’ll be a king, possibly an emperor. Does he have the makings of a good king?”

“I … don’t know, mistress. I mean, I’m not sure what makes a good king. I’ve only had experience with one. King Palatus seized the lands of the baron who held my indenture when he couldn’t pay his taxes. My master at the Royal Goose constantly complained about his laws and restrictions. He sent his soldiers to kill us on the East Road. Shing is … not like that. He … he’s a good man, I think.”

“That sounds encouraging. How is he a good man?”

“Well … he’s honest. Although, I suppose his reputation disputes that claim. King Palatus has accused him of stealing a valuable jewel, but he doesn’t have it. And he stole a horse in Arleanne, but that wasn’t his fault—more like the horse stole him.”

“What?”

Erin chuckled. “It’s a long story. And … you know, maybe he’s not all that honest. I kind of think he used to be a pirate.”

“He was.”

Erin’s eyes grew wide. “Really? I knew it!”

“He sailed for many years with the notorious Malor Shaltis. He was his second-in-command. But that is a long story, too.”

Erin’s shoulders sagged. “Well, he lied about that. So much for him being honest, I guess.”

Miriam frowned. “That lie might demonstrate prudence more than dishonesty.”

“I suppose.” Erin thought for a moment. “Maybe integrity is a better word than honesty. He does what he says he’ll do. He’s not afraid of hard work. You should see the repairs he’s made to that shed up at the herder’s shack. And he even built a forge! He made a gear to fix my father’s lathe. Gods, Father loves him—treats him like a long-lost son.” She shook her head. “My sister’s fallen for him—head over heels.” She sighed. “They’ll be devastated when he leaves,” she murmured.

“So, he gets along with others.”

“Oh, yes. He’s quite charming … you know, without trying to be. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome. Tall, dark hair, square jaw. He has the same coloring as you do, mistress—the same striking blue eyes, too.”

“Yes, well … ahem … those are common traits here on Lakronos. Do you think he has any leadership qualities?”

Erin’s brow furrowed. “He must, right? You said he was second-in-command under that pirate? He’s absolutely fierce in battle. I imagine a soldier would prefer to fight by his side than against him. But … there’s a gentleness about him that …” She fell silent. “He’d make a good father,” she murmured, then blushed.

Miriam nodded. “A trait our present king could certainly use,” she whispered.

“Mistress?”

“Yes?”

“I’m honestly unsure what next to do. Do you really think it’s a good idea to take Shing into the Great Eastern Desert? What would we do there?”

“For now, it would be a perfect place to hide.”

Or die.

“It’s dangerous, of course,” Miriam continued, as if reading her mind, “but there is a very competent dream walker who may be able to help. Caste your dream toward the Oasis of Ga’an and call for Mathias of Ga’an. He knows about Erin of Azurith and your master’s task. He knows the desert as well as anyone, and he has contacts in the Eastern Kingdoms, which is probably the safest place for Tsing to find a ship when the time comes for him to return to Azurith.”

“Do you know when that might be?”

Miriam shook her head. “I’m sorry, child, I do not. But I do know the prophecy has begun to take on a life of its own, building momentum as it spreads through the world. We will know—you will know—when it is time.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“The Witches Moon is upon us soon. Do you have a festival in the valley?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Will you attend, and are you taking Tsing?”

“Yes.” Erin frowned. “Should we not?”

“Will there be people from outside the valley there?”

“Vendors, entertainers, fortune tellers—a whole caravan.”

“Who’ll carry the tale of what they see to the east.”

Erin swallowed. “Yes.”

Miriam thought for a moment. She sighed. “At least it won’t be to the west. All the more reason to leave the valley when spring comes. Just be aware … and be careful.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“And keep me informed.”

“I will.”

Miriam smiled. “I’m glad it was you chosen for this task. Keep up the good work.”

The dream faded, and suddenly there was a pounding at her door. “Erin! Erin, get up! We’ve got a lot to do!”

She let out a deep breath. We certainly do. “Coming!” she called.

---

7th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Tsing settled into one of the chairs he had set out for display—as per Erin’s very specific instructions—and munched on a sausage biscuit. It was late morning on the first day of Festival, and the Callens had finally decided to take a break. They’d arrived at the Festival grounds just as the sun was rising over the peaks marking the eastern boundary of the valley so they could claim a good spot, and they’d set up their booth in the shade of a large field maple. He tilted the chair back to rest against the tree and surveyed the scene.

The large meadow was gradually filling with booths just like the Callens’, laid out in rows through which festival goers could stroll at their leisure. Most of the booths had some sort of food on display—cakes, candies, apple and plum preserves, and various cheeses. A few displayed craft works and wares of some of the valley artisans—rugs, blankets, and boots. As far as he could see, none were of the quality representative of Casin’s chairs or crossbows, which had already attracted a few potential buyers. Casin was having an intense conversation with two men at the moment, showing them the features of the new hybrid design Tsing had helped with—the one featuring the iron rifling in its flight groove.

At the end of the booth closest to Tsing, Shia had set out her display of salves and had just come forward to greet a gangly, red-haired youth who had approached tentatively. Their conversation wafted to Tsing on the morning breeze.

“Hello, Anders,” Shia greeted.

“Hi, Shia,” the youth replied shyly. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you, Anders. It’s been hard. We miss her so, but it’s been a little easier since Erin came home.” She thumbed over her shoulder to where her sister sat in the shadows of the back of the booth. Tsing could see her wave a greeting to the youth but didn’t hear what she said.

“I didn’t know if you would be here this year, but Mother asked me to look for some salve. She can never stay away from the plums, and they give her hives. Did you make this?” He picked up a small bottle.

“Yes, but … um … that’s not salve. It’s … something else. Your mother will want this.” She held up a different bottle.

Tsing’s attention was diverted by a voice closer to him.

“Hey, the Callens are back.”

Tsing’s head swiveled toward the sound as two hulking, raw-boned young men came into view. Tall, blond, and broad-shouldered, they looked like brothers, and they walked with a swagger that spoke to Tsing of youthful entitlement.

“Shia’s looking good,” replied the shorter of the two. “She’s almost of age, you know.”

“Isn’t that the Grenersen kid trying to suck up to her?”

“Yeah,” chuckled the shorter man.

“Hey, Anders,” called the taller of the two. “You better make your move quick. In a few days, she’ll need someone with a little more meat on his bone!”

Casin looked up from his conversation with the two men and scowled in their direction, but the two young men were too busy laughing and congratulating each other on their cleverness that they failed to notice. The youth talking to Shia turned a bright red.

“Ignore them,” Shia said, rolling her eyes in disgust.

The youth swallowed. “That’s right, you’ll be turning eighteen—when—tomorrow?”

Shia nodded.

“I … I mean,” the youth stammered. “I remember your birthday always comes during Festival. Um … happy birthday.”

A smile spread slowly across Shia’s face. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Anders,” called the tall blond. “Anders! I’m talking to you!”

The skinny kid turned and called back, resignedly, “What do you want, Thomas?”

Thomas grinned, having gotten Anders’ attention. “Are you playing sack and goal tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Anders called, “I am.”

“Good,” Thomas chortled, rubbing his hands together. “Looking forward to it.”

Anders turned back to Shia with a sigh. “Let me have two bottles.”

“I’ll put them in a sack for you,” Shia said. “That’ll be three krin.”

Anders dug some coins out of his pocket.

Shia accepted the coins and cocked her head. “Are you really going to play sack and goal after what happened last year?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“What happened last year?” Erin asked, stepping into view.

Movement from the corner of Tsing’s eye drew his attention back to the two blond youths. The shorter one had punched Thomas and pointed. “Erin’s back!”

“I see,” Thomas grunted.

“Boy, would I like some of that,” the shorter youth said.

“Get in line, Caleb,” Thomas warned.

Frowning, Tsing kept an eye on the two as he turned his attention back to the conversation at the booth. “… broke his arm tackling Thomas Mavers,” Shia was saying.

“Well,” Anders demurred, “I wouldn’t call it tackling so much as getting in his way. But still,” he added proudly, “I did keep him from scoring.”

“Which he did anyway on the very next play,” Shia tsked. “Anders, those Mavers are nothing but bullies. They’re going to try and hurt you.”

Anders shrugged. “My team kind of needs me.”

“Humph,” Shia snorted. “South Side hasn’t come close to beating North Side at sack and goal for years.”

“I know,” Anders shrugged, “not since the Mavers boys started playing. But that’s what I mean—the team needs me.”

Shia shook her head in exasperation. “Here.” She handed him the sack containing his salve purchase.

“Will you come watch?” Anders asked, shyly.

“So, I can see you get hurt?”

“We always play better when you’re cheering for us, Shia.” He looked at Erin. “You, too, Erin.” He looked back at Shia, imploringly. “Will you come?”

“We’ll be there,” Erin said.

Shia gave a long sigh. “Fine.”

A huge grin split Anders’ face.

“First dance.” The voice drew Tsing’s attention back to the blond brothers.

“No way, Caleb,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “You got first dance last time.”

“I’ll make a bet with you,” Caleb proposed. “Whoever scores the most in sack and goal.”

Thomas chuckled. “You think you’re going to score more than me?”

“I might.”

“Then, whoever scores the most gets a dance with Erin, and the other one stays out of it.”

“What?”

“That’s the bet.”

“Why?”

“’Cause after I dance with Erin, I’m gonna take her out behind the wagons and—”

“Ahem!” Tsing cleared his throat loudly.

Startled, the heads of the two brothers swiveled in his direction. “Wha—? Who are you?” Caleb challenged.

“Tsing,” he nodded. “Friend of the Callens.”

“Tsing?” Thomas grunted. “’Kind of name is that?”

Tsing shrugged. “Mine.”

Caleb frowned. “Eavesdropping on our conversation, were you?”

“Taking a break.” Tsing held up his hand, which held the half-eaten biscuit. “Eating a biscuit.”

Thomas cocked his head, obviously sizing up a potential adversary. “Friend of the Callens, eh? Don’t recall seeing you around before.”

“Haven’t been here long. Erin and I met traveling on the East Road. She invited me to stay here until spring.”

Caleb’s frown deepened. “You’re staying with her?”

Tsing could see the wheels turning in Caleb’s mind. Good. He smiled. “I’m staying in the herder’s shack in their west meadow.”

Caleb looked visibly relieved. “I see.”

Thomas grunted. “Welcome to the valley, then. Enjoy the Festival.”

Tsing inclined his head toward them. “You, too.”

Thomas nudged his brother. “Come on, Caleb. We got things to do.”

“Yeah,” Caleb agreed, “we do.” He gave Tsing a nod. “See you around.” They left.

Tsing watched them go as he munched on his biscuit. They sauntered up to another booth fifty or so longspaces away and started up a conversation with the group manning it. At one point, Caleb turned and pointed back his way, but Tsing could only speculate as to what he was pointing at or talking about.

He swallowed the last of his biscuit and got up from the chair, making his way over to the booth, where Shia and Erin were still conversing with Anders. Shia introduced them, and Tsing clasped the youth’s hand in greeting. “What’s South Side?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“I overheard you talking about South Side and North Side teams playing sack and goal.”

“Oh, right. It means south side of the valley. We play a team from the north side of the valley every year. It’s a Festival tradition.”

Tsing looked at Erin. “You live on the south side of the valley.”

Erin nodded. “That’s right. So do the Grenersens—Anders’ family.”

Tsing looked back and forth between the sisters. “Do you play?”

“Girls don’t play,” Anders interjected. “It’s too rough.”

Tsing raised an eyebrow at Erin, who nodded in agreement.

“It’s barbaric, really,” Shia said. “Someone always gets hurt—either knocked unconscious or breaks a bone.”

“Like you,” Tsing noted, looking at Anders, “last year.”

Anders blushed. “It happens,” he shrugged.

“By one of those two,” Tsing said, pointing to the booth down the way, where the Mavers brothers were laughing and talking.

Anders looked over his shoulder. “Thomas,” he confirmed. “The big one.”

“I live on the south side of the valley now,” Tsing speculated. “Could I play?”

Anders’ eyes went wide. “Sure! We could use all the help we can get. Have you ever played before?”

“Shing, no!” Erin blurted.

Tsing gave her a sideways look before answering, “I haven’t. Is there time to teach me?”

“Yeah,” Anders said, ignoring the horrified looks on the faces of the Callen sisters. “It’s pretty simple and you look …” He eyed Tsing up and down. “… athletic. I bet you’d pick it up easily. Two teams. Ten players each. The field is a long rectangle with a goal line drawn between two posts at each end. You score points by carrying a sack of sand across the goal line.”

“It sounds a little like a game we play on Lakronos,” Tsing offered. “Except we have nine players on each team, and we kick a ball stuffed with sheep’s wool.”

“Oh, gods,” Erin moaned. “Shing, what if you get hurt? I’ll be—”

Tsing gave her a curious look.

“I … I mean, you’re … our guest,” she stammered. “You … you probably don’t even qualify to be on the team, since … you know, technically, you don’t live here.”

“Nonsense,” called Casin. He and the two crossbow enthusiasts stood grinning at the other end of the booth. “North Side did the same thing two years ago with that goon that was staying with the Pucks. And he left a week after Festival with the caravan. At least Tsing’s staying through the winter. I’ll vouch for him.” He looked at Tsing. “On one condition. You need to knock those Mavers boys on their backsides at least once during the match.”

Tsing grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

Anders beamed. “Great. The team’s having practice this afternoon. We’ll come by the booth and take you over to the field. We can teach you the rules and see how you fit with our game plan.”

Erin groaned.

Tsing turned to Casin. “Will you need me for anything here?”

“Not this afternoon,” Casin grinned. “But I do need you to find those flight groove pieces you made for demonstration. I want to show these two.” He indicated the two men with him.

“Oh, I put them on one of the shelves back there. Erin, could you hand those to me?” Tsing pointed, then turned to Anders. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then?”

The youth grinned. “Looking forward to it.” He turned to Shia. “Thanks for the salve. Um … are … are you going to the dance?”

Shia smiled. “Of, course.”

“Would you … um …” He looked around at everyone staring, including a matronly woman who had stepped up to the booth to examine the display of salves. “Um … I guess I’ll see you there, then. Bye.” He turned a bright red and hustled away.

Erin pulled the two pieces of wood from the shelf and handed them to Tsing while Shia engaged in small talk with the woman. “What are you trying to do?” Erin whispered.

“Show those men how the crossbow works,” he said, innocently, trying to take the pieces from her.

“Not that,” she hissed, still holding on to them. “That stupid game!”

“I like games. It sounds like fun.” He tugged at the pieces, but she didn’t relinquish them.

“You’re going to draw attention to yourself, which you don’t need while the king’s soldiers are looking for you.”

He relaxed his grip since she obviously wasn’t going to give him the pieces until she made her point. “By playing a game? Besides, you said I had months before anyone from Azurith could get through the mountain pass.”

“Why take chances? And you know those Mavers boys will try to hurt you.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will. They’re bullies. I’ve dealt with their kind before.” He tugged at the pieces again.

She held firm. “You don’t need to be making enemies here in the valley.”

He scowled. “Or friends?” He nodded toward the retreating figure of Anders. “What if I decide to stay here, Erin?”

“We … you can’t stay here, Shing,” she stammered.

“Why not?”

“You … you just can’t.”

He snorted. “I’m playing sack and goal with Anders, Erin,” he said, his voice firm.

Her lips set in a thin line. “If you break a bone, I will not play nursemaid while you lie around for weeks on the mend.”

He shifted his eyes in Shia’s direction. “Then, perhaps your sister will.” He pulled the pieces of wood from her grasp. She glared at him, red-faced, before stomping her foot and returning to her chair in the back of the booth, where she plopped down in a huff.

He let out a calming breath as he turned and walked over to where Casin stood talking to the two men. He was regretting his words but unwilling to offer an apology.

Casin glanced at his sulking eldest daughter. “What’s her problem?”

Tsing considered the question. “Do you think I’m stirring up trouble playing in the game?”

“What? With the Mavers boys?”

“Who the hell cares?” said one of the other men.

“Yeah,” agreed his companion, “those boys could use a lesson in manners. Ain’t nobody’ll object to them getting one.”

Tsing shrugged. “Then, I don’t know what Erin’s problem is.” He sighed.

Casin’s gaze remained on Erin, who sat with her arms crossed, staring grimly into space. “She’s grown into a woman now,” he murmured, “with a good bit of her mother in her.” He gave Tsing a speculative look. “We should have a talk about my daughter sometime, son.”

Tsing swallowed. “I’d welcome that, sir.”

Casin nodded. “So, let’s see those flight groove pieces,” he said, changing the subject. “By the way, this is Gill and Brad Frienbern, our neighbors, two farms to the east.”

Tsing handed the pieces of wood to Casin, then clasped Gill’s extended hand.

“Welcome to the valley,” Gill said.

“Much obliged.” Tsing nodded, clasping Brad’s hand in turn.

“Same here,” Brad said. “Casin tells us you made some improvements to his crossbow design.”

Tsing shook his head. “Not the design, so much. It’s brilliant, isn’t it? I just thought some iron would make it sturdier—make the bow last longer.”

“See, this is what he’s done,” Casin said, holding out a flight groove piece for each man to see.

“The iron should preserve the integrity of the wood,” Tsing explained, “keeping it cool, no matter how fast you load and shoot.”

Brad peered at the piece in his hand. “This is fine metal work,” he murmured. He looked at Casin. “Old Nathan could never do anything like this.”

“Tell me about it,” Casin chuckled. “That’s nothing, though.” He nudged Tsing. “Show him that little piece of jewelry you’ve been working on.”

Tsing dug through his pockets and extracted an oval-shaped piece of metal. He handed it to Brad.

Brad examined it closely. He showed it to his brother. “Look at the etching he’s done there. Looks like a girl riding a dragon.” He looked at Tsing. “This is silver?” he asked.

Tsing nodded. “From some coins I picked up in Arleanne. I wanted to make something for Erin, to thank her for her … hospitality and everything. I was hoping to find a stone to set in it—something green to match her eyes.”

A smirk appeared on Brad’s face. He exchanged glances with the other two men. Tsing felt a blush rising to his cheeks. He retrieved the piece and returned it to his pocket. “Do you want to see a demonstration of the crossbow?” He lifted the one they’d been looking at off the booth’s counter and held it up.

“Sure,” the brothers said, in unison.

Tsing turned to Casin. “We should get Erin to demonstrate. She can load and shoot faster than anyone I’ve seen.”

Casin nodded. “Erin,” he called, “get that quiver of bolts and come over here.”

Erin unfolded her arms and sighed. “Yes, Father.”

Casin looked around. “That tree should make a good target.”

Erin arrived with the quiver. “Here, father.”

“Keep it,” Casin said. “I want you to demonstrate this bow for us. Empty the quiver into that tree over there as quickly as you can.”

She frowned. “Won’t that damage the wood?”

Casin shook his head. “That’s what we’re trying to show—that it won’t.”

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She slung the quiver over her shoulder so that it hung at her waist on her right side. Tsing held the bow out to her. She scowled at him, jerking it from his grasp. He took a few self-conscious steps back, giving her some space.

She took up her stance and peered at the tree, about twenty longspaces away. She pulled a bolt from the quiver, then quickly began loading and firing in rapid succession. In less than a minute, the quiver was empty. Twelve bolts were embedded in the tree in a tight cluster.

“Nice shooting,” Gill murmured.

Erin held the bow up, examining it. “This is the best one you’ve ever made, Father.” She looked at him. “The wood’s not even warm.”

Casin smiled.

Erin returned the crossbow to her father, glared once at Tsing, and stalked back to her chair.

His eyes still on the cluster of bolts embedded in the tree, Brad sidled up to Tsing. “I don’t think I’d want that girl to stay mad at me for long,” he said in a confidential tone. “If I were you, I’d finish that piece of jewelry and give it to her as quickly as possible.”

Chapter 15: Games and Fortunes

8th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Tsing looked up into a cloudless blue sky. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, unseasonably warm, with a light breeze blowing west to east across the meadow. A large crowd had gathered in every available space around the open field where the game of sack and goal was about to be played. Some had brought chairs or spread blankets in the grass on the surrounding hills. Others just stood, some with small children perched on their shoulders for a better view.

“Good weather,” Anders Grenersen noted. “That will be to our advantage. Last year, it was raining, and the footing on the field was terrible.”

Tsing shielded his eyes from the sun and gazed at their opponents gathered on the north side of the field. “They grow them big on the north side of the valley, don’t they? They don’t need those black arm bands. You can tell the teams apart by size alone.”

Anders chuckled. “Except for you, we could.” He clapped Tsing on the back. “Just be sure you keep your red one on, so no one gets confused.”

Tsing smiled. In the short time they’d spent together, he had come to like the young man. The shy and stumbling demeanor Anders exhibited in the presence of Shia—with whom Tsing had come to find the youth was totally smitten—was completely gone in the presence of his comrades. The kid was a natural leader—the kind that led by example—and his enthusiasm and understanding of the game had led the older members of the team to defer to him as captain.

Tsing shifted his attention to the crowd, which was steadily growing. The game was the feature event of the day. Booths throughout the festival grounds were closed, although some of the vendors had brought carts with refreshments. There were easily a thousand spectators gathered. “Is everyone in the valley here?”

Anders scanned the hills surrounding the field. “At least half, I’d say.” An anxious look came over his face as he searched the hill behind them.

“She’s up there,” Tsing chuckled, pointing to a spot on the hill where the Callens, along with a few of Casin’s friends, had spread a blanket. “On the left, near the top.”

“Oh, I see.” Anders blushed, pulling at Tsing’s arm. “Don’t point.” He turned back to the field and cleared his throat. “We’re about to start.”

---

“Give ‘em hell, Southside!”

Erin winced as her father’s sudden cheer assaulted her ears. She turned and looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

Casin grinned. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’ve got a good feeling about the game today.”

She wished she shared his enthusiasm. She pursed her lips and returned her attention to the field and the Southside players milling along the near sideline.

Shing was talking with Anders. He stood out like a sore thumb, a head taller than most of his teammates. She’d been catching snatches of conversations from the gathering crowd, wondering who the tall, handsome stranger was that was joining the team this year. So far, no one seemed to have associated him with the Callens, but that wouldn’t last long—not around here, not during the Festival.

To make matters worse, he suddenly turned and pointed directly at where they sat, before Anders quickly pulled his arm down and redirected his attention elsewhere. Thank you, Anders.

“Go, Tsing! Go, Anders!” Shia shouted, waving.

Erin winced again. Okay, that wasn’t helping. She gave her sister a condescending look.

Shia returned her gaze. “What?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Anders said it helped when I cheered.” Shia looked back at the field, lowering her voice. “And they’re going to need all the help they can get. The Northside players look even bigger than last year.” She shook her head. “Someone’s going to get hurt, I just know it.” She turned back to Erin. “Aren’t you worried about Tsing?”

Erin sighed. “I tried to talk him out of it.” She shrugged. “Not much I can do about it now.”

Shia nodded. “Oh, look. They’re getting ready to start.”

Two older men—officials with green arm bands—had walked to the middle of the field, one cradling a sack made of umbra hide that had been filled with sand and securely fastened with leather stitches. Each man had a small horn attached to a lanyard around his neck.

The two men stood chatting and laughing with each other. Presently one of them lifted his horn to his lips and blew. The two teams left the sidelines and made their way to the center of the field.

Shia giggled. “I do kind of like this part, though. It’s cute.”

The two teams had formed a line across from each other, and the players were flexing and posturing in attempts to intimidate their opponents. Some raised their voices in fierce war cries, while others simply glared at each other. This went on for a few minutes, until one of the officials blew another blast on his horn and motioned the team captains to come forward.

Anders and Thomas Mavers joined the two officials at the center of the field, and the official with the sack tossed it to the ground. When it rolled to a stop, he bent to examine it, then pointed to Anders. A discussion ensued, after which the captains motioned their teams to line up on opposite sidelines.

“That’s good,” Casin chortled. “Northside will have the sun in their eyes in the second half. Might help if they’re not too far ahead by then.”

One official trotted to the sideline while the other stayed at midfield with the sack tucked under his arm. The sideline official turned over an hourglass that was sitting on a table and blew a long note on his horn. The official at midfield tossed the sack high into the air and hustled out of the way.

As soon as the sack hit the ground, both teams broke from the goal lines as a great roar erupted from the crowd. Everyone around Erin rose to their feet, blocking her view.

“Anders is going to get the sack!” Casin announced.

“Of course,” Shia said. “He’s the fastest in the valley.”

Their enthusiasm was contagious. Erin pushed herself to her feet just in time to see Anders scoop the sack from the ground and sprint toward an open space in the field, with Shing following close behind. The Northside team closed on Anders quickly, but he tossed the sack behind him to Shing as he went down, taking a cluster of Northsiders with him and creating a gap in the line of defenders that Shing sprinted through.

Despite herself, Erin was on the balls of her feet, urging him on as he covered a good twenty longspaces of open field before three defenders converged on him. One was Caleb Mavers, who launched himself for a vicious tackle. She held her breath as Shing dodged him, then gasped in horror as the other two sandwiched him high and low, pummeling him to the ground. A collective oooh rose from the crowd at the viciousness of the tackle. Shing disappeared under a pile of bodies.

---

Tsing drew himself into a fetal position, protecting the sack as he struggled to pull air back into his lungs. Several pairs of hands were pulling at his arms, trying to loosen his grip while others tried to pull the sack from his grasp. Dimly, he could hear Anders’ voice shouting, “Covered! Covered! The sack is covered! Play’s over.”

One of the officials blew on his horn, and some of the hands released their grip upon him. Others, however, including Caleb Mavers, continued to wrestle for possession of the sack.

“Uncover, men! Uncover!” shouted the official. “Break it up. What’s going on, Mavers?”

Caleb pushed himself to his feet, pointing at Tsing. “He didn’t call that he’d covered the sack.”

The official stood with his hands on his hips. “Technically, he doesn’t have to. You should know that, Caleb.” The official tapped the side of his head.

“It looked like he’d dropped it to me,” Caleb sulked. He looked at his two teammates. “Right?” Both nodded in agreement.

The official ignored him. “Time’s wasting, gentlemen. Huddle up. Next play.” He took the sack from Tsing, placed it on the ground, and hustled away from the line.

Anders gave Tsing a hand up as the rest of the team huddled around the sack. The Northsiders lined up along the line of scrimmage, waiting. Anders clapped Tsing on the back. “Good play,” he said confidentially. “Next time, call covered. It’ll make it easier.”

“Sorry,” Tsing said. “I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Anders encouraged, making eye contact with his teammates around the sack. “We’re in great position. Nine plays and only twenty or so longspaces to go. Here’s what we’re going to do …”

---

Erin dropped her hands from her mouth with a sigh of relief as Anders helped Shing to his feet.

“What happened?” Shia asked, straining to see over the shoulder of the man standing in front of her. “Is Tsing hurt?”

Erin shook her head. “I don’t think so.” But it’s early yet. “Here,” she said, pulling her sister close to her so she could get a clear view and pointing. “See?”

“Wow,” Shia exclaimed. “They got pretty close to the goal line. Do you think they’ll score?”

Erin shrugged. “I have no idea. I just hope nobody gets killed.”

“Amen to that. What are they doing now?”

“They’re calling the next play.”

“It looks like they’re just standing around.”

Erin gave her a sideways look. “You’ve been watching sack and goal matches all your life, and you still don’t understand the game, do you?”

“No,” Shia admitted, taking Erin’s arm in hers and pulling herself close. “That’s why I’m so glad you’re here to explain it to me. Father always gets irritated when I ask him questions. So, it doesn’t look like they’re calling to anything.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Calling a play means they’re deciding what to do next. Anders is telling the rest of the team what to do—like, who’s going to run with the sack next.”

“So, Anders is the leader? I think Tsing should be the leader; it already looks like he’s the best athlete. He should run with the sack every time.”

Erin gritted her teeth and shook her head. She hoped that wasn’t Southside’s strategy. He’d almost gotten killed on the first play. “Look,” she pointed, “they’re about to run a play. They’re huddling around the sack so Northside can’t tell what they’re going to do.”

“But everyone knows they’re going to pick up the sack and run toward the goal.”

“Just watch,” she sighed. “I’ll try to explain.”

Anders picked up the sack. A second runner darted from the huddle, and Anders tossed it to him. As one, the rest of the team surged toward a single large defender on the Northside line, Shing in the lead. Shing caught the defender off guard, knocking him back on his heels, and the surge from the rest of the Southside line bowled him over. The runner carried the sack into the gap, gaining three or four longspaces before the Northside line closed and piled on top of him. After a few chaotic seconds, the runner called, “Covered!”, from the bottom of the pile, and both teams lined up again.

“They didn’t score,” Shia observed.

“No, but they got closer, and they have eight more tries before Northside gets the sack back.”

“Humph,” Shia grunted.

Southside ran the identical play two more times, gaining three longspaces, then two.

“How many tries did you say they get?” Shia asked.

“Look, Shia, the rules are simple. Each team gets ten plays to score. A play starts when someone picks up the sack and ends either when they take it across the goal for a score, or the other team takes it away, or they are tackled to the ground and cover it—you know, retain possession for three full seconds. If one team doesn’t score in ten plays, the other team gets the sack, and they have ten plays to score.”

“We’re running out of plays, aren’t we? And we keep doing the same thing every time, so they’re ready for it now.”

“Yes, but I think Anders is trying to set up something. See how we’re gradually moving the sack across the field? I think he’s trying to create a lot of open space on the left side, so he’ll have room to outrun the defenders to the far end of the goal line. Problem is, I think Northside sees it coming.”

Sure enough, the Northside line was spreading itself wide on the left side to cover such a play. Anders grabbed up the sack and began to run, but instead of following his team of blockers to the far side of the field, he cut back into the space Northside left open on the near side of the goal line, darting just out of the reach of a single defender and across the goal for a score.

The Southside crowd went crazy, jumping up and down and throwing their hats in the air. Casin and Shia were right there with them.

“We’re winning!” Shia squealed.

Erin had never seen her father so excited. “It’s the first time we’ve had a lead since I can remember,” he grinned.

Their joy was short-lived. Northside was given possession of the sack at midfield and scored in only three plays. Their strategy was simple. One or the other of the Mavers brothers carried the sack straight ahead as their bigger players pushed the smaller defenders relentlessly back, until one of the Southside players managed to wrap up their legs and bring them to the ground.

Southside took the lead again on their second possession, due mainly to Anders’ clever play calling, which caused enough confusion in the Northside line to run off several large gains. But Northside tied the score in only four plays.

Southside’s cleverness failed them on their third possession. Ten plays brought them twelve longspaces short of the goal, and Northside took possession for a grueling seven-play possession that took them the length of the field for the go-ahead goal. The Northside crowd came to their feet, their cheers drowning out the chorus of groans from their neighbors across the field.

The Southside crowd, which had been standing through most of the game until now, settled back to their seats in resignation. Casin and Shia plopped down on the blanket with a mutual sigh. “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Shia said.

Erin found herself the only one still standing on their section of the hill. She looked down at her family. “It’s only the first half,” she said.

“Exactly,” Casin asserted. He waved his hand toward the field. “Look at our guys. They’re already dead on their feet.”

Erin sank slowly to the ground. Father was right. The size and strength of the Northside squad was taking its toll. Southside’s next possession ended after six plays when their runner dropped the sack on a vicious tackle, and it was covered by a Northside player. Only a few enthusiastic voices from the south side of the field could be heard among the chants from the Northside crowd as their team ripped off plays of ten, then fifteen longspaces on a steady march toward what would be a two-point lead.

But on the third play of the possession, after Thomas Mavers had trampled through the entire Southside line into open field, with only Shing between him and the goal, something totally unexpected happened. As the two converged on each other, Mavers lowered his shoulder, obviously intending to bowl the slightly smaller man over. But, instead of trying to tackle Mavers, Shing punched at the sack with his fist.

Thrown off-balance, Mavers stumbled across the goal, leaving the sack on the ground behind him. Shing scooped it up and ran. With no one between him and the far goal, he sprinted the length of the field as the Southside crowd rose to its feet, screaming. Shing crossed the goal untouched to tie the score.

Erin jumped to her feet with the rest of them. The crowd didn’t stop cheering as Northside took possession, and they were still standing and screaming as Southside managed to keep them from scoring before the official blew his horn to signal the end of the first half.

---

As Tsing trotted off the field to the cheers of the crowd, he took note that it was a tired but happy group of Southside players who laughed and slapped each other’s backs as they plopped down on the sideline to rest. So, he was a little taken aback at the frown Anders wore as he sat beside him and handed him a waterskin.

“That was a brilliant play, Tsing. Truly inspired.”

Tsing shrugged. “Had to do something. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to tackle the guy.”

“Well, it really lifted the team’s spirits.” His frown deepened.

“But not yours?”

Anders looked around at his teammates. “We’ve never been this close before. It already feels like a win to most of these guys. That’s great, but …” He looked at Tsing. “… it’s not enough.” Suddenly, he leapt to his feet. “Hey, everybody,” he called. “Listen up.” All eyes turned to him.

“I want to win this game,” he said, his fists clenched. “We can do it, too. They haven’t figured out our offense yet, and we still have a few tricks up our sleeve. All we need is a few defensive stops. Can we do that?”

“Hell, yeah!” someone shouted.

“You know it!” another joined in.

Tsing pushed himself to his feet. “You can count on us, Captain.”

“Great,” Anders beamed, waving them together. “Huddle up. Here’s what we’re going to do …”

---

Tsing took the field with a rested and enthusiastic squad for the second half. One official turned over the hourglass while the other tossed the sack into the air. Southside took possession of the sack once again and ran the same play as they had at the beginning of the game but to the opposite side of the field.

This time, though, Northside was ready. The gap created by Anders’ block when he pitched the sack to Tsing was not as wide, and the Mavers boys were waiting to close the gap further. Tsing was only able to advance the sack ten or so longspaces before the two viciously wrestled him to the ground, while adding an extra fist and elbow in the process. After calling the sack covered, Tsing pushed himself to his feet, bleeding from a cut over his right eye.

“Whoops, sorry,” chuckled Thomas Mavers.

Tsing ignored him. Wiping the blood from his eye, he squinted toward the goal line. It was a good thirty-five longspaces away.

In the huddle, Anders looked at him with concern. “That was no accident,” he said, pointing to the cut. “Do you need to get that taken care of?”

Tsing daubed at the eye with his sleeve. “Blood was getting in my eye, but I think the bleeding’s beginning to stop.”

Anders looked at him skeptically. “Uh-huh?”

Tsing asked, “Can I have the sack? I want to take it to the left side, where Thomas Mavers is. Don’t block him. Block right.”

Anders shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Humor me, Captain. It’s just one play. We’ll have eight more.”

Anders looked around at the others. They all nodded. “Fine. You take the sack on this one. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Tsing smiled, wiping a bit more of the blood on his sleeve. “Ready? Go!” He picked up the sack and darted from the back of the huddle, which moved to the right as one. The defensive line shifted to intercept them. Instead of following his blockers, Tsing dove toward the left side of the line, where the older Mavers brother, slightly off-balance from the misdirection, quickly recovered.

Tsing headed straight for him, and as the larger man reached to bring him down, he thrust the heel of his right hand up under his chin. Mavers’ head snapped back as he leaned his weight in for the tackle, and his knees buckled. Tsing covered twenty longspaces of open field before he was brought down. He passed a wobbly Mavers on the way back to the Southside huddle. “Whoops, sorry,” he said in a low voice.

Mavers glared.

Three plays later, Anders skipped across the right end of the goal line untouched for the go-ahead score.

The game got ugly after that. The Northside players seemed less interested in scoring than in inflicting physical damage on the Southside team. Almost every play left a Southside player writhing on the ground in pain or carried unconscious from the field, as both teams ground their way through two scoreless possessions. There were occasional boos from the crowd. Finally, a fight broke out, and the two officials hurried onto the field, blowing their horns furiously. After breaking up the fight, they addressed both teams.

“The next player fighting gets thrown out of the game,” one official warned.

“We were just defending ourselves,” Thomas Mavers grumbled.

Anders replied to the comment with a snort.

“We’ve got eyes, Thomas,” the other official said. “We see what’s going on. This is a game, gentleman. Keep it clean out here. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Anders replied.

“Sure,” Thomas muttered.

Anders reiterated the warning to the team when Southside huddled up. “Look, we need to keep our heads, no matter what. We can’t afford to get anyone thrown out. There’s only fifteen minutes or so left. If we can score on this possession, the game is ours.”

Tsing noted the grim determination on the faces of the players as Anders called the last play of their possession. It was another clever misdirection play, but Anders came up short of the goal after a truly vicious tackle by Caleb Mavers.

Anders rose from the ground, limping.

Northside drove the length of the field in six plays and tied the game.

Anders limped into the huddle at midfield. He squinted at the hourglass on the sideline. “We’ve got six or seven minutes. We need to score and not give them time for another possession.”

“How’s the leg?” Tsing asked.

Anders tested it and winced. “As long as I run in a straight line, it’s fine.”

“Save it, then,” Tsing suggested. “I’ve got an idea.”

They all looked at him.

“Let me have the sack. I need three blockers ahead of me, all going after one man. Put him on the ground. Everyone else stay behind me and push.”

Anders’ brow furrowed. He blinked. “It might work.”

“Let’s try it, then.” Tsing pointed. “You, you, and you. Take out the big guy on the right with the red beard. Anders, you stay in the back.”

Anders hesitated before agreeing. “Right.”

“Good. Ready? Go!” Tsing picked up the sack as his three blockers headed for their target. Surprised and overwhelmed, the red-bearded defender went down. As the defenders on either side moved to close the gap, Tsing hurdled over the pile of bodies and managed several unhindered strides before he was grabbed by two defenders.

He lowered his shoulder and drove forward as a third defender joined the struggle. Then the rest of his squad arrived, crashing into the cluster from behind. Pushing as one, they hurled Tsing and the sack an additional ten longspaces before he was brought to the ground.

They huddled up quickly and ran the same play, targeting a different defender on the other side of the line. They moved the sack another ten longspaces. The Northside players looked confused and frustrated. The Mavers brothers yelled at the blocked defender, deriding him for allowing himself to be fooled by the same play they’d run before.

Tsing looked up from the huddle to see the Mavers boys conferring. They had backed away from the line and were watching him like hawks. He turned back to his teammates. “They’re starting to get wise to us,” he said. “Let’s do it one more time. Left side again. Go for the bald guy near the outside.”

This time, when Tsing hurdled through the gap, the Mavers were waiting for him. Together, they wrestled him to the ground before his teammates could arrive to push him further. They’d only gained six or seven longspaces, and time was running out.

“We’ve only got time for one more play,” Anders warned when they huddle up.

“Good,” Tsing said. “The Mavers are focused on me now. It’s time I fulfilled my promise to Casin. We’re going to the right side again. Block the man to the outside of Red Beard. Anders, you be ready for me to pitch you the sack.”

Anders grinned. “Got it.”

Tsing made eye contact with each player. “The rest of you, give Anders some room. Ready? Go!” He picked up the sack and followed the same three blockers, who had a little more trouble bringing their man down this time. Still, he made it through the gap with Anders leading the pack right behind him.

The Mavers boys were waiting, and he headed right for them. A self-satisfied sneer appeared on Thomas Mavers’ face as he readied himself for impact. Then, at the last instant, Tsing tossed the sack into the air behind him and hurled himself lengthwise to the ground, cutting the Mavers’ legs out from under them.

Anders caught the sack in full stride. Even with a slight limp, he was too fast for the confused and scrambling defenders. He ran across the goal line untouched, tossing the sack into the air in triumph. A horn sounded to end the game. Southside had won.

The Southside players, both those on the field and substitutes waiting on the sidelines, poured into the goal area to join Anders in celebration. The roar of the Southside crowd was answered with stunned silence from the other side of the field.

Tsing found himself in the middle of the throng, cheering as a group of his teammates lifted Anders to their shoulders and carried him toward the sideline. Then he felt himself being lifted into the air as well and carried after him.

Tsing lifted his gaze to the hill where the Callens had spread their blanket to watch the match. The group was on their feet along with everyone else, jumping and cheering—all save Erin, who stood with her arms crossed, shaking her head at him.

But she wore a dazzling smile.

---

Torches lit the way along the rows of booths and wagons, and the occasional bonfire cut the chill of the early evening air in the festival area where the caravan from the east had set up. Food vendors were prominent, and hawkers stood at the entrances to tents, pitching the exotic entertainment or exhibits to be found within.

Erin walked beside Shing, following Casin and Shia, who was hanging on her father’s arm, trying to get him to admit who he had tested the For Wives potion on. “I think I know who it was,” she insisted.

“Really?” Casin said, noncommittally.

“It was Tom Rensmun, wasn’t it?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because there was a steady stream of women looking to buy some, and all of them said Emelia Rensmun had referred them.”

“Humph,” Casin grunted. “I suppose if someone wanted to spread the word that the potion worked, the husband of the biggest gossip in the valley would be a good choice.”

“So, it was Tom, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Shia punched him on the shoulder. “Father, you’re awful.”

Casin chuckled.

“Come on, tell me. I need to know. What if …”

A chuckle from Shing distracted Erin, and she turned to him. “What?”

“Your sister doesn’t let go of things easily, does she?”

“Never,” she agreed. She frowned. “That cut over your eye is mending, and the swelling has gone down some, but you’re going to have a bruise for a while. You’re lucky you weren’t knocked unconscious.”

He shrugged. “I have a hard head.”

“That’s true,” she sighed. “Everyone’s talking about you, you know.”

“Not everyone.”

“Oh? Then, I wonder who those girls over there are talking about.” She nodded in the direction of a group of young women, catching the eye of one who quickly turned back to her friends and giggled.

“You’re imagining things,” he insisted.

She lowered her voice. “News travels fast around here, Shing. The more who know about you, the greater chance of that news spreading outside the valley.”

“Don’t you think it would be better if word spread that you had a guest rather than you were hiding some mysterious stranger in your herder’s shed? That would raise suspicions, whereas the natural interactions of your guest with your friends and neighbors—”

“You call making a spectacle of yourself in front of half the valley natural?” she hissed. “There was a fight! You may as well have pulled your broadsword and begun hacking off limbs!”

He looked at her aghast. “It wasn’t me fighting! And, besides, how is news supposed to spread through the closed mountain passes? Will someone mount a dragon and fly to Azurith?”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m just saying,” she muttered, “that it’s prudent to be careful. You’re not being careful.”

“There’s prudence, and there’s walking on eggshells. I won’t walk on eggshells, Erin. It’s no kind of life to live.”

She ground her teeth. What did it take to get through his thick skull? She was searching for some new tact to reason with him when Shia pulled up short and exclaimed, “Fortune tellers!”

She had brought the group to a halt in front of a large tent where soft light escaped from behind a closed entrance flap. A swarthy man sporting the exotic dress of the Eastern Kingdoms was sitting on a stool next to the entrance and quickly responded to Shia’s attention.

He jumped from the stool and addressed her with a flourishing bow. “Ah, beautiful lady, would you care to find what the future holds for you? What adventures await?” He winked. “Perhaps the man you are to marry?”

Shia giggled.

Certain that he had sparked some interest, the man stepped closer. “Some say the future is uncertain, but that is a lie. It is only hard to read. Madam Ga’ilan can see the truth written in the palms of your hands. Or her sister, Ga’walar, will search through the mists in her crystals and reveal what lies ahead.” He took a step closer, bowing. “Wouldn’t it be worth the small fee of five krin to know?”

“Five krin?” Casin sputtered. “Last year it was only three!”

The man looked sincerely apologetic. “Times are not what they used to be, to be sure. All the more reason to prepare for the future.” He looked around, as if making sure no one else was listening, then leaned forward, conspiratorially. “For you, wise and prudent sir, I will make a special offer.” He waggled his finger to indicate the entire group. “All four of your fortunes for ten krin.” He put his hand over his heart. “I’m thinking what the knowledge could mean for your daughters?”

Shia giggled again. “Please, Father?”

“I’ll pay,” Shing volunteered. He looked at Casin and shrugged. “Erin was regaling me with how much fun the fortune tellers were on the way here.”

Shia clapped her hands together gleefully. “They are, aren’t they?” She grabbed Erin’s hand. “Come on. Let’s visit Madam Ga’ilan. She read my palm last year. She’s good!”

Casin sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled to Shing. “I’ll split the fee with you.”

“Agreed.”

Erin looked back over her shoulder to see the men digging coins from their pockets as Shia dragged her through the entrance into the dim light of the tent. She had told Shing the fortune tellers were fun. So why did she have such an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach?

They stood in a spacious waiting area where plush cushions had been scattered for sitting or lounging. Beaded curtains covered the entrances to two smaller sections toward the back of the tent. An elderly female voice sounded from behind one of them. “Is that Shia Callen I hear?” The curtain parted to reveal a wizened visage. “Ah, it is!”

Shia gasped. “You remember me?”

The old woman smiled. “How could I forget a future queen?”

Shia giggled. “So, you claimed last year. But I’ve yet to see my crown.”

“Patience, child. You’ve only just come of age.” She looked at Erin. “And who is this green-eyed beauty? Your sister, perhaps?”

“Yes! Erin?” Shia made a presentation gesture. “This is Madam Ga’ilan.”

Erin gave her a smile and a nod. The knot in her stomach wasn’t loosening. Why was she so nervous?

“Ah,” said Madam Ga’ilan, looking Erin up and down. She stepped aside and held the curtain back for them to enter. “We have much to learn. Come inside, then.”

Shia hustled through the opening. Erin followed her, giving Madam Ga’ilan a weak smile as she passed. There was a low square table in the center of the room, with seat cushions placed at each side. “Have a seat,” the fortune teller instructed, closing the curtain. She shuffled to the far side of the table and folded her ancient frame onto a cushion.

As Shia sat cross-legged opposite Madam Ga’ilan, Erin settled on the cushion to her left. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. The old woman gave her a curious glance before addressing Shia.

“Let me see your right palm, child—” She paused. “Excuse me,” she corrected herself, “young lady.” She nodded in deference.

Shia extended her palm.

Madam Ga’ilan traced her fingers across the palm in silence. She frowned. “The winds of change are stirring in the world, and they blow across your peaceful valley. Can you feel them?”

Erin could swear she felt a breeze stir her hair. She shivered. Madam Ga’ilan gave her another glance.

“Not really,” Shia said.

The furrows in the old woman’s brow deepened. “Nevertheless, they bring changes to your life. Great ones.”

“So, I guess that means I won’t be a queen, after all?”

Madam Ga’ilan smiled. “That part of your future hasn’t changed.” She peered more closely at the hand. “No, that path is well-defined—almost certain, unless …” Her gaze flickered to Erin and back. “The choices of others could cause a diversion.” She looked up at Shia and smiled. “I see your king. He is tall and dark … very handsome …”

Erin relaxed slightly. This was more like the spiel of the fortune tellers in the marketplace in Azurith. Familiar territory. Comforting.

“… and completely devoted to you.” Madam Ga’ilan’s smile widened.

Shia beamed. “That sounds pretty good.” She started to withdraw her hand.

The fortune teller held on. “There’s more.” She bent forward and again traced her finger across the palm. “There are many intersecting lines across your path—many obstacles to overcome.” She looked up. “To fulfill your destiny will require great effort and many sacrifices. You must persevere.”

Shia frowned. “It says all that?”

Madam Ga’ilan shrugged. “Nothing worthwhile is without sacrifice. It’s good advice.” She turned to Erin. “Don’t you think?”

Erin smiled. She felt more at ease now. “Of course,” she agreed.

The old woman held her hand out to Erin. “Let me see your palm.”

“Me? Oh, no. I don’t need my fortune told.”

“Don’t be silly,” Shia objected. “Father and Tsing already paid for it.”

“Tsing?” questioned Madam Ga’ilan.

“He’s a guest of Erin’s,” Shia explained, “staying with us for the winter. Tall, dark, very handsome. He and Father are with your sister now, I believe.”

“A man named for the sound of steel on steel,” whispered the old woman. Her gaze locked with Erin’s. “Give me your hand.”

She responded automatically to the command by thrusting out her left hand.

“The right hand,” Madam Ga’ilan corrected.

“Sorry,” Erin murmured. She presented her right hand.

The old woman peered into her palm. She looked up, blinking. “You’re left-handed.”

Erin nodded.

“My apologies. I’ll need the other, after all.”

Erin switched hands again.

The fortune teller peered at her palm. Her eyes widened. “You have the gift!” she rasped.

“What gift?” Shia asked.

Erin panicked. Madam Ga’ilan’s gaze rose to hers, and Erin gave her an imploring look, along with an imperceptible shake of her head.

Madam Ga’ilan faltered. “I … I mean, a gift. A … um … gift from the future. Yes.” She dropped her gaze back to Erin’s palm. “Let’s … um … see what it might be,” she murmured.

Erin suppressed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods the woman didn’t blurt she was a dream walker. How did she even know? At least she was trying to cover her surprise. For that, Erin was grateful.

The woman began tracing her finger along the lines of Erin’s palm, halting now and then to glance up at her. Finally, she closed Erin’s hand into a fist and wrapped both hers around it. “A great adventure awaits you,” she said, her tone earnest.

“What sort of adventure?” Shia asked.

Madam Ga’ilan held Erin’s gaze. “Mysteries to be unraveled and secrets to be revealed.”

Forgetting herself in the moment, Erin nodded in agreement. She swallowed, giving the old woman a weak smile. “Interesting. Thank you.” She looked at Shia. “We should be going.” Serendipitously, the sounds of voices wafted from the other side of the curtain. “I think Father and Shing are waiting.”

“Yeah,” Shia thankfully agreed, “sounds like it.” She rose from her cushion. “Thank you, Madam Ga’ilan.”

“Thank you, my queen,” the fortune teller smiled. “Rule with compassion.”

Shia giggled. “I will.” She turned to go, and Erin rose to follow her.

Madam Ga’ilan grasped Erin’s hand. “Help me up, Erin, if you would.”

Erin held out her other hand and braced herself as the old woman clasped it and pulled herself to her feet, after which she leaned close and whispered in Erin’s ear. “You carry the burden of many secrets, child. But the heaviest are those you keep from yourself.” The old woman detached herself and stepped back. “The gods be with you.”

Erin nodded. “Thank you, Madam Ga’ilan.” She turned and hurried through the curtain. Casin and Shing were indeed waiting, now chatting with Shia who was regaling them with her fortune.

“I’m still going to be a queen,” she laughed.

“Well, it seems I’m surrounded by royals,” Casin chuckled. “Tsing is apparently a future king!”

The knot in Erin’s stomach returned.

Casin turned to her and smiled. “Another queen?”

Erin shook her head. “Not me.”

“Erin’s going on a great adventure,” Shia volunteered.

“What sort of adventure?” Shing asked.

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Shia said. “All Madam Ga’ilan would say is that she had great mysteries to unravel.”

“The great mysteries of life, I guess,” Casin decided.

“I suppose,” Erin agreed, looking for an opportunity to change the subject. “I’m hungry. Shouldn’t there be a vendor selling kabobs?”

Casin gave her a curious look. “I think I saw a man setting up the other day.”

“Good,” Erin said, taking his arm. “Let’s go find him.” She pulled him toward the exit.

Shia took Shing’s arm. “Come, my king, shall we follow, or have one of the common folk fetch us a kabob?”

Shing smiled. “Let’s follow them. It might prove amusing.”

Casin rolled his eyes. “You’d think these fortune tellers would mix up their predictions a bit so as not to duplicate them. Everyone can’t be a queen or king.”

“They’re good at reading people,” Erin said, cynically. “Shia is such a princess. She would naturally want to be a queen.”

Casin smirked. “And she gave you a great adventure—the girl who always dreamed of riding dragons.”

Erin gave a rueful smile.

“And she told me I had recently lost someone I loved,” Casin offered. “Not a difficult read, that one,” he added.

Erin squeezed his arm.

“Then, what did she see in Tsing?” Shia challenged.

Shing grinned. “A kingly visage?” he suggested.

Erin turned and scowled. “A kingly opinion of himself, obviously.”

Shing turned to Shia and shrugged.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Erin. We’re just having fun. We know Madam Ga’ilan tells us what we want to hear.” Shia sulked. “Of course,” she murmured, “she did know you were keeping a secret.”

Shing stiffened.

Erin pretended she hadn’t heard.

CHAPTER 16

The Nalek

9th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

It had remained unseasonably warm for several days, and folks had left their coats behind as they gathered for the evening festivities. The full moon rose early, casting its light across a wide, raised stage that had been assembled in the meadow adjacent to the caravan and rendering the lamps lit around its perimeter almost unnecessary.

A group of musicians with drums, flutes, and some odd-looking stringed instruments Tsing didn’t recognize, had assembled to one side, along with a troupe of dancers ready to perform for the crowd.

Tsing stood with the Callens and some of their neighbors, waiting for the entertainment to begin. It had been explained to him that, after the performance, the dancers would invite some of the crowd onto the stage, leading them in some traditional dances. Then later, the musicians would stay and play as the stage was cleared for the Festival goers.

Tsing scanned the crowd, appreciating the festival atmosphere. The women and girls were dressed in their finest, though he thought none more beautiful than the Callen sisters. Shia was wearing the dress she had worn the day she and Erin had brought him the crossbow gift from Casin, and she had been immediately surrounded by young men eagerly seeking the promise of a dance later in the evening.

Erin, on the other hand, was ravishing, and he struggled to keep his eyes off her. She wore a satin green dress, corseted at the waist, that matched her eyes. The top left her shoulders bare, and her red hair contrasting against her white, slightly freckled skin made his heart race. She, too, had attracted plenty of male attention, which had prompted him to remind her that she had already promised him a dance. Her curt acknowledgment of the promise disappointed him, but he was looking forward to it, nonetheless.

A swarthy man wearing a red silk tunic with long puffy sleeves and matching pantaloons vaulted onto the stage and called for the attention of the crowd. “The Witch’s Moon is full!” he shouted. “It is time for a night of celebration and …” He spread his arms and lifted his face to the moonlight. “… dancing!”

On cue, the musicians struck up a lively tune as the man in red began to spin. A troupe of red-clad dancers filed onto the stage and joined him, forming a clever spiral formation. The women wore flared dresses that swirled in dizzying patterns, and as the spiral broke up into different formations, the dancers wove in and out among each other.

It was a delightful display, and Tsing joined in as the crowd began to clap with the beat, spurring the dancers on. The tempo of the music increased in speed, until the leaping, swirling bodies became a silky red blur, finally ending in a crashing crescendo, the women perched on the men’s shoulders, arms spread wide, and faces lifted to the moon.

The crowd roared their approval. As the applause began to die, the lead dancer emerged from the cluster and began to circle the stage, projecting his voice to the audience. He began to tell the origin story of the first Witch’s Moon—how the goddess Ma’ira, jealous at how the fruitful harvest of the humans in her valley rivaled her own gardens, stole the sun and the moon, plunging the valley into darkness so the people could not see to pick the fruits, leaving them to rot on the trees and vines. But Cassio, a powerful human witch, conjured a giant moon to light the sky, allowing the people to tend their fields and orchards, reaping the bountiful harvest.

Impressed with what Cassio had done, Ma’ira’s husband, the powerful god Mu’ish, retrieved the sun and moon his wife had hidden and, moreover, decreed that Cassio’s moon forever rise in the sky during harvest time … just in case.

It was a version of a similar myth Tsing had heard growing up in Lakronos, and as the dancer told the story, he and the other dancers acted out key events with dance. As the story neared its end, the dancer/narrator concluded, “And so, today, we celebrate the Witch’s Moon with the traditional Moon Dance! We invite all who will to come join us!” He pointed to a young man and woman in the crowd. “How about you, sir and madam?”

The group surrounding the couple he’d invited eagerly encouraged them, pushing them toward the stage. As they mounted the platform, the dancer continued around the perimeter of the stage, singling out prospective participants. Eventually, he pointed to Shia. “Ah, beautiful lady. Please come join us in the Moon Dance! And you, sir,” he added, pointing to Tsing, “come join!”

Tsing tried to step back into the crowd unnoticed, but Shia grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. “Come, Tsing,” she laughed. “You promised me a dance. The time is now!”

He glanced at Erin, whose frown confirmed his suspicion that she would object to the additional attention this might draw to him. But, seeing as how Shia was pulling him irrevocably toward the stage, he could see no way out of it. He gave Erin a half smile and a shrug.

As he and Shia climbed onto the platform, he saw the dancer had also singled out Erin, pairing her with Anders Grenersen. Erin tried to refuse, but Casin pushed her forward. Blushing furiously, Anders followed her onto the platform amid catcalls from some of his sack and goal teammates. They took up a position next to Shia and Tsing.

The dancer took note of the titters of the group from which he had chosen the last two couples and looked at them, considering. He turned to the crowd. “Did I mismatch these couples?” he asked, grinning. “Does this lovely redhead go with the tall, handsome man, and the attractive blond couple go together?”

Claps and cheers applauded the change.

The dancer turned back to the two couples. He noted the blush on Anders’ face and smiled. “Do you want to switch partners?”

“No,” Erin blurted, taking the young man’s arm. “It’s fine. We’ll stay the way we are.”

The dancer frowned but shook it off. “Very well, then,” he murmured. He plastered a big smile on his face and resumed recruiting couples from the crowd.

Tsing glanced at Erin and Anders. She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Tsing’s gaze. His consternation was offset by his empathy for the young man at her side, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

The dancer finished his recruitment and called for everyone’s attention. He described the dance. The local couples were arranged in an outside ring, while the caravan dancers paired off in couples forming an inner ring. Couples would exchange partners while the rings moved in opposite directions, ensuring that everyone had a chance to dance with each other. The dance would end when the circle was completed, and the original pairs of couples faced each other once more.

The main dancer walked everyone through a few sequences until he was satisfied, then he signaled for the music to begin. Tsing faced Shia, who beamed up at him. He couldn’t help but return her smile as he pulled her close into the starting position.

The caravan couple opposite them were experienced with the dance, of course, and apparently Shia had done it at previous festivals, but Tsing had to concentrate on his feet as they moved slowly through the first sequence. As they moved on to the next couple, he grinned at Shia. “Well, I didn’t step on anyone’s toes.”

“So far,” she giggled. “Wait.”

The tempo of the music kicked up a notch. “Uh-oh,” he murmured.

Shia laughed.

Sure enough, the tempo increased slightly with each iteration of couples. It took some concentration, but soon the pattern of steps became familiar to Tsing, and muscle memory took over. He not only kept up but began to enjoy the rhythm of the movements and the energy shared with the other dancers.

As they danced faster and faster, there were occasional hoots of laughter and good-natured derision from the crowd as someone missed a step and crashed into their partner. But everyone was having fun. Shia grinned from ear to ear as he swung her faster and faster through partner exchanges. She was having the time of her life. He hazarded a glance at Erin and Anders. The youth had a look of fierce concentration but seemed to be keeping up, and Erin was smiling, in spite of herself.

The last few iterations of the dance were frenzied and chaotic as the music got faster and faster. Several of the local couples became tangled up in missteps, laughing, but the more experienced couples quickly got them into position for the next exchange. When they made it full circle and back to the pairs they’d started with, the music abruptly stopped. Crowd and dancers alike laughed and cheered.

The dancer/narrator’s voice boomed over the throng, “Thank you, everyone, for helping us with the Moon Dance. We are assured of a prosperous year ahead and another bountiful harvest before next Festival! Now, we leave the dance floor to you! Our musicians will play for as long as you wish! Come, dance to your hearts content!”

The caravan dancers said their goodbyes to the local couples and hustled off the stage. Tsing bowed to Shia. “Thank you, my queen, for the dance.”

Smiling, she curtsied, “It was a pleasure, my king.”

He offered his arm, and she took it, laughing. But, as he started to escort her from the dance floor, he pulled up short. “Uh-oh.” A crowd of young men were lined up at the steps leading from the dance platform, and at their front were Thomas and Caleb Mavers, leering.

The music started up, and instead of leading Shia from the dance floor he swung her around to confront Erin and Anders, who were behind them. “It looks like the Callen sisters are in for a long night,” he said, nudging Shia toward Anders. “We better take advantage of being the first in line.”

With a giggle, Shia extended her hand to Anders. For a moment, Tsing thought the young man would falter, but a smile from Shia was all that was needed for him to take her hand and pull her into the dance.

Tsing and Erin stood alone, facing each other. He extended his hand. “You promised,” he challenged.

---

Erin stared at Shing’s outstretched hand, withholding herself from taking it.  As he’d just reminded her, she’d promised him a dance. But the music dictated the baya, a dance involving much touching and body contact—the perfect thing for someone bent on seduction. She’d hoped for something where she could maintain a safe distance.

She cautiously leaned to one side, peering around Shing’s broad shoulders to see the leering visage of Thomas Mavers waiting at the edge of the dance floor. She gave an involuntary shudder. She certainly did not want to dance the baya with one of the Mavers. She looked up at Shing, who stood patiently, his eyebrows raised. “Do you know the steps?” she asked.

His patient expression disappeared as he swept her up in his arms and pulled her forward into the first moves of the dance. “Yes.”

Startled, she stumbled slightly, but he held her up while she got her feet under her, and she was ready when he lifted her arm into a twirl that reversed their positions so that she was the one moving backward.

She blinked as he smiled down at her. Damn. He’s good at this, too. She cleared her throat. “Expertly performed,” she complimented. “Where did you learn the baya?”

His brows knit together in introspection. He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

She suspected a lie. Doubtless, he’d learned the dance from one of the countless women he’d been with. She tried to squash the speculation of how many that was as he twirled her once more, pulling her gently forward again.

Maybe it was the girl that hurt him, the one he went to sea to forget. Stop it! She shook herself. “Well, I guess everyone is talking about what a great dancer you are, now.”

He shook his head. “No one’s talking about me, Erin. They’re talking about you in that dress.” He twirled her again, reversing their positions. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked up at him. Gods, his eyes are blue. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. She’d been told before that she was beautiful. The compliment usually masked an ulterior motive. So why was she having such a visceral response to those words coming from him?

“I’m sorry,” he winced.

“I … no … it’s fine,” she stammered, suddenly realizing her nails were digging into his arms. She eased her grip. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“I shouldn’t have given voice to my thoughts,” he said.

“And I should take a compliment more gracefully,” she admitted, unconsciously rubbing the affected area on his arms. He pulled her into another twirl. She was beginning to feel dizzy, and she held tightly to him.

“Erin, I—”

She hesitated. “What?”

“The effects of the wine … they’re not wearing off.”

She stiffened, not knowing how to respond.

He continued. “And it’s obvious that you regret what happened between us …”

I don’t!

“… and wish to put it behind you …” He twirled her again.

She settled into his embrace to steady herself. She could feel him gathering his resolve, and she feared what he might say next.

His words came in a rush. “So why did you bring me here—to this wonderful place—where it’s so easy to fall in love?”

Because I desperately wanted you to. The truth hit her like a tidal wave.

She’d lied to herself for so long—not just about Shing, but so much that had gone before. She’d left the valley with the excuse that she had to help her family, when in truth she was seeking adventure. The same was true when her indenture was sold to Ian Tanner. She could have negotiated a return home, but she’d said she needed the money. The truth was, she longed to experience the excitement of Azurith. Sure, she wanted to become a master dream walker, but she could have deferred this master’s task to someone better suited. But … she’d wanted to be with the man who currently held her in his arms.

When he next twirled her, her head continued to spin. What was she to do? She’d painted herself into a corner with her lies, and there was nothing she could think of to say but admit to her own selfishness.

But the truth would let so, so many people down.

The music stopped, and she stood for a moment, leaning against him, her head resting against his chest. He felt warm, solid, and safe—such a contrast to the war of thoughts in her head.

She looked up at him and saw the unanswered question in his eyes. I’m sorry. She couldn’t voice such an inadequate apology. Placing her hands on his chest, she dropped her gaze and pushed herself away.

“Erin?”

She shook her head, blinking back the tears. It was high time she put her own selfish desires aside and applied herself to the commitments she’d made. She squared her shoulders and held her head up as she made her way toward the line of young men waiting at the edge of the dance platform. A dance with Thomas Mavers would be small penance for her lies, but it would be a start.

---

“Erin?” Tsing whispered again as he watched her walk away.

Damn. Why hadn’t he held his tongue? He’d promised himself it would only be a dance. Not a big deal—just a moment to enjoy her company, then move on. Instead, he’d vomited up his feelings like some lovesick schoolboy.

He had not only looked like a fool, but he’d also pushed her even further away. Idiot.

He clenched his fists as he saw that Thomas Mavers eagerly awaited Erin’s approach. He imagined how satisfying it might feel to use those fists on the big goon’s leering face. The musicians struck up a lively tune.

Tsing blew out a long breath. At least they wouldn’t be dancing the baya. He looked up at the full moon. He felt the urge to take a long walk in the moonlight—by himself. Maybe try to sort things out.

“Need a partner?”

He shook himself from his reverie and turned toward the voice. He recognized one of the caravan dancers from the Moon Dance, a dark-haired beauty who’d flirted with him when he and Shia had exchanged partners. She had changed from her colorful red costume into a striking blue dress and an off-the-shoulder white blouse cut low in front to reveal ample cleavage. She presented herself to him, arms spread, eyes twinkling in invitation.

He took a deep breath and returned her smile. “Why not?”

---

As Erin made her way slowly to the edge of the dance platform, Shia was suddenly at her side, clasping her hand. “Well,” her sister sighed, resting her head against Erin’s shoulder, “that was fun while it lasted.”

“Huh? What was?”

“Dancing with Tsing,” Shia explained. “Look,” she said, pulling Erin around and pointing to where Shing had whisked the caravan girl in among the crowd of dancers, “he’s already found another partner. We’re not likely to get another chance the rest of the evening.”

Erin’s heart clenched as she watched the couple, first one happy face then the other passing into view as Shing spun the raven-haired beauty round and round. The girl smiled and tossed her hair at something he said to her. Probably that she’s beautiful. And she was. All those caravan girls were, with their shiny, straight hair and smooth, olive skin. She ground her teeth against the knot of jealousy forming in her gut.

Shia sighed. “He’s a good dancer, too, isn’t he? Look at the fun she’s having. Every girl in the valley will fall in love with him tonight.”

Erin snorted. “Well, this is the place for it, isn’t it?”

Shia gave her sister a curious glance before her attention was drawn to the cluster of men waiting at the edge of the platform. She sighed again. “And now I have the pleasure of getting my feet trod upon by one of the Mavers boys and—oh, gods—there’s Conner Anersen, too! What am I going to do, Erin?”

“Grow up,” Erin said, her tone curt. “Life isn’t all rainbows and unicorns, Shia. We all don’t get to have what we want.”

Shia’s jaw dropped open. “Hey, what’s got your knickers all twisted?”

Erin set her jaw. “I’ll dance with Thomas. You can have Caleb.” Plastering her best fake smile, she strode off to do her penance.

---

Casin Callen wandered through the crowd surrounding the stage, nodding at the occasional greeting from a neighbor. He’d been watching his daughters and their interactions with the men vying for their attention, and he needed a break. They were both of age and capable of making the right choices. He needed to remove himself from the scene, lest he become compelled to intervene on their behalf, which he knew they would regard as an unforgiveable act.

He sighed. At past festivals, it was Shannon who had distracted him from worrying over his daughters. His dear wife always seemed to know the perfect time to initiate a conversation or pull him onto the dance floor. What he wouldn’t give for another chance to hold her in his arms and hear the laughter in her voice.

The inevitable mist began to form in his eyes at the thought, and he wandered away from the edge of the crowd to be by himself for a bit. Cold loneliness settled deep into his soul as he gazed across the moonlit meadow to the shadowy backdrop of the mountains surrounding the valley. It had been these mountains that had called to him—he knew it—when he’d been compelled to drag his growing family from their roots in the north and seek a better future on the southern continent.

Shannon had come willingly, despite being pregnant with their second daughter. But what if he had waited until Shia was born? What if he had delayed their emigration those few extra months? Would something have happened to change his mind about leaving? Would Shannon be alive today, not having contracted a deadly disease that only existed in the south?

He tried to shake the unproductive thought from his mind, but it persisted. He wished he could do it all over again, or at least tell Shannon he was sorry. A desperate thought from the day before resurfaced. He turned from the moonlit mountain view and purposefully skirted the outskirts of the crowd on his way to the cluster of wagons from the eastern caravan.

As he approached the tent where they’d had their fortunes read the night before, he began to have second thoughts, and his steps faltered. But there was Madam Ga’walar, sitting in a chair alone, and her gaze rose to meet his before he could turn away. She beckoned him forward.

She cocked her head at his approach. “You seek answers but are uncertain of the questions to ask.”

He swallowed in a dry throat. The old woman spoke the truth. “I’ve been thinking about something you said … last night.”

She nodded. “About speaking with lost loved ones beyond the veil?”

Another truth. Had the woman been waiting for him? “Yes,” he admitted. “H … how is that done?” he stammered.

Madam Ga’walar cocked her head in the other direction, squinting at him. “With a nalek.” Her gaze bore into his. “Are you sure it is something you want to do? It is not to be taken lightly—not something to be done on a whim.”

He took a deep breath. “I miss her … terribly. But … more than that, it’s … my daughters.”

“Ah, yes. The future queen and the one with the—” She stopped herself. “… the one facing the great adventure. Those two are special.”

He swallowed again. “Since their mother’s been gone, I haven’t been … the best father. I’ve been … lost, in many ways. They need my council, yet … I don’t know what to say. Shannon—their mother—she always knew the right thing to do. If I could just talk to her—seek her guidance—it would mean so much.”

Madam Ga’walar cocked her head to the other side again. “To create a nalek, I will need something of yours—a lock of hair would do—and something of hers—something she wore, perhaps.” Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. “And one hundred krin.”

His eyes widened. “One hundred krin?”

“I said it was something not to be taken lightly. The gold may not be the only sacrifice you make.”

He ignored the cold knot that formed in his stomach. “But I’ll be able to speak with my wife again?”

Madam Ga’walar’s nod spoke of conviction. “Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “I want to do it.”

“Then, bring me the items I require—and the fee—”

“I have it,” he interrupted. He bent over and pulled a small purse from his boot, from which he withdrew one of the hundred-krin gold pieces Erin had presented upon her arrival home. He gave it to her.

She took it from him, her eyebrows raised. She peered at the shiny coin and tested it between her teeth. Satisfied, she slipped it into her pocket. “Something Shannon wore,” she prompted.

He dug into a pocket and extracted a small silver ring, which he handed to her.

She frowned. “Are you sure you want to use this? You won’t get it back.”

He set his jaw. “If this works, it will be worth it.”

“Very well.” She slipped the ring into the same pocket as the coin. She bent forward, reached into her own boot, and withdrew a wicked-looking knife. She beckoned with a finger.

He hesitated, eyeing the crooked blade.

“Bend forward,” she cackled. “I need a lock of your hair.”

Cautiously, he complied.

She grasped a tuft of hair near the side of his forehead and cut it with the knife. “There,” she said, examining the lock between her thumb and forefinger, “that should do nicely.”

He straightened and watched as she replaced the knife into her boot, pulled a small piece of cloth from another pocket, and wrapped the lock of hair in it.

She looked up. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll have the nalek for you and instruct you in its use.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“Hmmm,” she answered.

“Tomorrow, then.”

She nodded.

He turned on his heel and plodded back toward the meadow, no longer able to ignore the cold knot in his stomach.

CHAPTER 17

The Call of Ka’il Idreth

10th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Mazuom stood at the bow of the long river barge, searching the dense undergrowth of the jungle along the river’s edge. He was becoming frustrated in his search, and the groans of the mind slaves pulling at the oars—a sound that usually brought him satisfaction—were beginning to get on his nerves.

“We must be getting close,” he muttered. “The call of Ka’il Idreth is getting stronger. Yet there’s nothing but jungle, as far as the eye can see.” He slapped at a mosquito that landed on his neck. “Cursed insects! I should have placed a warding spell on this boat.”

“And why didn’t you?”

The voice of the wizened old witch who stood at his side added to his irritation. Her tone was that of a master lecturing her pupil. I am the master here. “There was no time,” he snapped. “The Sword that Sings called to me.”

Peche cackled. “Wrong. What would it have taken to conjure such a spell? An hour? Two? You had time. Ka’il Idreth isn’t going anywhere. No, you were just eager to go after the artifact. You lack patience.”

“So, you say,” he griped. “That sword is the source of the power I need.”

“And what will you do with that power?”

“Build the kingdom I was meant to rule. The prophecy promises that.”

“Again, you are too impatient. The prophecy says you need a queen.”

“That’s your department, not mine. How is the search going, by the way? Have you gained access to the mind of the witch who walks in dreams?”

“Not yet. The demon you summoned has been helpful, but I don’t trust him. Graff will betray you if given the chance.”

“Nonsense,” Mazuom chuckled. “He is completely under my power. He must obey until his task is complete—until I have my queen.”

Peche grunted. “Well, he’s found a physical link to the dream walker. When she finds the queen she seeks, Graff can snatch the queen and have her brought to you.”

“And when will that be?”

Peche shrugged. “Patience,” she admonished. “The dream walker searches at her own pace.”

He frowned. “Patience be damned. If Graff can snatch the queen, he can snatch the dream walker. Bring her to me. I’m the one for whom she should be seeking a queen in the first place.”

Peche was silent for a moment. She turned her milky gaze to him. “That is a path I’d not considered.”

“Consider it, then.” He resumed his scan of the riverbank. “Ka’il Idreth is close. I know it. Once the Sword is in my hands, I’ll not sit around idly while the dream walker twiddles her thumbs. I’ll use it to fulfill my destiny—queen or no queen.”

“Yes, you will,” Peche murmured. She shook her head and sighed. “Yes, you will.”

---

Casin slapped his hands on the counter of the Callen’s festival booth in a gesture of finality, drawing the attention of his daughters and Tsing. “Well, that’s all of the chairs.” He pointed at the man carrying away the last of their inventory. “And I’ve got enough crossbow orders to keep me busy for the winter. I think I’ll call it a day, wander around a bit, and say a few goodbyes.”

“Need some company?” Tsing offered, stifling a yawn.

Casin chuckled. His announcement had startled Tsing from a doze. “Nah. Go back to sleep. After being up all night, dancing with half the girls in the valley, you need it.”

Tsing returned a sheepish grin.

Casin stood and looked at his daughters. “I’ll be back in an hour or so—in plenty of time to help pack up and get home before dark.”

“Take your time, Father,” Erin said, looking around at the empty space. “We’ve sold almost everything. There’s not much to pack up.”

Shia called as he began to walk away. “Father!”

He turned, raising his eyebrows.

“If the kabob vendor still has his cart set up, could you bring us a few?”

He nodded. “I’ll go see.” Her request was good fortune. It gave him an excuse to head in the direction he wanted to go. He strode off toward the wagons of the eastern caravan before anyone could burden him with an additional errand.

It was the last day of the Festival, and many were already disassembling their booths and readying themselves to leave. Casin gave an occasional wave and good luck wish to some of his neighbors as he passed, but he offered no help, nor did he stop to chat. Nagging guilt at the secrecy of his mission and the gold he’d already sacrificed lent urgency to his steps.

The gold would likely not be missed. They’d done well this Festival. He’d sold all the chairs—he always did—and Shia’s salves were nearly gone, even the For Wives mixture she’d mistakenly concocted. Tsing’s iron rifling enhancement to his crossbow design had been a big hit, as well. Both men had their work cut out for them to fill the orders they’d received. There would be additional income throughout the winter, even if the umbra herding didn’t go well, a possibility he’d worried over since his wife’s demise.

No; money would not be an immediate concern for the Callens. But he knew his daughters would not approve of him trying to contact Shannon from beyond the grave. Whatever means Madam Ga’walar presented him, it would involve witchery, something frowned upon in the valley. His dear ex-wife, who’d had a bit of the gift herself, had cautioned him about such things, as well. In fact, he worried her spirit might resist his attempt and fail to respond in protest.

Yet, he had to try. He just had to. He blinked back the tears her memory always conjured and added more resolve to his stride.

When he arrived at the cluster of wagons from the eastern caravan, he found the fortune tellers tent had already been taken down. But he found Madam Ga’walar sitting in a chair next to her wagon—an enclosed, boxy construct, painted in bright colors, like those of most of her comrades—dozing in the afternoon sun. Her eyes fluttered open at his approach. “Ah, you’ve come.” She yawned.

“Yes.” He stood, uncertainly, while she stretched. The cracking of her old bones made him wince.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she cackled, obviously noting his discomfiture. “It feels better than it sounds.”

He nodded. “Do you have the thing we talked about?”

“Yes.” She stood slowly and looked around. “Come,” she beckoned. “It’s inside.”

She shuffled over to where several portable wooden steps had been placed in front of a door in the side of the wagon, which she opened, climbing inside. He followed.

The interior of the wagon was dimly lit by a single lamp on a shelf along the back wall. Madam Ga’walar pressed a finger against her lips, signaling him to silence as she pointed to the sleeping figure of a man stretched out on a low pallet to the left. She beckoned toward the opposite end of the wagon, and Casin followed her as she pulled a curtain aside separating what must have been her private space in the wagon’s rear. He entered and sat on a low stool she indicated.

She closed the curtain, and they were plunged into darkness for a moment, until she lit a small table lamp and sat in a chair facing him. She squinted at him, her eyes glistening in the dim light. “It is not too late to change your mind about this,” she said. “There is … some risk involved. I can refund the bulk of your payment, keeping only a small portion to cover the cost of materials.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You hinted at sacrifices last night. You said nothing of risks. Am I—or my daughters—in danger?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Normally, no. The sacrifices … they are emotional. Speaking with a dead loved one can be troubling … disconcerting … sometimes traumatic. You seem strong …” She tapped her head. “… here. Otherwise, I wouldn’t offer to make a nalek. You should be able to handle it. However, there is something going on—something my crystals won’t reveal.” She shook her head, then shrugged. “It is a feeling I had when I was making it.”

He scowled, feeling the witch might be trying to welch on her promise. “Will it work? Will I be able to speak with Shannon?”

“Oh, yes. That I can guarantee.”

“Then, show me what to do.”

She pursed her lips. “Very well.” She turned and pulled a small bundle from a shelf behind her, unwrapped the cloth that bound it, and set it on the table beside her. “This is the nalek,” she said, patting it gently.

He leaned forward, examining the item. A tiny dress had been sewn around a root that had grown in the shape of a human body. Eyes, nose, and mouth had been carved into a face, and a small red jewel was set into its forehead. It smelled earthy and faintly sweet. “It’s a doll,” he observed. “Is it supposed to be a likeness of my wife?”

“No,” she chuckled. “Its form disguises its purpose. Any resemblance to your dear departed is coincidental.” She paused, cocking her head in a speculative manner. “Or perhaps not. I wonder …”

He frowned, breaking the silence. “What do I do with it?”

She shook herself into focus. “Right.” She slid the doll across the table toward him. “The invocation should be performed at night, during a waning moon. So, if you choose not to use it in the next few weeks, you must wait until after the next full moon has passed. The timing is critical. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “During a waning moon.”

“Hold the doll with both hands, thumbs together over its chest.”

He picked the doll up. “Like this?”

“Perfect. Recite the invocation while holding the doll thus. Here, I’ve written down the words for you.” She turned and pulled a piece of parchment from the shelf and unfolded it on the table before him.

He squinted at the handwriting. “I don’t recognize the language.”

“It’s Elven … I think,” she said.

He tested the words on his tongue. “Commen u aduh viendae.”

“Close,” she nodded. “The emphasis is on the last syllable of the last word. Vee-en-DEE.”

He repeated the phrase correctly.

“Good,” she affirmed. “Repeat the invocation. It may take a while—we don’t know how near or far the spirit of your departed may be. You will begin to feel the power in the doll—a vibration, perhaps—don’t stop the invocation until your departed appears.”

“So, like this?” Casin held the doll and began to recite the words.

Madam Ga’walar placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Not here, please.”

He stopped the chant. “I thought you said it only worked at night.”

“It only works correctly at night. And, also, when?”

“During a waning moon.”

“Exactly.”

He took a deep breath. Wrapping the doll back up in its cloth and tucked it inside his coat. “Thank you,” he said, standing.

She nodded. “The gods be with you.”

“Oh, by the way, do you know if the kabob vendor has his cart set up?”

She shook her head. “I think he’s put his things away. We’ve all begun packing up for the long journey ahead.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “My daughters were hoping—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Say no more.” She stood and walked past him, pulling the curtain to her room aside. “Ben!” she shouted.

The man stretched out on the pallet scrambled to his feet, startled. “What! What’s wrong?”

“Our guest needs kabobs. E’ifeh owes me a favor. Go!”

Ben bowed to her and beckoned to Casin. “Come, my friend, we will get you a dozen of the best kabobs in the Eastern Kingdoms. Follow me.” He hustled to the door and opened it, squinting at the afternoon sunlight.

Casin joined him at the doorway. He turned back to the old fortune teller. “Thank you, Madam Ga’walar. My daughters love kabobs.”

“You’re welcome, Casin Callen.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Enjoy them while you can.”

---

The pinprick of a mosquito bite pulled Mazuom from his doze. Cursing, he slapped the life out of the huge insect, pulling his hand from his forearm to examine the dark bloodstain on his palm. That one had nearly drunk its fill. He’d likely not have any blood left if they spent many more days on this damn river.

His hand twitched.

What? His brow furrowed. His hand twitched again; this time accompanied by a warm tingling that began to spread through his palm.

He vaulted from his chair and stood.

His sudden movement startled Peche from her slumber in the chair beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel it. Ka’il Idreth is here.”

She yawned. “You’ve been saying that since this morning.”

He stepped toward the bow of the boat, squinting ahead, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun coming off the water. “Something’s around that bend up ahead.”

Peche cackled. “More forest, perhaps?”

He looked at the trees along the near bank, to his right, then across the expanse of water at the far side of the river. “It’s different over there,” he noted. “Those willows. They look as if they don’t belong, somehow.”

Peche straightened in her chair. “Willows? We must have reached the Forest of Baeth.”

He turned to her. “The Enchanted Forest?”

She nodded. “Some call it that.”

He turned back to the bow. “Faeries,” he murmured. “Of course.” His hand twitched again. He held it up in front of his face, curling his fingers as if around the hilt of an imaginary blade. He could feel the grip.

He turned and yelled at the oarsmen. “Faster!” A collective groan rose from the crew as they involuntarily leaned harder into their rowing. A light breeze began to dry the sweat on his brow as the boat picked up speed.

Peche rose from her chair and joined him at the bow. “We must be getting close to Holly’s Landing.”

“What’s that?”

“A trading post—the only one along this section of the river. There’s an inn there run by a giantess named Holly Trill. Hence the name.”

“A giantess? Since when are there giants in Northern Panprama?”

“For at least a century, it seems. As long as Holly’s Landing has existed.”

He smiled. “Ka’il Idreth is there,” he whispered.

Sure enough, as they rounded the bend in the river, the towers of Holly’s Landing could be seen on the left bank in the distance, their gabled roofs with the crane’s-wing shaped eaves rising above the willows. Mazuom’s right hand began to twitch in rhythm with the oars as the boat sped toward the long dock jutting from its banks. Soon they were sliding alongside the empty dock, coming to rest with a slight thump against one of the pilons.

Motioning for Peche to remain with the boat, he vaulted onto the dock and strode toward the open gate in the walls of the castle, leaving her to supervise securing the boat to its moorings. Taking note of the impressive fortifications, he was disconcerted that none of them seemed manned. Passing through the unguarded gates, he stood for a moment in the empty courtyard, considering if he should call out to see if anyone was around.

His right hand was throbbing now. Ka’il Idreth’s pull was irresistible, compelling him forward. He crossed the courtyard and mounted the steps to a long porch running the length of the front of the inn, littered with empty café tables, each set with plates and cutlery for nonexistent patrons.

Clenching and unclenching his hand to relieve the throbbing, he pushed through the front doorway to find himself in an empty dining room, also crowded with set but empty tables. He peered through the dust-mote-filled rays of sunlight streaming through the high windows in the rear to see a giantess in a tan leather vest resting her elbows on the opposite side of a bar, regarding him. She grinned, her deep, even voice carrying clearly across the empty room.

“Looking for something?”

His hand twitched. He frowned.

She pointed to a glass door at the back of the room. “There’s a path into the forest on the other side of the gardens.” Her grin widened. “Don’t get lost.”

Ka’il Idreth pulled him in the direction she indicated. Keeping a wary eye on the giantess, he made his way through the empty tables and out into the gardens. Pausing for a moment to scan the maze of carefully cultivated plants and flowers, he spied the path to which she’d referred, made a mental note of the route, and descended from the deck into the maze.

He was soon making his way along the outside wall of the maze, through the shade of the overhanging branches of the adjacent forest, to stand at the pathway leading into its dark interior. His brows knitted in concern. Mazuom wasn’t fond of forest or jungle, though the lands he ruled were dominated by such. Their intertwining branches and roots created places where anything could hide, and the mutually dependent ecosystem held a sentience and power he could not break through.

But, as he stood hesitating, the pathway seemed to widen, and the sun seemed to make its way through the canopy of trees to light the way. He stepped onto the path and followed the pull of the Sword.

Time stood still as Mazuom hurried along, following the pull, until he emerged into a clearing, where a small waterfall emptied into a clear pool. On the far side of the pool, a female faerie sat on a large tree stump. Before her on the ground was a long metal box, its hinged lid pulled open.

“Ka’il Idreth,” he whispered.

The faerie rose at his approach, her gossamer wings spreading to gleam in the sunlight. “The Sword that Sings calls for a new master. Does a warlock seek to claim the prize?”

He straightened to his full height, bringing himself nearly to eye level with her. “A powerful warlock,” he qualified. “I am Mazuom, King of Zemblia, and ruler over Ozua.”

Her eyebrows rose. “All of Ozua? Really?”

He frowned. “Don’t stand in my way, faerie. The Sword that Sings is mine.”

She gave him an irritating, condescending smile. “My name is Floreze, and I have no claim to the Sword. I have merely been its caretaker for a time. Ka’il Idreth chooses its master, and so it must be,” she beckoned. “Come. Take it.”

Keeping a wary eye on her, he approached, peering into the box. He frowned. “It’s only a metal rod.”

She chuckled. “Grasp one end and lift it from the box.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “If this is a trick, faerie, you will pay.”

“Floreze,” she reminded him, her eyes twinkling. She folded her arms across her chest and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Her demeanor was grating on his nerves. I may just have my demon visit you, anyway. He bent and clasped the end of the rod. Suddenly, the metal adhered to his hand, pulling his fingers around the shaft in an unwilling grip. Startled, he jerked his hand from the box. The rod came with it.

A prickly sensation spread from his palm, through his hand, and began to creep its way up his arm, until the entire appendage was numb. “What’s happening?” he gasped.

The faerie’s eyebrows rose. “Good question.”

He stared, wide-eyed, as the rod began to glow, then reform its shape, elongating, flattening, and curving. Within a few seconds, he found himself grasping the golden hilt of a gleaming scimitar.

“Interesting,” murmured Floreze.

Feeling began to return to Mazuom’s arm, and he smiled as he waved the blade in the air, beheading an imaginary opponent.

“Careful,” Floreze winced, stepping back out of his reach.

He grinned. Although he’d never held a blade of this kind, it felt comfortable in his hand, and he knew how to use it. Instinctively, he knew. And there was untapped power there. He could feel it. “No one can stand against me now,” he whispered.

“Indeed,” chuckled the faerie.

He glared at her. “No one,” he insisted.

She held out her palms to defer debate. “No argument here.” She cocked her head. “So what do you plan to do with it?”

“Rule.”

“Very well,” she shrugged. “There are those that would stand in your way, of course.”

“Let them try.”

“Indeed,” she smirked. “But a friendly warning. An agent of the Protectorate was here only a few weeks ago, looking for Ka’il Idreth.”

He frowned. “The Protectorate? What’s that?”

Her lips screwed up as if she’d eaten something sour. “A snotty group of Fae who don’t want the Sword that Sings falling into human hands.” She nodded. “Or those of a warlock.”

“Fae.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Powerful Fae. Elves … and dragons.”

His brows knitted in concern. “This agent—you didn’t give them the Sword.”

“Of course, not. Ka’il Idreth chooses its master, and it’s not the Protectorate. I had the Sword hidden. But the little goblin suspected it was here. If he tells his superiors ….” She left the consequences to his imagination.

“A goblin, you say?”

“He floated south from here,” she nodded. “On a cargo barge.”

“We passed several of those on the way here,” he murmured, half to himself.

“On its way to Zemburith,” I believe. “Not sure how many stops they planned on the way. But the little twit will have a device on his person with which he can speak to his employers, perhaps some sort of pendant with a small red stone. Take the device from him, and you’ll be safe—for a time.”

“Do you think he’s reported to them already?”

She shook her head. “Being a goblin, he’ll want irrefutable proof before making a claim the artifact was here. But once you begin to use Ka’il Idreth, he’ll certainly have it.”

“Then I must find this goblin,” he muttered. The last thing he needed right now was dragons interfering with his plans.

“Wise move,” the faerie agreed. “Here,” she said, pulling a jeweled ring from her finger. “I have something that will aid you in your quest. Take it.”

He held out his hand, and she dropped the ring into his palm. “The jewel,” he commented. “It glows.”

“The jewel’s glow will strengthen as you get nearer to him,” she explained.

He smiled. “Useful.”

“Remember, I’m on your side, warlock.”

“Mazuom,” he corrected.

“Mazuom,” she repeated, smiling.

He gave her an almost imperceptible bow. “Floreze.”

CHAPTER 18

Ghosts and Demons

The sun had not yet set, but a large waning moon had already risen, giving an eerie yellowish tint to the evening light. A familiar whinny drew Tsing’s attention as the wagon wound its way around the final bend of the road leading to the Callen farmhouse. Sitting on an empty crate in the back of the wagon, facing the rear, Tsing craned his neck, seeking the source of the sound.

Brawn galloped over the rise in the meadow, Sura close behind. The two horses trotted along the fence, keeping pace with the wagon.

Sitting on the opposite side of the wagon bed, Erin smiled. “He missed you.”

He chuckled. “Likely, he’s tired of grazing on meadow grass and misses the apples and sweet oats he’s gotten used to since being here.” Brawn snorted and bobbed his head as if he’d heard.

Tsing looked at Erin. “I rest my case.”

She laughed, looking past his shoulder at the two horses. “I suppose he has gotten a little spoiled. And he’s a bad influence. My Sura is beginning to pick up his habits.”

“Sorry,” he shrugged, following her gaze back to the horses.

“They make a good pair,” Erin murmured.

He turned back to her, catching a faraway look in her eye before she dropped her gaze to her lap. We’d make a good pair, too, if only—. Her hand rested on the wagon bed, inches away, and he held himself back from reaching for it.

As if fearing his intention, she pulled her hand back and folded it with her other, in her lap. She looked at the sky. “It’s been unseasonably warm. Nice for Festival, but I wonder what it means for the umbra herds. Normally, we’d have seen the first groups descending from the mountains into the meadows by now.” The wagon jostled to a halt, and she looked at him. “Well, I guess we should go ahead and get unloaded, or it’ll be dark before you get back to your place.”

“Yeah, we can’t have that, can we,” he muttered to himself as he rose from his seat and vaulted over the side of the wagon to the ground. He walked to the rear and removed the gate, ready to offer Erin a hand down, but she was already busy moving empty crates to the rear of the bed and stacking them for him. He lifted the crates from the back of the wagon and stacked them on the ground.

“Where do these go?” he asked.

She pointed. “Those go in the barn. These over here go to the shed. But you don’t need to bother with anything. I’ll get them.”

“Well, my saddle’s in the barn, so I may as well take these on my way.”

“Very well.”

He reached out a hand to help her down, but she jumped from the bed and landed lightly, bending immediately to pick up the stack of crates bound for the shed. Arms full, she craned her neck around the stack to look at him. “Um … thanks for everything. You were a great help at Festival. I … um … guess I’ll see you in a few days.” Turning her back, she lugged her load off to the shed.

He blinked. Shaking his head, he turned to the remaining stack of crates and caught Shia staring at him from her seat at the front of the wagon. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly had to steady herself as the wagon jerked forward when Casin clucked and snapped the reins. She frowned silently at him as it rolled away.

A nicker drew his attention. Brawn and Sura stood at the fence to the meadow, craning their necks over the railing. He walked over to them, pulling an apple from the pocket of his vest. Brawn nickered again.

He bent to extract a knife from his boot and cut the apple in two, handing each of the horses a piece. He regarded the two as they munched appreciatively. He reached up and stroked the neck of the black stallion. “I guess it’s just going to be the two of us for a while,” he sighed. “Well, I’d best go get your saddle.”

Brawn snorted, shaking his head.

Tsing shrugged, grinning. “Hey, if it was up to me …”

Brawn nudged Sura, and the two of them turned and trotted away.

“Don’t go far!” he called. “I’ll be back!”

Brawn whinnied as the two galloped over the rise and out of sight.

Tsing sighed, shaking his head. He turned from the fence and back to the stack of crates, which he picked up and carried toward the barn. Halfway there, he passed Casin and Shia, who were busy unhitching the pair of draft horses from the wagon. Shia gave him a concerned look. He returned a wan smile.

He found a place in the barn to store the empty crates and retrieved Brawn’s saddle, which he’d stored there along with his broadsword, deeming the weapon inappropriate for taking to the Festival. He carried the saddle back outside. The wagon now sat empty, Casin having led the draft horses to the stable and Shia having retreated to the farmhouse. The sun had finally sunk below the mountains in the west. He glanced up at the waning moon, now the dominant light source in the sky. At least he’d have no trouble seeing his way home.

Home. He snorted at the realization of what the herder’s shack had become to him in such a short time. What the hell had happened to him?

The woman.

He gritted his teeth. He was a fool.

Brawn, of course, was nowhere to be found. He slung the saddle over the railing of the fence and called to the animal. There was no answering whinny. Damn. Was he going to have to go in search of the beast?

His eyes rested on the broadsword protruding from its sheath attached to the saddle. His fingers caressed the pommel. The blade had been the focus of his life for over a decade, and the feel of its hilt in his hand had always brought him comfort. Now it felt strange, almost alien.

He shook his head at himself. The woman—this valley—was corrupting him. He had lost his focus. There was nothing for him here—no reason to stay. He gripped the sword. He should leave now—perhaps try to catch up with the eastern caravan. The dancer in the blue dress had offered him a ride. What was her name?

He tried to conjure her image in his mind, but her raven hair turned red, and freckles appeared across the bridge of her nose. He shivered. No, I should travel alone.

Wait. He couldn’t leave. He’d committed to making those damn iron rifling’s for Casin’s crossbow orders. How long would that take? A week? Two? Fine. He’d get that out of the way, then go.

“Brawn!” he shouted. “Get your fat ass back here. Now!”

Still no answer. He was gathering himself to climb the fence and go after the horse when he heard his name called.

“Tsing? Tsing! Are you still here?”

He turned to see Shia standing in the light from the doorway of the farmhouse.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m still here. I can’t find my horse.”

She giggled.

“It’s not funny,” he called. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

“He’ll come back, I’m sure. Why don’t you have a kabob, or two, while you wait? We’ve got plenty.”

He hesitated, noting the invitation had come from Shia. He wondered if her sister had been consulted before she asked.

“It’s either that,” Shia called, “or trapsing about in the dark looking for your horse.”

“Good point,” he murmured. “Sure,” he called. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

“Great,” she replied. She slipped back inside, closing the door.

He looked up at the swollen moon, only a few days past full, and sighed. Slapping the saddle, he called a final warning to Brawn. “You better be here when I come back!”

Silence.

Shaking his head, he turned and trudged toward the house. As he reached the door, it suddenly flew open, and Casin emerged, a kabob clutched in one hand. The man blinked, as if startled Tsing was still here, then stepped aside, holding the door open for him to enter.

“Thanks,” Tsing said, stepping into the doorway. He paused, looking at the kabob in Casin’s hand. “You going to sit out here and eat that? It’s a nice night for it.”

Casin shook his head. “No, I was … um … going to take it to the shop. Thought I might … um … get things organized for making those crossbows.”

“Oh, about that. How many orders did you get?”

“Fifteen.”

“I figured I should get started on the iron work.”

Casin smiled. “I appreciate that, but there’s no big hurry. It’ll be awhile before I’m ready for them.”

“Well, I’d kind of like to get them done. I was thinking of heading east … you know … before winter comes.” He tried to grin. “I imagine it gets pretty cold around here.”

Casin frowned. “It does.” He paused, chewing his lip as if gathering his thoughts. He gave Tsing a sideways look, lowering his voice. “We never did talk about my daughter, did we?” He nodded toward the inside of the house.

Tsing swallowed. “It’s not that, sir,” he lied. “It’s just … time to move on.”

“Huh,” Casin grunted. “Well, promise me we’ll have that talk before you go.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Casin waved the kabob. “Well, best get something to eat before it gets cold.” He turned and trudged toward the shop.

Tsing watched Casin’s back as he walked away. That man, himself, was a good reason to stay. He’d miss him. He took a deep breath and let it out as he turned to enter the house, coming up short when he found Shia standing there with her mouth hanging open.

“You’re leaving?”

He closed the door behind him. “Not right away.”

“You said you were staying the winter,” she accused.

He faked another grin. “I hear it gets pretty cold around here. Not sure I’m cut out for that.”

“What about our sword-fighting lessons?”

“Come on, Shia. You could care less about learning to use a sword.”

She blinked, unable to deny the truth of his words. “What about Erin? She cares.”

He shrugged. “Does she?”

Shia’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, Tsing.” She took a step forward.

He held his hand up to stop her. “We’ll get a few more lessons in before I go.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. “So, you mentioned kabobs,” he said, changing the subject.

Shia frowned, pointing silently toward the kitchen. He headed that way, and she followed.

Erin sat at one end of the kitchen table, munching contemplatively. She looked up in surprise. “I thought you were—”

“Brawn’s being difficult. He took off. I was about to go after him when Shia invited me to have a kabob.”

“Oh.” She turned and pointed to a platter sitting on top of the stove. “They just came out of the oven. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” He shuffled past her and grabbed two sticks off the platter, turning back to see that Shia had taken a seat in front of an empty plate. “Shia?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“Would you like one?”

“Oh,” she murmured, distracted. “Sure.”

He grabbed a third stick and placed it in front of her. She mumbled a thank you as he took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Erin.

He took a bite of one of the pieces of meat. “These are good.”

Erin nodded. “They are. I was surprised Father was able to get them. The vendors usually shut down in the morning on the last day of Festival.”

He took another bite, answering through a mouthful, “I guess we got lucky.”

“Yeah,” Erin agreed, “we did.”

“He’s leaving, Erin,” Shia blurted.

“Huh?”

“Tsing’s leaving. He’s not staying the winter.”

“What?” Erin looked at him. “You … you can’t.”

Tsing raised an eyebrow. “I can’t?”

“No, we … you can’t leave … not until—” Erin cut herself off, glancing at Shia.

“Oh, really?” he asked. “Why not?”

“You know why!” Erin hissed, through gritted teeth, cutting another glance Shia’s way. “Shing, we’ve talked about this.”

He held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I really don’t think we have, Erin.”

Shia looked at him. “She’s keeping something from you, too, isn’t she?” She turned to her sister. “What’s going on, Erin?”

Erin dropped her forehead into her palm. “I … can’t. You don’t understand. I just … can’t.”

His voice went grim. “Erin, you’re right about one thing. I really … really … don’t understand.”

A loud whinny sounded from outside.

He sighed. “Well, my horse has finally come back. I’d better go—”

There was a blood-curdling scream.

---

Moments before …

Casin pushed open the door of the shop, his thoughts in a whirl. Tsing’s announcement had caught him off guard. Of course, he’d known it was coming—whatever the problem was between him and Erin wasn’t working itself out. But Festival was often a time that brought folks together, and he’d had his hopes up. If he could have chosen a son-in-law—a choice he knew was not his to make, for either of his headstrong daughters—the capable and charismatic young man would have been at the top of the list. Plus, he was fast becoming a friend.

Casin would miss him.

He made his way in the darkness to his main worktable, where his recently repaired lathe sat waiting—thanks to Tsing. He sighed. Was there anything he could do about his leaving? Probably not, but if anyone would know what to do, it would have been Shannon. Add it to the list of things he’d give his soul to be able to speak with his dearly departed about.

He swallowed. Setting the untouched kabob to the side, he cleared a space on the table and withdrew the object he’d hidden inside his coat. He placed the nalek on the table before him and removed its cloth wrappings, along with the piece of parchment on which the fortune teller had written the incantation for him.

He hadn’t planned to use the thing this soon, but the old woman had told him it must be at night under a waning moon, the light from which was streaming through the single shop window.

Should he? If he waited and found the nalek didn’t work, he’d not only feel like a fool, but he’d never get his money back. The caravan had left this afternoon. If he tested it now, there might still be time to chase it down and confront her.

He held the piece of parchment up to the moonlight. He could make out the lettering clearly. Reading it through silently a few times, he committed the incantation to memory before letting the parchment drop to the table and picking up the nalek. Holding it precisely the way she’d shown him, he began the chant.

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

Nothing happened, but she’d told him it might take awhile for his wife’s spirit to respond. So, feeling self-conscious and grateful no one was around to observe his foolishness, he kept up the chant.

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

An almost imperceptible vibration emanated from the nalek, passing through his fingers. Did he imagine it?

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

The moonlight streaming through the window took on an eerie bluish tint.

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

The blue moonlight turned misty. The mist began to swirl. It was working!

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

The swirling mist began to coalesce into a shrouded image, and the perfect face of the one he’d so loved appeared before him.

“Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae. Commen u aduh viendae.”

“Stop the incantation!” Her voice echoed, as if it reverberated from one of the distant mountain peaks.

“Shannon!” he gasped.

Her face softened with a look of pure love, both melting and twisting his heart at the same time. “My husband.”

“Shannon,” he whispered.

Her face twisted into a frown. “Dear husband, you must put the nalek down.”

His fears that she would be angry at his use of witchcraft were confirmed. “I’m sorry, Shannon. I had to speak with you. I just had to.”

She shook her head. “No. They’re searching for her. Put the nalek down. Now!”

“What do you mean? Searching for who?”

Panic crossed her face. “Please, Casin, let go of it!”

“Why? Can’t you just—?”

“Now!”

“Fine, I’ll let—” He tried to pull his hands from the nalek, but his muscles wouldn’t respond.

“Do it!” she insisted.

His hands remained glued to the nalek. “I can’t!”

Her eyes went wide. “It’s coming! No!” Her face strained. “Don’t … let … it … find her!”

His hands continued to clutch the nalek in a death grip, of their own volition. The thing began to vibrate violently. Wide-eyed, he watched as his wife’s face disintegrated into blue mist, which began again to swirl, changing in color from blue to red.

“Shannon!” he shouted.

The crimson whirlwind grew, rising to the ceiling of the shop. Items began to be pulled from their shelves and sucked into its vortex. Just as Casin began to feel himself being pulled into it; the whirlwind stopped. In its place stood a red-skinned demon, so large it had to crouch to keep from hitting the ceiling.

Finally, he was able to release his grip on the nalek, and he flung it from his grasp. The demon turned slowly in his direction, midnight black eyes with pupils of flame sizzling into focus on him.

“Where is the witch who walks in dreams?” it growled.

“Gods!”

The demon sneered. “It is useless to call upon the gods. Where is she?”

Casin backed toward the end of the worktable, his hand scrabbling among his scattered tools, looking for some sort of weapon. Instantly, the demon had its huge hand around his throat, lifting him in the air.

It pulled him close, its eyes boring into his soul. “The witch who walks in dreams,” it rasped. “I must find her.”

The smell of urine mingled with the sulfurous odor of the creature’s foul breath, and Casin dimly realized he’d wet himself. “I … I don’t know any witches.”

“Don’t lie to me,” the demon threatened. Its grip tightened. It burned. He screamed in pain.

---

Tsing’s words were cut short by the sound, a cold chill racing up his spine. Was that—?

“Father!” Erin gasped, leaping from her chair and bolting for the door, her sister right behind her.

Tsing followed on their heels, bursting out the front door as a second scream sounded that was cut short. It was an all-too-familiar sound, one he’d heard countless times in battle as an enemy’s—or comrade’s—life was ended. Instead of following the girls, he diverted his steps, sprinting for the meadow fence where Brawn’s saddle rested, along with his broadsword.

As he pulled the blade from its sheath, he turned to see Erin flinging open the door to the shop. Pulsing red light spilled from within. Fire? No, something … else. “Don’t go in!” he shouted to her.

But it was too late. She had already disappeared into the eerie light, her sister right on her heels. He sprinted after, vaulting through the doorway seconds later, sword at the ready. What he saw turned his blood to ice.

Erin stood frozen in place, staring at the too-still body of her father, which lay crumpled on the floor where the demon had just discarded it. Shia stood backed up against the wall just inside the doorway, whimpering in fear.

Erin took a few hesitant steps toward Casin’s limp figure. The demon turned in her direction. Its eyes narrowed, a sigh of satisfaction rumbling from its chest. “Ah, the witch who walks in dreams. I need you to come with me.” It reached for her.

Shouting a battle cry, Tsing leaped forward, his sword whistling through the air in a mighty arc intended to lop off the demon’s clawed hand. But the creature was quick, jerking its arm back and avoiding the worst of the blow. It grunted in pain, clutched the wound in its wrist, and turned to face its attacker.

Tsing knew better than to hesitate. He pressed his advantage, advancing on the creature with a relentless attack, his blade humming in a crisscross pattern in front of him, backing the creature across the room, away from Erin.

It snarled as its back hit the wall, and it reached out and caught the blade, halting the attack. Tsing tried to pull the sword free of its iron grip, but the demon held firm. Droplets of black blood oozed down the blade from the hand that squeezed it tight, while the creature’s other hand reached for his neck, razor sharped claws extended.

A block of wood bounced off the demon’s head, and it winced in irritation. It grunted as a second block landed near its eye, and it turned its head to roar at Shia, who froze momentarily before hurling a third block, which bounced ineffectively off its shoulder.

But distracted, the demon loosened its grip on Tsing’s blade, and he pulled it free. The creature roared and swung, sending him tumbling across the room to land painfully against a leg of the worktable. He grunted when something lodged itself painfully into his shoulder.

He winced as he pulled it out. It was a wooden root of some kind, roughly human shaped.

“Destroy it!” Erin shouted.

He looked at her.

She pointed to the piece of wood in his hand. “It’s a nalek,” she shouted. “It summoned …” She ducked under a table as the creature reached for her, emerging to stand just out of reach on the other side. “… this thing! Destroy it, now!”

He scrambled to his feet and brought his blade down on the root, slicing it in two.

The demon roared in pain, wrapping its arms around itself defensively for a second, before shaking itself and resuming its advance toward Erin.

“Again!” she shouted.

He began hacking at the root, chopping it into pieces. The demon howled and clutched at itself with each chop, until the howling suddenly stopped. He looked up from the pile of chips on the floor. The demon was nowhere to be seen. “Where did that thing come from?”

“Did you kill it?” Shia wondered. “Where did it go?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Thank the gods,” Erin said, crouching over Casin’s body. She looked up. “He’s alive. Help me get him into the house.”

CHAPTER 19

Winter Comes

11th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin closed the door to her room as the first rays of the rising sun filtered through the closed curtains. She eyed the bed longingly but didn’t go to it. She had one more task to perform before she let herself succumb to the sleep Shia and Shing had insisted she get.

She sat at her dressing table, closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind. In her present state of exhaustion, it took awhile, but eventually the amber-tinted dream of her mentor manifested. Miriam sat at her own dressing table; hands folded serenely in her lap.

As the dream came into focus, Miriam opened her eyes. “Gods, child. You look horrible.”

“It’s been a long night here,” Erin admitted. “What do you know about demons?”

Miriam stiffened. “Demons?”

“And why one is looking for me.”

Miriam leaned forward, face full of concern. “What’s happened?”

Her mentor’s frown deepened as Erin relayed a summary of the previous night’s events. “You never told me your father was a wizard, Erin. And a powerful one, to summon a demon with just a nalek.”

“He’s not a wizard. There’s not a drop of the gift in his veins.”

“Then how did he summon a demon? Only a witch, wizard, or warlock could summon such a creature.”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Miriam stared into space, chewing at her lip. “How did he come by the nalek?”

“Shing thinks he bought it from a fortune teller at Festival. She left with the eastern caravan yesterday evening.”

“How convenient,” Miriam muttered. “What spirit was he trying to contact?”

“We think it was …” Erin swallowed. “… my mother.”

“I … I didn’t know you’d lost your mother. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t either … until I returned home.”

“Oh, Erin.”

She blinked back the tears. She didn’t need her mentor’s pity right now. She needed information. “Why would a demon be looking for me?”

“Are you sure it was after you?”

“It looked straight at me and said, ‘The witch who walks in dreams. I need you to come with me.’”

“It quoted the prophecy.”

“It seems so.”

Miriam exhaled a long breath. “So,” she speculated, “what I know about demons is … not much. They are a somewhat reclusive race of the Fae—not inclined to mingle with us as much as the gods. Like the gods, they feed off human emotions, but where the gods gain power from love and admiration, demons feed off fear and anguish.”

Erin shivered. “This one fed well last night.”

Miriam shook her head. “It shouldn’t have been enough to draw it to you. It had to be doing someone else’s bidding—someone with the promise of enough fear and anguish to strike a bargain. Likely, a warlock.”

“A warlock is looking for me?”

“A warlock … may have already found you,” she whispered. “What did you do with the nalek pieces?”

“We wanted to burn them, but Father began to scream as soon as fire touched them. I … I’m afraid he’s become connected to the nalek in some way. So, we buried the pieces behind the barn for now.”

Miriam nodded. “Good—for now. I know precious little about witchcraft. I’ll try to find out anything I can about recovery from demon encounters. Perhaps your father can give us some more information if …” She caught herself. “… once he comes around.”

Erin pretended not to notice Miriam’s slip. “Why is a warlock looking for me? How does one even know about me?”

“The prophecy, obviously. King Stralos’ father-in-law, the High Priest of Lakron, is a warlock. I didn’t think him powerful enough to summon a demon, but he has the king’s ear and certainly could be behind this. I’ll look into it and let you know something as soon as I can. In the meantime, with the nalek buried, you should be safe. Stay put, and don’t leave the valley.”

“What if—?”

“What?”

What if Shing leaves? What do I do then? “Nothing. Never mind.”

Miriam cocked her head, giving her a sideways look. “Get some sleep, child. You need it.”

“Yes, mistress.” The dream faded. Erin sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Suddenly, she noticed how dark it had become in the room. She pushed herself from the chair and stumbled to the window, pulling the curtains aside to let in the morning sun.

Dark clouds had gathered while she was dream walking. As she searched the sky for a break in them, fat flakes of snow began to fall. A chill pushed its way through the glass pane, and she rubbed the goose flesh from her bare arms.

“Winter’s here,” she murmured, closing the curtains.

She flopped wearily on the bed, not bothering to undress or pull the bedcovers down. She stared at the ceiling. How could she sleep while demons hunted her … and Shing?

She was out within seconds.

---

17th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin pulled the wagon to a stop at the top of the rise and surveyed the scene before her. A small herd of umbrae was already beginning to form here in the west meadow, and she watched them grazing near a copse of field maples. Right now, there was plenty of grass for them to feed upon, but soon the snow would come in earnest, making the grass harder to get to. Hence the load of hay bales piled behind her in the bed of the wagon.

Shing had helped her load the wagon the day before, and this morning’s task would entail stacking the bales among the copse of trees for later use, spreading a bit of it around so the umbrae would become accustomed to the new source of food, and a general assessment of the state of the animals gathered there.

She scanned the area for any sign of him. He was unusually late. Irritation at his tardiness battled with worry that something may have happened to him. Aside from the ever-present weight of the prophesy and her secret task of keeping him safe, she and her sister had become increasing reliant on him in running the farm.

Father had come out of his coma a week ago. He’d opened his eyes, smiled at Shia, and called her by name. But by the time Erin had reached his bedside, his mind had drifted away to some far-off place. He’d progressed slowly since then, rising from bed the past three mornings to dress himself, but he remained in his room, sitting at his desk or staring out the window. He ate the meals that were served to him. He smiled as if he recognized both his daughters. But he couldn’t bring himself into enough focus to carry on a conversation.

Shing had stepped up immediately, volunteering to do whatever he could. He’d not given voice to any further plans to leave the valley, so far as she knew. He may have said something to Shia—the sisters were taking daily turns working with him and watching over Father. Erin had been afraid to broach the subject with either of them. No, Shing quietly performed the tasks that were asked of him and occasionally took the initiative where he thought he knew what he was doing.

Miriam’s investigations into the source of the demon and who might be looking for the witch who walks in dreams had so far come to naught. Her mentor still suspected King Stralos’ high priest but had not been able to make any connection to the warlock. But the demon had not reappeared, and with the nalek pieces buried behind the barn, they all felt relatively protected from a repeat visit.

A familiar whinny drew her attention, and she turned toward the sound. Shading her eyes from the rising sun, she saw Shing crest the rise, perched high atop Brawn, and driving a half dozen umbrae before him. Sighting the wagon, he waved.

She smiled, returning the greeting with a wave of her own. He’d obviously stopped to round up a few strays he’d found along the way. It may have been Brawn’s doing. The animal seemed to be a natural herder, as good as the dogs some of the other families used, which they’d discovered by accident one day when Shing set the horse out to graze and he’d taken off, amusing himself by driving the herd this way and that. One large old ram had taken issue with the game, and Erin had laughed at the way the big stallion had stared the old codger down, despite being able to bring only one eye to bear at a time.

She propped her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her palms as she watched the two of them unite the strays with the rest of the herd like it was something they’d done all their lives. While his attention was focused elsewhere, she allowed herself to admire his form, the way he sat in the saddle and the broadness of his shoulders—she could imagine their muscles rippling beneath the cloth of his tunic. She let out a long sigh as he lifted himself from the saddle, swinging one leg over Brawn’s wide haunches and dropping lightly to the ground.

The grace of his movements reminded her of the dance they’d shared at Festival, and her mind wandered to that moment when she’d realized her feelings for him had deepened rather than abated. If they made it through the winter … if Father ever fully recovered and no more demons appeared … if she ever journeyed with him to Lakronos to find his queen and claim his throne, it was going to hurt so very badly.

He began to remove Brawn’s saddle, the horse craning its neck to observe the process while the man carried on a monologue she couldn’t hear. Brawn nodded in agreement to whatever proposal he’d made and trotted off to mind the herd while Shing carried the saddle into the trees and dropped it on the ground, safely out of the way. Straightening, he turned and smiled.

Gods, did he have any idea the effect that smile had on her? She shook herself from her musings and took up the reins, urging the wagon forward as he trudged up the hill to meet her halfway. As he climbed into the wagon and took a seat beside her, she asked, “So, where did you find those strays?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. When I got up this morning, Brawn had them gathered in the corral.”

She chuckled.

He smiled. “So, what are we doing with all this hay?”

“We’ll stack all but one bale in the trees—where you put your saddle looks like a good spot. Then we’ll spread the remainder around so the umbrae can get at it, and head back to the farm for another load.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied, his voice cheery.

She pulled the wagon into the trees and set the brake. Shing jumped down and went to the rear to remove the gate, and she swung herself around and dropped into the bed to begin pushing the bales to the edge where he could reach them. He was even stronger than Father, having no trouble handling the bales by himself, and he made quick work of unloading and stacking them between two convenient tree trunks.

As he grabbed the last bale from the edge of the wagon bed, she dragged the bale they intended to spread for the herd and pulled a knife from her boot to cut the cords that bound it together. When he returned, she was still standing there, knife in hand, gazing into the herd. “Uh-oh,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked, turning to follow the direction of her gaze.

She pointed. “That ewe over there. She’s pregnant. Damn, how did that happen?”

“I bet I know,” he chuckled.

“That’s not what I mean. They usually don’t mate until spring. She’s old, and she’ll have trouble caring for the kid during winter.” She sighed. “We’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “How long until she gives birth?”

“From the look of her, I’d say a week, maybe ten days.” She shook her head. “Might be a good idea to put her up in the corral at your place while she can still move around. After we get the next load, you think you could do that?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

“Because once the snow gets deep, the whole herd will be trapped here.” She looked to the north, where dark clouds were gathering behind the peaks at the other side of the valley. “And I think we’re going to have our first good storm tonight.”

---

26th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Shia watched Tsing as he cradled the newborn kid in his arms. The tiny umbra bleated in frustration as it sucked at one of his fingers. “Here, try this,” she said, handing him a bladder filled with umbra milk. “Mother fashioned it years ago when the same thing happened.”

Tsing took it from her and held it up by its handle with one hand, examining it. Constructed of umbra hide, there were two artificial nipples protruding from underneath. A small droplet of milk had formed at the tip of one of them. “It even looks like an udder,” he said.

She nodded. “Closest we’ll get to the real thing. See if she’ll take it.”

He lowered the nipple near the kid’s nose, and it immediately abandoned his finger and began suckling at the nipple, its bleating silenced, for the moment. Tsing smiled. “That was easy enough.”

“At least something was,” Shia sighed. The kid’s mother had gone into labor early in the afternoon, and the aging frame of the poor old animal hadn’t been up to the task. She and Tsing had finally had to pull the newborn from the womb themselves. Shia’s arm muscles were still wobbly from the exertion.

She leaned her back against the side of the stall and slid to the ground in exhaustion. She sat resting for a moment, her gaze flitting between Tsing and the carcass of the old ewe, who’d not survived the kidding.

Caught up in his task, Tsing was cooing at the suckling kid. “You like that? It’s good, isn’t it?” He looked up at her. “She’s cute. She looks like a little fawn.” He looked back down at the newborn creature and murmured, “Fawn.”

“Oh, Tsing.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t name her.”

He looked up again, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Because she’ll likely not survive the night,” she sighed. “Not without her mother. Best not to get attached.”

He looked back down at the kid. “Whoops,” he muttered. “Too late.” He looked up again. “Is that what happened when your mother made this thing?”

Shia pursed her lips. “No. Actually, Mother managed to nurse that one into health.”

“Then why do you think Fawn won’t make it?”

“Because you’re not my mother. Neither of us are.”

He snorted.

“I named him Cory,” she elaborated, “and he grew into a fat, healthy buckling by springtime …” She paused. “… after which we ate him.”

“Whoa,” Tsing said, holding Fawn away from her protectively.

“I’m just saying,” Shia reiterated, closing her eyes again. “Don’t name her.”

He looked down at the little kid. “Okay, Fawn, consider yourself unnamed.” The kid removed its mouth from the artificial teat and gave an adorable little belch. Tsing chuckled.

Shia reopened her eyes and looked at the carcass on the ground next to them. “We should get that thing out of here, but …” She shook her head. “I’m so tired.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll take care of it.” He leaned forward. “Here. You take Faw—I mean, the kid, and I’ll drag the ewe out next to the woodpile. The cold will keep the carcass from spoiling. I’ll butcher her tomorrow morning.”

She gathered the kid in her arms and reconnected it with the artificial udder. The damn thing was cute. She looked up as Tsing stood. “You know how to butcher an umbra?”

He shrugged. “I imagine it’s the same as any other goat?”

Not having experience with any other type of goat, she shrugged back.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said. He bent to grab the hind legs of the dead ewe. He nodded at the little animal in her arms. “Don’t let her see this,” he whispered.

Frowning at him, she held one hand over the kid’s eyes as he dragged the carcass from the stall and out the stable door into the night. She looked down at the little kid and smirked. “Well, Fawn, you’re a lucky little umbra to have such a wonderful man as a father.”

---

27th Day of Witches Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin sipped her tea, conscious of Shia’s eyes upon her. She waited patiently, knowing her sister had something on her mind.

“Did you know he could butcher an umbra?” Shia asked.

Erin put her cup down and regarded her sister across the breakfast table. “Everyone in this valley knows how to butcher an umbra.”

“That’s my point, Erin. He’s not from the valley.”

“Your point is, he’s not from the valley?”

Shia rolled her eyes. “My point is, dear sister, that he’s a natural at all this. There’s nothing around this farm that he can’t already do better than most who’ve lived here all their lives. And some new talent of his is revealed almost daily. He’s gods damned handsome—”

“Shia!” Erin hissed. “Watch your mouth. Father’s in the next room.”

Shia rolled her eyes. “As if he understands a thing we say,” she murmured. Still, she lowered her voice. “He’s very, very handsome, and he’s one of the nicest—maybe the nicest—man I’ve ever met.”

“You have little experience with men, Shia.”

“I’ve got more than you think, Miss Worldly. Anyway, you should have seen him feeding that little kid. I thought my heart would melt.”

Erin speared a piece of sausage with her fork. “He has his good qualities,” she admitted.

“He’s a godsend, Erin. He literally saved our lives from that demon, and with the state that Father’s in, he’s probably going to save the farm for us. I’d hate to think what will happen to us if he leaves.”

Erin frowned. “Has he said anything more to you about that?”

“About leaving? No. Has he spoken about it to you?”

Erin sighed. “No. I’ve been afraid to broach the subject.”

“You know why he’s still here, don’t you?”

“Well, like you said, he’s a nice man and—”

“No! Wake up, Erin. He loves you.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

“And you love him.”

“Shia, we’ve discussed this already.”

Shia shook her head. “No, we haven’t. We haven’t discussed anything. Look, I know life isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. I know we don’t always get what we want. But you have this incredible man who’ll do anything for you—stop!” She held up her hand when Erin started to interrupt. “Let me finish. A man who will do anything for you—who’ll risk his life for you. Who you want—I don’t care what you say—it’s obvious to everyone. And you’re pushing him away for some reason.” She threw her hands up in despair.

“I think you’re reading a lot more into things than—”

“I’m not! I know you’re all grown-up and have lived in Azurith, Miss Worldly, but—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“… but I’m your sister, and I can see that you’re in love with Tsing. If he was in love with me, I’d do anything I could to overcome whatever obstacles were in the way, and I can’t believe you won’t—not the sister that I know.”

Erin dropped the fork with the uneaten piece of sausage back to her plate and glared at her sister.

Shia returned her glare. “Why was that demon looking for you, Erin?”

Uh-oh. “What makes you think it was looking for me?”

“Maybe because it said, ‘Ah, the witch who walks in dreams. I need you to come with me.’?”

You heard that. Erin swallowed. “It must have had me confused with someone else.”

“Are you a witch, Erin?”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t say, ‘Of course not.’ I know Mother had some of the gift. It gets passed to the daughters, sometimes.”

“Are you a witch, Shia?” she argued.

“Usually the first born,” Shia rebutted.

“I’m not a witch, Shia.”

Shia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a dream walker?”

Oh, hell. “No.” Technically she wasn’t … until she joined the Guild.

“You hesitated.”

“You … you’d hesitate, too, if someone asked you a crazy question like that.”

“What’s it like, walking in dreams?”

“Stop talking nonsense. I’m not a dream walker.” She picked the fork up and took the bite of sausage. It was hard to chew in a dry mouth. This wasn’t going well. She had to say something. “We think the demon was summoned accidentally,” she said through the mouthful. It was partially true. Miriam had mentioned it as a possibility. “Father may have gotten the incantation wrong, or something.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Oh, hell. This was getting worse. She swallowed, nearly coughing as the dry meat stuck in her throat. “Me and Shing. We … talked about it.”

“I can verify that with him, you know.”

Not if I get to him first. But what would she say to him? What story could she concoct? This was quickly getting more complicated. She calmly cut another piece of sausage. “Believe me or not. Whatever.”

Shia gave her a sideways look as she cut a piece of sausage and speared it along with some of the eggs. “That was a demon, Erin. What if it comes back?”

“Demons have to be summoned. With the nalek in pieces, that shouldn’t be possible.”

“Shouldn’t be,” Shia mumbled, pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth. “What if it comes back and Tsing isn’t here?” She shoved the food into her mouth and began to chew, staring at her sister.

Erin ignored the question.

They finished their breakfast in silence.

CHAPTER 20

Complications

7th Day of Winter Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Trevor’s eyes fluttered open and came into focus on the thatch in the ceiling several longspaces above him. The dim light filtering through the curtained doorway of his little hut told him the sun hadn’t fully risen, and he wondered why he’d awakened so early. He was a morning goblin, to be sure, with the habit of getting up long before now to set to work on the many tasks on his agenda. But, since coming here a few weeks prior … well, there wasn’t that much to do.

He'd parted ways with the cargo barge before it reached its destination at Zemburith—he’d wanted nothing to do with that city and the warlock who ruled there—and made his way along one of the trading paths that skirted Lake Ozua until it turned south along a river heading deeper into the jungle. It was only a day’s hike from there he happened upon a small, friendly community that seemed the perfect place to lie low while he figured out what to do next.

The village of Milabua, which his universal translator informed him meant ‘village’ in the local dialect, was home to approximately five hundred dark-skinned natives who subsisted mainly by hunting and fishing, though there was a small communal garden where root vegetables and a tall, thick-stalked plant that had not yet produced whatever it was intended, were cultivated in well-tended rows.

The residents had never seen a goblin before, but they welcomed him as a curiosity, and when they found he could tell them stories of the outside world by way of his translator, he became regular entertainment around the common fire in the center of the village each evening. That seemed to be all they expected of him and enough value to them to willingly provide food and shelter.

He’d spent his first few days in Milabua ordering his notes and catching up on his journal, but after completing those tasks, and not having anything concrete to warrant sending a report to the Protectorate, he’d fallen into a pattern of sleeping late, wandering around the village during the day to polish his language skills, and telling his stories late into the evening.

So why was he awake now?

The answer came quickly. Distant shouting and the pounding of bare feet approaching his hut had him bolting to a sitting position before a dark face framed with kinky white hair and beard thrust itself through the curtain and hissed, “Trevor!”

Bokdu, the village shaman, and the first human dream walker he’d encountered, was Trevor’s favorite in the tribe. The old human’s subtle wisdom and calm demeanor made him pleasant company, and he was fast becoming a friend. But his present state of agitation set the goblin on edge. “I’m here, Bokdu. What’s going on?”

Bokdu located the goblin’s voice in the hut’s dim interior and began a stream of babble too fast for Trevor to follow—except for one word he recognized repeated several times—warlock. He grabbed up his translator from the ground beside his pallet and thumbed it to life.

“… demanding to know where we’re hiding the goblin. He … he chopped Mongo’s head off with a huge, curved blade. Hurry! I’ll take you deep into the jungle where he’ll never find you!”

Trevor was pulling on his pants and tunic before Bokdu finished his babbling. Why was a warlock looking for him? Well, he’d ponder that question later. Right now, Bokdu’s offer sounded like the prudent thing to do. He grabbed the small backpack lying next to his pallet and stood. “I’m right behind you.”

Bokdu turned and bolted from the hut, and Trevor sprinted after him. Emerging into the predawn light, he ran smack dab into his friend’s frozen figure not two longspaces from the door. Taking a step back, rubbing his nose where it had slammed against his friend’s spine, he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Fanned out in a semicircle blocking their escape were a cadre of armed soldiers. At least a dozen stood with drawn scimitars, standing still as death but ready, a strange red glow in their eyes, which were all focused on him. Standing in their center was a wizened albino female with massive cataracts covering her pupils and a tall, dark figure with eyes as black as coal. Gold chain mail armor covered his thighs and shoulders, and he stood with his left hand extended, palm facing outward toward Bokdu and holding the old man still with some unseen force. On the first finger of his right hand was a ring with a pulsating jewel that vaguely reminded Trevor of an elven tracking device, and in the hand was a gleaming scimitar with a hilt of gold that matched his armor.

Trevor took one look at the glowing red jewel set into the pommel of the man’s sword and recognized it immediately. “Ka’il Idreth,” he murmured. The faeries in the Forest of Baeth had pulled the Sword that Sings from its hiding place, and the artifact had drawn the closest warlock to it.

“Yes, goblin,” the warlock rumbled, speaking in the common tongue of Northern Panprama, “I have the Sword. I am Mazuom, the orphan king with a sword that sings, the embodiment of the prophecy. I will rule all of Panprama. It is written, and no one will stand in my way.” He took a few steps forward and bent to peer into Trevor’s eyes. “No one.”

Bokdu sagged as the warlock released him from the grip of his spell, and Trevor’s gaze fell to the bodies of two village warriors lying in pools of their own blood, their war spears in pieces at their sides, no match for the steel wielded by Mazuom’s bespelled soldiers. He swallowed in a dry throat. Gods of Urgule, this was not good.

Trevor found his voice. “That artifact is the rightful property of the Fae Protectorate. I beseech you, King Mazuom, to please return it. I mean, surely a mighty warlock such as yourself doesn’t require such a thing to achieve your goals.”

Mazuom straightened to his full height and sneered. “It is mine, by right of prophecy.”

Well, it was worth a try. “Very well, if you insist, I guess there’s not much I can do about it. I suppose I should be on my way, then.” He took a few tentative steps before the warlock blocked his way with the blade.

“Do you take me for a fool, goblin?”

Trevor held his hands up in surrender. “Certainly not, King.”

“The communicator, Mazuom,” prompted the wizened albino female.

“I’ve not forgotten, Peche,” the warlock growled at her. He grabbed Trevor’s tunic and ripped it open, revealing the small amulet draped around the goblin’s neck. He grasped and jerked it, snapping the thin chain that held it there.

Mazuom held the communicator up for Trevor to see. “We’ll keep the fact that I have Ka’il Idreth to ourselves for now, goblin.”

Gods of Urgule, the faeries had ratted him out. “Um … keep that, if you like.” He tried once more to leave, but Mazuom held out his left palm and caught him with the same unseen force he’d used on Bokdu. Muscles frozen, Trevor watched helplessly as the warlock raised his gleaming scimitar.

“Stay your hand, Mazuom,” called the albino female.

The warlock hesitated. “Why, Peche? He’s of no use to me.”

“We don’t know that, for sure,” insisted the old woman. “Besides, it may be unwise to start killing Fae.”

Mazuom grunted, lowering the Sword. He turned to one of the red-eyed soldiers. “Bind his hands and bring him with us.” He swept his hand in an arc. “Torch the village,” he said, turning his back and striding away. “Round up everyone who looks like they can carry a weapon and bring them with us. I need to build my legions for the coming campaigns.” He stopped suddenly and turned back, scanning his surroundings. “Kill everyone else.”

Bokdu bolted. Despite his arthritic gait, he was quick enough to disappear around the back of Trevor’s hut before he could be detained. Mazuom pointed in the direction he’d gone. “Start with him.”

Two of the red-eyed soldiers broke ranks, marching in quickstep after the old shaman. Trevor found himself in the grips of two other soldiers, unable to resist as they bound his hands behind his back. Torches suddenly appeared in the hands of the remaining soldiers, their tips bursting into flame as the zombie-like legionnaires marched off in different directions to set fire to the surrounding huts.

“My king,” prompted the ancient albino female.

“What is it now, Peche?” Mazuom growled.

“A word—in private, if you please.”

The dark warlock rolled his eyes in exasperation but complied with her wishes as the two stepped away, lowering their voices in private conversation. Trevor’s sharp goblin ears could barely pick out their words as crackling fire began to roar from the roof of the hut behind him.

“… think it unwise to wield the Sword that Sings before finding the witch who walks in dreams,” the old woman was saying.

“Its power compels me, Peche. It is meant to be wielded. I can feel it,” rumbled Mazuom.

“It is time to find a queen.”

“Bah. What need have I for a queen?”

“It is part of the prophecy, my king. And, whether you care for an heir or not, you’ll require a queen to strengthen your hold on the throne and fulfill your destiny.”

The warlock gave a frustrated grunt. “Dispatch Graff again to get the witch.”

“Not so easily done, my king. Our portal into the Valley of Kilaren is closed, for now.”

“Surely we can open another?”

“Perhaps,” clucked the old woman. “But if it too fails—how many times can you summon your demon before your hold over him wears thin?”

“My power grows with every use of Ka’il Idreth.”

“And so does the power of the demon,” she hissed. “The two of you are linked, and it feeds as you spread fear throughout your kingdom. It would be best to use the portal we have. It might be available again with the next waning moon.”

Mazuom scowled. “Might be? What if it’s not? I can’t wait forever. Go to the Valley of Kilaren yourself. Bring the witch to me.”

The old woman stiffened for a moment, then bowed. “Yes, my king.”

“And quickly,” he growled. Turning on his heel, he strode off in the direction from which he’d come.

The old woman turned and looked at Trevor. She shouldn’t have been able to see with those sightless eyes, yet he felt exposed under her gaze. She snorted, beckoning those who held him, and they dragged him after her as she followed the warlock into the jungle.

---

8th Day of Winter Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Trevor was shoved from behind with sufficient force that he was unable to keep from stumbling to the floor. He pushed himself from the cold stone as the iron-grated door slammed shut behind him and the key was turned in the lock. He was plunged into darkness as the torch one of the guards had been carrying receded around a bend in the passageway.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps faded along with the light, and he was also plunged into silence, which began to be broken up into faintly identifiable sounds as his sensitive goblin ears adjusted. There was the scuttling of tiny claws on stone—rats, most likely—and the barely discernable trickle of water far away.

He took a deep breath of the stale, foul air. How far he might be from a window that could freshen it, he had no idea. He knew he was somewhere in the bowels of a huge castle that stood next to the Falls of Ozua, overlooking the city of Zemburith, which spread itself along the shores of the vast lake into which the falls emptied.

This was a sorry turn of events, indeed. Not only had Mazuom taken his communicator—obviously the faerie Floreze had told the warlock what it was—but they’d confiscated his pack, which contained his locator and every other tool that might help him if he somehow managed to escape, a prospect that seemed impossible at this point.

I should have jumped from the boat when I had the chance. He’d considered it as the warlock’s mind slaves poled their barge through the vast swamp that led to the falls. He could have hidden there had he managed to get any distance from his captors. The terrain was more like that of his home world than any other he’d encountered on Earth.

But the old witch called Peche had stayed Mazuom’s hand when the warlock had intended to kill him, and Trevor thought he might be better off staying on the boat and improving his circumstances by cultivating her as an ally. His efforts had been fruitless. It had been the latest in a long string of bad decisions on his part.

Why had he even volunteered for this mission? He was one of the very few in the Protectorate who was concerned about dangerous artifacts of the Fae falling into human hands—certainly the only one willing to voice their fears. He snorted. That’s because everyone else had the sense to know they’d be the ones called on to do something about it if they brought it up. Gods of Urgule, had he been naïve!

Indeed, he’d been naïve in choosing to come to Earth in the first place. The noble purpose of the Fae Protectorate on this paradise world had seemed an attractive—even romantic—option for his mandatory century of civil service. He was a fool not to follow his brother Simon’s example by joining the military. At least he would have known what he was getting into.

What was he going to do now? He blew out a long breath. Very well, when in doubt, document. Writing things down always helped to put his thoughts in order. Anyway, it was the only thing he could do, since his journal was the only device he had stored offline.

He spread his palms before him and murmured, “Commen da.” He could feel the weight of the device in his hands as it was pulled from somewhere in the ether, although he couldn’t see it in the darkness. As he thumbed it to life, the screen cast a dim light. He raised the device above his head, allowing the light to illuminate his surroundings.

The cell was small, at the most three goblin strides from wall to wall. The ceiling would have been low for a human, although he could stand well enough. That was some small comfort. There were chains bolted against the back wall, with manacles at the ends of them for hands and feet. At least his captors hadn’t shackled him.

He sat with his back against the wall opposite the shackles and pulled the stylus from its place at the side of the journal. He pressed the point to the screen and began to write, “I　cannot　imagine　finding　myself　in　more　dire　straits.　I　have　been　abducted　by　…”

---

14th Day of Winter Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Shia looked at the late afternoon sky and the huge, waning orb of moon that had risen early, partially visible behind the scudding clouds of a coming storm. She tossed her handfuls of hay to the ground and called to the man cutting the cords that bound the last bale they’d brought to the west meadow. “We better hurry, Tsing. I need to take you back to the herder’s shack and get home before the storm hits.”

He turned from his task and looked at the sky. “Wow,” he grunted. “Where did those clouds come from?”

“The storms can roll in fast this time of year,” she observed.

“Right. Well, this is the last bale.” He turned and pulled at the top of the roll, spilling the hay onto the ground. A dozen or so umbrae that had been waiting impatiently for their evening meal shuffled forward and dove in. “Gluttons,” he chastised them.

Shia laughed. “They’re much more well-behaved around you than most. They used to push Father out of the way sometimes before he could undo the bales.”

Tsing frowned. “How is he, by the way?”

“Better, I think,” she replied, stepping up to help him spread the rest of the bale around the ground. “It’s hard to tell. He calls us both by name, now, but doesn’t engage in conversation. He has been getting up earlier. This morning, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat out on the porch for a while.” She shrugged.

“Has Erin heard—?” Tsing stopped himself. “I mean … um … has she come up with any ideas about recovering from demon encounters?”

She cocked her head at him. What had he almost said? She shook her head. “She hasn’t said anything to me other than, ‘I think it’s just going to take some time.’”

He nodded. “Anyone come looking for the crossbows they ordered?”

“Everyone’s been very understanding. It’s … hard, sometimes … seeing the looks of pity in their eyes, when he’s not looking. Not that he’d recognize it for what it is.”

Tsing pursed his lips while kicking clumps of hay to spread them on the ground. “I wish I’d gotten him to show me how to make them, but …” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m up to tackling that lathe.”

She laughed, despite herself. “You mean there’s something you can’t do?”

“Many things,” he sighed, looking distracted.

She kicked the last clump of hay apart and looked at him. “I think that’s got it. We should go.” They brushed the hay from themselves and walked to the wagon. “Seriously,” she added, as she climbed into the driver’s seat and took up the reins, “I don’t know what we would have done without you. I’m grateful you didn’t leave.”

“Glad I could help. It’s the least I could do, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Huh? You know, considering … um … how hospitable you’ve been. Giving me a place to stay and everything.”

“Pshaw,” she scoffed. “You’ve earned your keep a hundred times over. You don’t owe us a thing. We should be paying you.”

He grunted. “Don’t be silly.”

She clucked the horses and snapped the reins. The wagon jerked into motion. “If we did, would you stay?”

“I am staying,” he frowned.

She turned the wagon toward the top of the hill in the direction of the south meadow and the herder’s shack. “I mean even if … when … Father recovers, and after spring comes. There’s a place for you here.”

He pursed his lips but didn’t respond.

“It’s because of Erin, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“That you’re leaving. It’s because of her.”

“Of course not. I just … um … planned to travel to the Eastern Kingdoms, in the spring, with one of the caravans.”

“Yeah, that’s the story you two concocted.” She fixed him with a no-nonsense stare. “What’s the real story?”

He returned her stare and blinked, just as they crested the hill, suddenly facing a stiff, cold wind. “Whoa,” he complained, pulling his collar up and lowering his chin within its folds. He peered up at the sky, where the clouds had thickened, blocking the remaining light from the sun that had begun sinking behind the peaks to the west. “It looks like it’s going to start snowing any moment.”

“I think you’re right,” she shivered, urging the horses on faster. Thick, wet flakes began to sting the exposed skin of her face. As they reached the bottom of the hill, where the wind abated somewhat, accumulations of white were already beginning to cover the rutted wagon track. “You know she loves you, right?”

He stared ahead as if he hadn’t heard, so she raised her voice against the rising wind. “Erin loves you, Tsing!”

He murmured something she couldn’t make out distinctly. It sounded like, “It isn’t real.”

“What?”

He raised his voice. “Nothing.”

They reached a tall post that marked the intersection of the wagon track from the west meadow and the track that ran between the farmhouse and the south meadow. She would have missed the turn without the marker—the snow had already covered the track. Carefully, she turned the horses in the direction of another post further up the hill marking the way to the herder’s shack. “You don’t think her love is real?”

Tsing glanced at her and shrugged. “She doesn’t.”

Something clicked into place in her mind. She grasped at a straw. “Because of what happened between you two in Azurith?”

His head jerked toward her. His eyes were wide. “She told you about that?”

Shia stared ahead, as if concentrating on keeping the horses on the track. “A little,” she lied. After a moment of silence, she glanced to her right. Tsing was frowning, staring into space.

“She could be right,” he said, finally. “Our feelings for each other might just be the result of that bespelled wine we drank.”

Bespelled wine?

“She doesn’t want something that’s not real,” he continued. “I get that, but …” He shrugged. “I just don’t see that it matters so much why we feel the way we do.” He looked at her. “Do you?”

She shook her head, trying to keep her expression neutral.

He continued, staring into space. “I mean … if it feels real—and it does to me—.” His shoulders sagged. “Of course, I may have been in love with her before we drank the wine, so what do I know?” He sighed, peering ahead into the driving snow. “It’s getting bad, isn’t it? I can barely see the markers.”

She tried to rein in her thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. “Me, either,” she admitted. “The snow’s getting deep in places, too.”

“It’s not much farther, but maybe we should walk the horses from here.”

She nodded. “Good idea.” They stopped and climbed down from the wagon, each taking hold of one of the horses’ bridles. They began trudging up the hill, leading the team and pulling the empty wagon.

Her thoughts were in a whirl. Erin and Tsing hadn’t just happened to meet on the East Road. They’d been together before that, in Azurith—she’d suspected as much—but just how much history did they have?

And, apparently, they’d shared wine with—what—a love potion of some kind? Just what that had led to—other than what Erin thought were artificial feelings for this amazing man …. Shia had to find out. But she’d need to tread carefully.

“This storm doesn’t look like it will stop any time soon,” Tsing observed. “There’s no way you’ll get this wagon back to the farmhouse tonight.”

She blinked. “Oh,” she said, glancing behind her. She’d not been paying attention. Indeed, the axles of the wagon’s wheels barely cleared the snow at this point.

“You’ll need to spend the night with me,” he said.

She gasped.

He peered around the head of the horse he was leading to frown at her. “Don’t worry. I can sleep in the stable. It’s nice and warm with the forge there. I’ve set up a pallet next to the stalls. I sleep out there all the time.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. Erin will be worried sick.”

He shook his head. “I know. But I’d rather her fears be unfounded than have them confirmed by your getting lost in the storm.”

She peered ahead through the driving flakes. She could barely make out the next track marker only a few longspaces away, nor could she tell where the ground ended and the snow whirling through the air began. And, after all, these storms were exactly the reason they’d built the herder’s shack in the first place. Too bad they’d never gotten around to constructing another one in the west meadow. “Very well,” she agreed.

Her ears pricked as a familiar whinny sounded and Brawn’s wide black frame took shape on the track ahead. The big stallion was carefully picking his way toward them, lifting each hoof high out of the snow and gingerly inserting it back ahead of him as he went.

“Ah,” Tsing said, “we must be close. Our welcoming committee has arrived.” He raised his voice in greeting. “We’re here, Brawn. Were you worried about us?”

Brawn nodded his head and nickered.

Shia laughed. The animal had so much personality, it made her wonder sometimes if he was a human that had been bespelled at some point.

“If you want,” Tsing proposed, “we might be able to get you back to the farmhouse on Brawn.”

Brawn gave another nicker and emphatic shake of his head.

Shia laughed again. “He disagrees. Don’t worry, Brawn. I’m staying.”

The horse snorted, turned, and began leading them back the way he’d come. Before she knew it, the shadow of the herder’s shack loomed ahead of them—just in time, because the wagon’s axles dropped into the snow at a dip in the wagon track, and the horses could pull it no further. They unhitched the team and trudged with them the last few longspaces into the snow-covered yard around the shack.

“Why don’t you put the horses up in the stable?” Tsing suggested. “I’ll start heating up some soup for us and come help you.”

“Mmmm. Soup sounds good.”

He disappeared in the direction of the house, and she led the team toward the stable, Brawn trailing behind. She pulled open the stable doors and, before she could lead the team inside, Brawn trotted ahead and entered the stall closest to the forge. “Claiming the warmest spot, are you, Brawn?” she chuckled.

Brawn nickered in response, bobbing his head up and down as he regarded her from his cozy niche. His strangely intelligent gaze followed her while she removed the tack from the horses and got them settled in two of the other stalls. When she was done, she plopped down on the sleeping pallet Tsing had set up next to the forge. Snow had gotten inside her boots, and she took them off so she could remove her wet socks.

A tiny bleat drew her attention as Fawn wandered out from Brawn’s stall to greet her. The little umbra kid had grown since she’d last seen her. She looked strong and healthy. She emitted another soft bleat and settled her head into Shia’s lap, nuzzling against her fingers.

Shia petted the soft curly head. “Oh, my. You’ve become part of the family, haven’t you, sweet thing?” Fawn rolled her soft brown eyes up and blinked. Shia sighed. “What’s to become of you when Tsing leaves?”

Brawn nickered, and she turned to look at the horse. “You like it here, too, don’t you?”

The big stallion nodded his head with an emphatic nicker.

Shia continued to stroke Fawn’s head. “Whatever’s holding Erin back from accepting his love—I wish she’d get over it.” She sighed.

Brawn whinnied, and she looked at him. The big stallion focused one eye at some place across the room, looked back at her, then again across the room.

“What?”

The horse snorted, then trotted out of his stall and picked his way through the cluttered work area around the forge, coming to a stop in front of a desk littered with jeweler’s tools. He nudged his snout against the desk, then looked at her.

“Huh?”

Brawn snorted in frustration. He lowered his snout again and curled his lips back, trying to get his teeth around the knob of one of the desk drawers. After struggling with it unsuccessfully for a moment, Brawn gave another frustrated snort and looked at her once more.

“You want to open that drawer?”

Brawn knickered. She could have sworn he rolled his eyes at her.

Fawn bleated a soft complaint as Shia abandoned her petting and rose from her seat, padding barefoot to where the horse waited impatiently. “This one?” she asked, placing her hand on the knob of the drawer Brawn had tried to open.

Brawn nickered and bobbed his head.

She pulled the drawer open and gasped. Inside was a lovely silver pendant on a tiny chain. Carefully, she lifted it out of the drawer to examine it more closely. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. A sparkling green stone was set inside the coils of a flying dragon, on the back of which rode the striking image of a woman, her long curly hair streaming behind her in the wind. It was unquestionably her sister. She peered closer. Yes, there were even tiny freckles etched onto her nose.

“He made this for her?”

Brawn nickered.

“Why hasn’t he given it to her?”

Brawn snorted.

She looked at the horse. “She needs to see this!”

Brawn bobbed his head and nickered emphatically.

“Shia!” called a voice. “Where are you?”

Startled, she whirled around to see a shadow standing in the partially opened stable doorway. Clutching the pendant behind her, she tried to push the drawer closed with her hip. She couldn’t quite get it all the way.

“Oh, there you are,” Tsing said, closing the stable door behind him and stepping into the light. “Sorry I took so long, but the soup should be ready soon.” He walked over to where she and Brawn stood, dropping some fresh blankets and Fawn’s feeding bladder onto the bed pallet along the way. “What’s going on?”

Shia cleared her throat. “Ahem. Um … er …”

“What are you doing over here, Brawn? You’ll break something, you clumsy oaf.”

Brawn lifted his head to study the ceiling. He nickered.

Tsing followed the horse’s gaze. “Yeah, it’s really coming down out there. Don’t worry, Brawn. The roof will hold. It has a steep pitch,” he explained, angling his palm in example, “so the snow can’t accumulate too much before it just …” He brought his hand down in a smooth motion. “… slides right off.” He grinned.

Brawn bobbed his head and snorted.

Tsing dropped his gaze to the ground. “You’re barefoot!” he exclaimed.

“Oh … um … yeah. I got snow in my boots, so I took them off to let them dry out and—hey!” She pointed to the sleeping pallet, where Fawn stood munching enthusiastically on one of her socks.

“Uh-oh.” Tsing hustled over to the little umbra. “Give me that!”

Shia let out a deep breath, dropping the pendant into the pocket of her trousers.

Tsing extracted the sock from Fawn’s mouth and held it up to the light. “She ate half the heel out,” he complained. “Bad little umbra!” he scolded. He gave Shia an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

Shia gave a nervous laugh. “It’s fine. I can darn them when I get home. I shouldn’t have left them lying there. I was just … um … looking for a place to dry them over here near the forge.”

Fawn went for the other sock. Tsing swooped it off the bed before she could get it. “We should string a line up to hang them, so they’ll be safely out of reach of this little monster,” he said. He frowned at the kid, who bleated a complaint and snapped at the socks dangling from his hand.

He jerked them out of her reach. “No!” He began walking toward Shia, pointing at the desk behind her. “There’s some twine in one of those desk drawers.”

“Which one?” she said, hastily making another attempt to close the drawer from which she’d taken the pendant.

“Not that one!” he blurted. “The one on the bottom.”

She jerked her hand away from the knob. “This one?” she asked, pulling the bottom drawer open. “Oh, here it is.” She pulled out a tightly wound roll of heavy twine and held it up for him to see.

“That’s it,” he nodded.

She tossed it to him before he could get any closer.

Startled, he managed to catch it with his free hand. He blinked. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Um … why don’t you attach one end to that beam over there?” She pointed to one a good distance from the desk. As soon as his back was turned, she pushed all the drawers closed. She gave a little sigh of relief. Brawn echoed a nicker as she moved away from the desk to give Tsing a hand.

They strung a line of twine between two beams and hung both her socks and boots up to dry. Tsing glanced down at her bare feet again and sighed. “It’ll be awhile before they’re dry. You can’t walk through the snow without boots. Why don’t I bring some soup out here? We can eat at that table over there.”

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

“Do you mind feeding Fawn? She’s less likely to eat something she shouldn’t if her stomach’s full. Her feeding bladder’s over there on the bed.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

She followed him to the stable door. “Take your time,” she said. She closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, shivering from the brief blast of cold air. “Whew,” she sighed. “That was close.”

She dug the pendant out of the pocket of her trousers. “Wow,” she murmured, as she made her way back to Brawn’s stall and plopped down on the sleeping pallet. “He found a stone to match the color of her eyes.” She shook her head.

She looked down at Fawn, who had returned her head to Shia’s lap and was again nuzzling for attention. She scratched the kid’s head. “If Erin saw this pendant, she could never doubt Tsing loves her.”

The little umbra nuzzled at her other hand, trying to suckle a finger. “Oh, right. He said to feed you.” She set the pendant down and reached for the bladder. Fawn perked up, emitting an eager bleat. Shia held out the bladder in front of her, and the kid eagerly took one of the nipples in her mouth.

Brawn clopped into his stall and rested his head on the wall to watch the feeding.

“Maybe I should try and persuade Tsing to give this to her,” she speculated, gazing at the pendant lying beside her.

Brawn nickered.

“But he may have had a reason not to give it to her.” She looked up at Brawn. “And he might get mad at both of us for snooping around.”

Brawn snorted, bobbing his head.

She stared ahead. “I could take it home and give it to her myself.” She bit her lip. “But that would give her time to think about it before she sees him again.” She pursed her lips. “No, he needs to be there when she sees it.”

Brawn nickered, as if in agreement.

For a moment, the only sound came from the little umbra sucking on the feeding bladder.

“Hmm,” she murmured, smiling. She looked up at Brawn. “I have an idea.”

Tsing returned carrying a soup pot, bowls, utensils, and a loaf of bread, just as Fawn had emptied her feeding bladder. Shia hastily hid the pendant among the bedclothes as the kid pulled her mouth from the last nipple and belched in greeting. “Did she drink it all?” he asked.

Shia held up the bladder and squeezed it. “Yes, I believe it’s empty.”

Tsing shook his head at the little umbra. “Glutton,” he accused. He deposited his burdens on a small worktable and began clearing a place for them to eat. “At least it should keep her from going after your socks again.” He glared at the kid. “Or your other clothes. Or the blankets on the bed.”

Fawn blinked innocently and belched again.

Shia rose from the bed, chuckling, and walked over to join him at the table. “It’s probably time to start feeding her some hay.”

He frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that. I bet you’re right. And, with her appetite, I better put up another bale or two, if you can spare it.”

She pulled a bench up to one side of the table and sat. “We can, as soon as we’re able to get the wagon out of the snow.”

He set a bowl in front of her and began to ladle soup from the pot. “I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon. I think the storm’s slacking up a little, but the snow’s still coming down pretty heavily.” He tore a piece of bread from the loaf and handed it to her. “By the way, I brought a pair of fresh socks, so you can make it over to the house, in case yours don’t dry.” He sat on a bench opposite her and began to ladle soup into a bowl of his own.

“A pair of your socks?”

“Well … yes.”

“My tiny feet will get lost in them.”

“They’ll do for the short trek to the house.” He tore off a piece of bread and began to eat.

“Why don’t I just sleep out here tonight?”

He shook his head, forcing his words through a mouthful of food. “I can’t let you do that.”

She peered at him over her spoon. “Why not?”

“Well … that, for one thing.” He pointed to the sleeping pallet, which Fawn had climbed upon and curled up, her curly head resting on the fresh pile of bedclothes.

Shia chuckled. “She’s no problem. I’ve slept with goats before. I told you about Cory, didn’t I?”

Tsing’s forehead wrinkled. “You said you ate him.”

“That wasn’t my idea,” she said, a horrified look on her face.

“Still,” he said, frowning at the little kid. “Get off of there, Fawn,” he called. The little umbra raised her head, blinked, stretched, and settled back down.

Shia giggled. “Rest easy in your own bed tonight, Tsing. Your kid will be safe with me. I promise I won’t eat her.” She paused. “At least, not until she fattens up a little.”

Tsing stiffened.

“I’m kidding,” she laughed. “Seriously, let me sleep in the stable tonight. It’s plenty warm. The animals are good company. I’ll really be more comfortable out here than in that big house all alone.”

“Big house?”

“You know what I mean.”

He pursed his lips, then acquiesced with a nod. “Very well, if you insist.”

“I do. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And thank you for going along with my plan.

CHAPTER 21

Confession

14th Day of Winter Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

Erin had fallen asleep at the kitchen table in the predawn hours. She was startled awake by the sound of rattling cookware. She lifted her head from her crossed forearms and blinked in surprise at what she saw. “Father?”

Casin turned from the stove where he’d been brewing some coffee and smiled. “Sorry to wake you, Erin. Would you like a cup?”

He spoke! And he called me by name! That was a good sign … unless she was still dreaming. She shook her head to make sure she was awake. “Yes, Father. Thank you.”

He turned back to the stove. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked. “You look like you slept in that chair all night.”

Suddenly, it came to her. “Have you seen Shia? She didn’t come home last night. I was up worrying.”

He turned and frowned. “The door to her room was open, but I didn’t see her.” He peered out the window. “We had a storm, didn’t we? I bet she got snowed in at the herder’s shack.” He turned back to the stove. “She’ll probably be back soon. If not, we’ll hitch the team and go look for her.”

“She took the wagon with her yesterday, Father. She and Tsing took loads of hay bales up to the west meadow.”

“Oh? Then, she’s with Tsing. She’ll be fine.” He filled two cups and set one on the table in front of her.

She took a sip, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?”

“No, thanks.” He straightened from the oven and held up a sausage biscuit. “I’m taking this out to the shop.”

She blinked. “You’re going to the shop?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “Yeah, it’s high time I started on those crossbow orders. I reckon folks are chomping at the bit by now.”

“That’s … great,” she said, flabbergasted.

“Well,” he said, picking up his coffee cup, “that’s where I’ll be, if you need me.” He shuffled out of the room.

Erin took another sip of her coffee as she heard the front door open and close again. She stared out the kitchen window in wonder. Father was going to work in his shop. They’d just engaged in the longest, most coherent conversation they’d had since the incident with the nalek a month ago. She cocked her head. Maybe things were finally getting back to normal. She couldn’t wait to tell Shia what had just happened.

Assuming her sister wasn’t lying frozen in the snow in the west meadow.

She began to worry again, drumming her fingers on the table. Father was probably right, though. The storm had started right around early evening. Surely, they would have seen it coming and had time to get to the herder’s shed before it got too bad. Shia had most likely spent a cozy, warm night, safe and sound …

… snowed in with Shing.

Her fingers halted their drumming, and she stiffened as an image of her sister snuggled up against him in his bed assaulted her thoughts. She swallowed and shook herself. You don’t want to think about that, Erin. They wouldn’t have slept in the same bed. Unless … No! They wouldn’t!

Beams of sunlight lit the snow-covered yard outside the kitchen window as the sun climbed over the peaks lining the eastern wall of the valley. Shing was an early riser. They were probably already on their way home.

Of course, he would have to wake Shia up, which wasn’t always easy. He would have come to her, sitting on the edge of her bed, gently calling her name. When she didn’t respond, he would have placed his hand on her leg—no—Erin shook her head—her shoulder, and squeezed, gently calling to her in that soft, low voice of his, “Shia, it’s time to get up.”

Shia’s eyes would have fluttered open, and she would have given Shing one of those beautiful smiles that could stop a man’s heart. She would have looked so alluring, with her fine, golden hair splayed out on the pillow, framing her lovely face with its perfect complexion, devoid of freckles.

Shing would have returned her smile, and Shia would have looked into his ice-blue eyes and reached for him, pulling him—stop!

Erin ground her teeth. She needed something to do, something to take her mind off such things. Normally, this would have been her day to work with Shing, and Shia would have taken care of the chores around the farmhouse, but since the two of them were—she pushed the recent images from her mind—not here, she might as well tend to things.

She finished her coffee and pulled on her boots and a warm coat. Trudging across the yard to the hen house, she frowned. The snow wasn’t that deep. Shia could have come home last night … if she really wanted to.

She fed the chickens and collected a few eggs. Although it didn’t really need it, Erin raked out the droppings and carried the accumulation to the compost pile. Shia and Shing had left the barn in good shape, but she raked up a bit of hay that was strewn in places and carried that to the compost heap as well. The sun was high in the sky, now. Where the hell were they?

She went to the stable to check on Sura, having put her up there the night before against the coming storm. The mare was the only horse occupying a stall and nickered in appreciation of Erin’s visit as she replenished the feed in her trough.

Erin stroked her neck. “I’m worried. Do you think we should go check on them?”

Sura munched in silence.

Erin sighed. “I’m also worried I might catch Shing and my sister in the middle of something.”

Sura’s ears pricked, and she raised her head from the trough.

Erin’s eyes went wide. “You think there’s something going on between them, too?”

Sura let loose a loud whinny.

“What?”

There was an answering whinny from outside.

She gasped. “Brawn!” She ran to the stable doorway and flung the doors open. She could see the black stallion standing at the far end of the corral, where the wagon track leading to the south meadow began. Shing was mounted on his broad back, with Shia clinging behind.

Erin stepped out into the snow in front of the stable and watched as her sister dismounted and stood talking to Shing for a moment. Why had they stopped there? Why wasn’t he taking her the rest of the way to the house?

Erin walked to the railing of the corral and squinted at the scene, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun off the snow. Shing turned Brawn around and started back toward the south meadow. Shia began trudging toward the house. Erin went to intercept, calling to her. “Shia!”

Shia’s head turned to the sound of Erin’s voice. Locating her sister, Shia ducked her head and quickened her pace. Erin followed, calling, “Shia! What’s wrong?”

“Leave me alone!” her sister called back. She ran into the house and slammed the door.

Erin ran after. She made it inside in time to see Shia disappearing up the stairs. “Shia, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Shia called. A door slammed.

Erin ran up the stairs and stopped in front of her sister’s room. The sounds of sobbing could be heard within. She tried the latch. It was locked. “Shia? Let me in.”

“Go away,” sobbed her sister’s muffled voice.

“Please, Shia. Talk to me.”

“No!”

“Is it Shing? Did he—?”

“He’s a horrible beast!”

“What … what did he do?”

“I … I can’t talk about it. Leave me alone.”

Erin tried the door again. It wouldn’t budge. “Shia, let me in.”

“Go away!” her sister screamed.

Erin took a step back, considering whether she could break the door in. Not likely. What had Shing done? Had he forced himself on her? She couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, but ….

Oh, gods, had he slept with her, then offered her money? Erin held her hand to her chest as the memory of what that had felt like resurfaced. She tried her sister one more time. “Shia?”

“I said go away!” The sobbing resumed.

Damn that man! Very well. If Shia wouldn’t talk to her, she’d get to the bottom of this by going to the source. She turned and strode back down the stairs, her fury mounting with every step. Future king or no, Shing was going to get a piece of her mind. Nobody had the right to treat her little sister like this.

She stalked through the snow to the stable, leading Sura from her stall and saddling her quickly. “We’re going to pay Mister Singing Sword a visit,” she muttered. Leading the mare from the stable she paused, looking down at herself. Normally, she would have donned trousers for a day’s work in the west meadow, which would have been better for riding, but she’d expected a day off because of the storm.

She frowned. She didn’t want to waste time. Her skirts would have to do. She kept a clean pair of riding shorts in Sura’s saddle bags for just this sort of situation, so she removed them and pulled them on up under her skirt and smock.

She swung herself into the saddle and urged Sura forward, following the path along the fence of the corral. Not pausing for any further consideration, she turned onto the wagon track, leading to the south meadow and the herder’s shack, following Brawn’s fresh hoofprints.

As they climbed toward the meadow, the snow became deeper. But she still didn’t think it should have kept her sister from returning home the night before. The track was well marked with posts at regular intervals, which Shing had put up at Father’s suggestion for times like this. Shing had smooth-talked Shia into spending the night—part of his nefarious agenda.

She couldn’t drive the image of them in bed together from her mind, and she didn’t notice the clouds rolling in until she crested a rise where a cold wind billowed her skirts, causing her to shiver and pull her collar up. Great, another storm. By the time she reached the bottom of the hill and the final climb to the herder’s shack, it was midafternoon, and the sun was completely blotted out. The day had become as dark and cold as her mood.

She passed the abandoned wagon where it was stuck in the snow. What? Those two strong draft horses couldn’t have pulled that empty wagon out of that tiny rut? If Shing tried to use that lame excuse … well, she’d slap him. Acid roiled in her gut and her fists clenched in anticipation of the coming confrontation. She barely noticed the thick fat flakes of snow that had begun to fall.

She banged her fist on the door. “Shing!” There was no answer. She burst through the door and shouted again. “Shing! Where are you?”

The place was deserted, though a warm fire was banked in the fireplace. Her gaze fell to the still-unmade bed, then to the other sleeping pallets, all bare of linens. A lump formed in her throat. Her fears were confirmed. Only one bed had been slept in the night before.

“Erin, what are you doing here?”

Startled, she whirled to find Shing standing in the doorway. She glared at him.

He didn’t seem to notice her anger as he kicked snow off his boots and stepped inside. “I assumed we wouldn’t have any work today because of the snow,” he said, closing the door behind him. “And it looks like it’s starting up again.” He dropped the empty bladder used to feed Fawn on the floor, sat on a stool by the door, and began unlacing his boots. He looked up and smiled. “But I’m always glad to see—” He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“What gave you the idea you could sleep with my sister?”

His eyes went wide. “Huh? What are you talking about?” He frowned. “Did she tell you we slept together?” He looked around. “Where is she?”

“She’s at home, crying her eyes out because of you. You have no right to take advantage of someone so young and innocent.”

He cocked his head. “Are we talking about the same sister?”

“Why, you ….” She walked up to him and slapped him across the face.

“Ow!” He held his hand against his cheek. “That hurt!”

“How dare you?” She swung at him again, but he caught her wrist. “Let go of me,” she grunted.

“Not if you’re going to hit me again.”

“Let … go … of … me!” She wrenched free of his grip and wound up for another swing.

He stood up, angling his shoulder to take the brunt of her attack. “Ow! Erin, wait.” He held his forearms up in front of him as she began pummeling him with her fists, her punches landing ineffectively against his shoulders and biceps. “Erin, please. Calm down.”

“Don’t (punch) … tell (punch) … me (punch) … to calm (punch) … down!” She stepped back and dropped her fists to her sides, her arm muscles quivering from the exertion. She stood glaring at him, her chest heaving.

He cautiously dropped his guard and began rubbing his arms where her punches had landed. “Very well,” he agreed. “Be mad, then. But I didn’t sleep with Shia.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Well … yeah.”

“Even when she didn’t come home all night?”

“Um … did you see the wagon out there? Stuck in the snow?”

“Humph,” she snorted. “You and Brawn didn’t have any trouble getting home this morning, did you?”

His brow furrowed in irritation. “It wasn’t snowing this morning. Last night you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.”

She pointed at the bed. “And how do you explain that?”

“I didn’t get around to making it up this morning. We were in kind of a hurry. We thought you might be worried.”

“I’m not talking about its being unmade, asshead. It’s the only bed that’s been slept in.”

“Because Shia slept in the stable last night.”

“Oh, please.”

He shrugged. “It was her idea. I was going to sleep out there, but her socks were wet from the snow and—wait. Did you just call me asshead?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I did.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Asshead.”

“You’re the one acting like an asshead …”

She leaned forward. “Asshead.”

“… accusing me of something you have no evidence to support.”

“Asshead.”

“Did Shia tell you we slept together?”

“She was crying.”

He folded his arms across his chest, mimicking her stance. “Hey, if I’d slept with her, she wouldn’t be crying.”

“Oh! You smug … self-centered … asshead!”

“I suggest you talk to her.”

“I will!”

“Get the truth. Then you can come back and call me asshead all you want.”

“Oh, I will.”

He stepped back out of the way. “There’s the door.”

She stalked past him, shoving him further aside, and flung it open. She froze in her tracks as a torrent of icy flakes blasted her face. “Oh, gods,” she murmured. The storm had let loose in earnest. She could barely make out the figure of her poor horse huddled against the side of the house. They’d never be able to travel in this.

“Oh, look,” Shing said, his tone sarcastic. “It’s snowing. I guess you’ll have to stay the night.”

Sura echoed a pitiful whinny.

“Luckily,” he added, “there’s a bed in the stable.”

She gritted her teeth. Damn! With a deep breath, she pulled up the collar of her coat and stalked out into the storm. She heard Shing call her name but couldn’t make out what he said with the wind howling in her ears. “Asshead,” she muttered.

She grabbed Sura’s bridle and pulled her in the direction of the stable. “I’m sorry, Sura. Let’s get inside.” They trudged across the yard, her head bent, leaning into the gale.

She barely managed to hold the stable door open against the wind as she let Sura inside. It slammed closed against her backside as she let go of it. “Ouch!”

Brawn nickered a greeting from the stall closest to the forge and trotted out to meet them, followed by Fawn. Sura trotted to meet Brawn halfway and nuzzled against him.

“Traitor,” Erin muttered, then bit her lip. She shouldn’t be mad at Sura for her friendship with Brawn. Shing’s horse wasn’t guilty of anything. She let out a long breath.

Gods, this was humiliating.

She looked around. A nicker drew her attention to a far stall, where their draft horses, Rosemary and Dill, were munching on some fresh hay. Shing must have been tending to them when she arrived.

“Come here, Sura. Let me get that saddle off you. Looks like we’ll be spending the night out here.” She sighed. “At least it’s warm.”

She hung her coat on a nearby peg and set about removing Sura’s tack and getting her settled into the only vacant stall. Fawn followed her around during the whole process, bumping up against her leg and bleating for attention. She finally succumbed and bent to scratch the little kid’s head. “Gods, he’s made a pet out of you, hasn’t he?”

Brawn nickered and she looked up. The big stallion was staring at her. “What?”

Brawn turned his head toward the forge, looked back at her, and nickered again.

She frowned.

The horse gave an exasperated snort, clopped around behind her, and nudged her with his head. “Hey,” she complained, stumbling forward and almost falling. “What the hell?”

Brawn gave her another nudge toward the forge. “Stop it.” She whirled to confront him. “What’s wrong with you?”

The horse fixed her with one eye, looked to his right, and nickered. When she gave him a dumfounded look, he repeated the sequence of gestures.

She put her hands on her hips. “You’re the damned strangest horse I’ve ever seen.”

Brawn repeated the gesture once more, and she followed his gaze to a sleeping pallet that had been set up next to his stall. She pursed her lips. Okay, so Shing wasn’t lying about there being a bed out here.

She looked at Brawn and huffed. “What? Are you trying to defend him? It proves nothing.” She could have sworn he gave her an eye roll as he attempted to nudge her in the direction of the bed.

“You want me to go to sleep? It’s too early. I’m not sleepy.”

Brawn snorted and clopped over to the bed. She watched in puzzlement as he pulled the top blanket between his teeth and tossed it aside. She gasped.

A lovely silver pendant was revealed, with a striking green jewel that gleamed in the dim light of the forge. “What’s this?” she whispered, taking a few hesitant steps forward.

Next to the pendant was a piece of parchment. It was a note. She held it up, angling it to catch the light coming from the forge. It was written in her sister’s hand.

Erin,

I hope you find this before Tsing does. I’m sorry I took advantage of your big-sister protectiveness, but I knew that once you saw this, you could never doubt this wonderful man loves you.

-Shia

She bit her lip. That conniving little—. She picked up the necklace and examined it closely. “Oh, my gods,” she whispered, her eyes misting. She clamped her lips together to stop them quivering and slowly sank to the bed, dropping both the note and the pendant into her lap.

She looked from one to the other. Her vision began to blur, and fat tears splattered on the parchment. She wiped them away, smearing the ink and the phrase wonderful man loves you.

“You are a wonderful man,” she whispered, wiping tears with the heel of her hand. How could this happen? It was so unfair. She dropped her head in her hands, sobbing.

Brawn nickered, and a blast of cold air caused Erin to raise her head. Shing stood in the stable doorway, a bundle under his arm. He closed the door and took a deep breath, walking toward her.

“Erin, I’m sorry. I’ll sleep out here. You take the house. There’s food and a warm bed. You can get a good night’s rest. We’ll go talk to Shia in the morning and straighten all this—.” He stopped. “Erin?”

She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. “She planned this.”

His eyes dropped to her lap, where lay the pendant and note. “Oh.” He blinked.

She wiped her forearm across her eyes again and sniffed. “She wanted me to know that you love me.”

“You didn’t already know it?” he murmured. He swallowed. “I … was going to give that to you … as a going away gift.”

She nodded. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ll wear it forever.”

His smile widened.

“I love you, too, Shing.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

He nodded, dropping the bundle on the bed and taking a seat beside her, careful to keep some distance between them. He clasped his hands together between his knees and stared at the floor. “You hate it, don’t you?”

She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“Because it’s not real,” he added.

She shook her head. “It is real.”

He sighed. “Yeah. It sure feels like it.”

She could feel the muscles of his shoulder tense, and she could see his knuckles were white where he kept his hands clasped. She straightened and looked at him. “It’s the most real thing I’ve ever experienced,” she whispered.

Shing lifted his head and turned to her. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but he just stared.

She clasped his arm and gently pulled herself forward, pressing her lips softly against his. Erin intended the kiss only as reassurance for her words, but his warm, cautious response called for more. Her hand moved up his arm and onto his chest and his lips parted to receive her tongue. Instantly, the fire that had been smoldering within her for weeks burst into flame.

Her arms encircled his neck and Erin climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Shing’s hands became entangled in her hair as he pulled her deeper into the kiss, their tongues dancing in each other’s mouths.

She pulled at his tunic, seeking the warm skin underneath, and his hands ran down her back, sending shivers throughout her body. Whimpering with need, she ground herself against him. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer. Her fingers slid inside the waistband of his trousers, fumbling at the buttons that secured them.

He caught her wrists, and she pulled back from the kiss. “What?”

His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Gods, yes,” she panted. “More than anything.”

His eyes were blue flames. “Then let’s go slowly. I want it to last.”

No, don’t give me time to reconsider, she thought, huffing in frustration. But any verbal complaint she might have uttered was stifled as Shing’s mouth covered hers once more in a deep, lingering kiss while he deftly unbuckled and removed the belt that held her tunic at her waist. Erin moaned as his lips found the tender flesh of her throat while he unlaced the tunic, shivering as he gently removed the garment and set it aside.

His lips moved to the base of Erin’s collar bone, brushing lightly over the skin as he pulled the hem of her smock from the waistband of her skirt and ran his hands up underneath to cup her breasts. She whimpered as Shing’s thumbs caressed her nipples, sending tingling waves of pleasure through her.

She needed to touch his skin. “Take this off,” she insisted, loosening the ties that bound the half placket of his tunic. He pulled it off over his head, and she ran her fingers down his chest, appreciating the well-defined musculature.

“Now you,” he crooned. She lifted her arms as he gently pulled her smock over her head. Her hair fell across her bare shoulders. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Shing’s hands moved to cup her bare breasts, and he bent to pull one into his mouth, suckling. Erin arched her back and groaned. “Oh, Shing.”

He pulled her into another kiss, and she pressed herself against him, reveling in the soft warmth of his skin over the hardness of his body. She could feel him stiffen from the unconscious undulations of her hips. “Erin,” he whispered, his voice partially muffled by her kisses.

She whimpered his name in return as he unfastened the buttons at the back of her skirt, moving his large hands beneath the fabric to squeeze her buttocks, still covered by the riding shorts. She needed to remedy that immediately.

Pushing herself off him, she stood, her skirt falling to the ground at her feet. She stepped out of it and looked at him. The blue fire of his gaze ran the length of her, nearly palpable as his touch. She held his gaze as she wriggled out of the riding shorts and stood naked, save for her boots.

He stood slowly and bent to kiss her, entwining his fingers in her hair. She pushed herself up on her toes, pulling herself closer against his chest, desperately trying to remove all space between them. She couldn’t get close enough.

Lifting her leg along the outside of his thigh, she tried to pull herself up, and he obliged by grasping her hips and lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist, squeezing herself against him. He held her there for a moment as she kissed him fiercely. “Please, Shing,” she whimpered, “I want you inside me.”

“Not yet,” he rumbled, turning to set her down on the sleeping pallet, gently pushing her back to the straw mattress. “Hold still while I get your boots.” He sat and pulled her legs onto his lap.

She squirmed as he began to unlace her boots. “Hurry,” she whispered, stroking his bare arm.

He loosened the laces of one boot and pulled it off, then her stocking. Taking her foot in one strong hand, he began to massage it as his other hand ran gently along the inside of her thigh. “Oh, Shing, that feels …” He took her big toe into his mouth and suckled. “… heavenly!” she gasped. His thumb found the wetness between her legs. She arched her back and threw her head against the mattress, grasping handfuls of the linens at her sides and moaning.

He repeated the process with the other boot; then his head was between her legs, tongue massaging and lips nibbling. His hands moved up her torso to find her breasts and nipples. She grasped handfuls of his hair, pulling him against her and crying out as waves of ecstasy coursed through her.

His tongue continued to caress her through the final twitches of her orgasm, her fingers entwined in his hair, massaging his scalp and panting. She pulled his head up and stared into his ice-blue eyes. “Take your trousers off,” she begged.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and began removing his boots. She raised herself up on her elbows and watched for a few seconds, until she could no longer stand the absence of his touch and sat up all the way, scooting closer so she could put her arms around his bare torso and press soft kisses to his muscled shoulders.

He kicked his boots off and stood to unbutton his trousers. She stood with him. “Let me,” she whispered, pushing his hands aside and working at the buttons. He took her head in his hands and kissed her as she unfastened the last button and reached inside to free his hard cock from its confines. She held it against her stomach and stroked its length with both hands as he deepened the kiss, his moan of pleasure resonating in her own chest.

She released him and pushed the waistband of his trousers past his hips, gently pushing him to a sitting position on the bed. She pulled the trousers off his legs as he lay back, his cock standing stiff and throbbing. She straddled his legs and took it again in both hands, reveling in his expression as shivers of pleasure ran through him. She bent to take it in her mouth and watched him as his eyes rolled up and another moan rumbled from his chest.

She could taste the saltiness of his pre-ejaculate on her tongue, and she pulled herself on top of him, impaling herself slowly along the length of him.

“Gods, Erin, I’ve wanted you so badly,” he moaned as his hips rose to meet her, filling her completely.

“I, as well,” she sighed as she placed her palms on his chest, pushed herself erect, and began slowly undulating her hips. His hands rose to her breasts, and she arched her back, trying to get even more of him inside her. Erin could feel the beginnings of another orgasm rising within. “I should never have tried to fight it,” she whimpered, “it feels too right.”

And it did feel right. The revelation hit her as she leaned back, supporting herself with her hands on his thighs as he thrust up into her, burying himself to the hilt repeatedly until they both cried out in mutual climax and she collapsed onto his chest, slicked with sweat and completely spent.

She lay in his arms, with him still inside her, as their heart rates and breathing slowed, his hands gently stroking her back. Her sweat began to dry, and she shivered in the cool stable air. She pulled herself off him, and he pulled a blanket over their naked bodies while she snuggled against his warmth. “That was wonderful,” she sighed.

He pulled her close and began playing with a lock of her hair. “So why did you?” he asked.

She frowned. “Huh?”

“Fight this, I mean.”

She stiffened.

“I mean, I know you don’t want to be the victim of some Fae spell, but if we feel this way about each other, does it really matter why? I certainly don’t care. You’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, and I love you.”

She bit her lip. You won’t think I’m so wonderful once you find out. She looked at him. Tears began to blur her vision. “We … we’re not bespelled,” she stammered.

“Huh?”

“The … the effects of the wine wore off as soon as we sobered up. The … the feelings I have for you are real.”

He blinked. “Truly? Then, why—”

“You’ll hate me.”

He shook his head. “Not possible.”

“I haven’t told you the whole truth.”

“Well, I know that. Tell me now.”

He held her as Erin let loose her secrets in a flood. When she was done, and her tears were spent, he pulled back and looked at her. “Oh … my … gods.”

CHAPTER 22

Abduction

Erin gave Tsing an anxious look as he turned on his back to stare into the rafters. “You hate me.”

“No, of course not. It’s just that …” He threw his hands in the air. “All this is because of some verse sung by a wandering minstrel. It’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

Erin lifted herself to her elbow. “Not just a song, Shing. It’s prophecy. And didn’t the fortune teller say you would be a king, as well?”

“The fortune teller also said Shia would be a queen.” He looked at her. “Do you see your sister as a queen?”

Despite the cold shiver that ran up her spine at his words, she shook her head. “No, but … I can see you as a king.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “I’m no king,” he muttered.

“You could be,” she insisted. “You’re a natural leader.”

He frowned. “What gave you that impression?”

“I watched you lead the Southside team to victory in sack and goal. A team that had never beaten Northside before, by the way.”

He scoffed. “That was a game, Erin, not a kingdom. Besides, Anders captained the team. If anyone is a leader, it’s him.”

She shook her head. “Not to hear him tell it. And when you were a pirate—”

“I was not a pirate,” he snapped. “Why do you keep saying that?”

She smirked. “Because I think it’s true.” She nudged him with her foot. “Isn’t it? Weren’t you a pirate?” She nudged him again. “Hmm?”

“I suppose some called us that,” he mumbled, staring again at the ceiling.

“What did you call yourselves?”

“Privateers,” he murmured. “Sometimes … mercenaries.” He frowned. “There’s a difference.”

“A subtle one, I’m sure,” she chuckled. “Anyway, I suspect you might have been their leader.”

“I … wasn’t.”

“You hesitated. I already know you were second-in-command.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources,” she smirked.

His jaw clenched. “I was second-in-command—on my ship, not the fleet.”

Her eyes widened. “There was a fleet?”

“Sometimes we worked with others. We were … loosely organized.”

She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she continued, “You must have been very young for someone second-in-command.”

He turned his head to look at her. “I could fight,” he said, sternly. “I’m good with a sword. It was a different …” He waved his hands in search of the right word. “… culture. It had nothing to do with leadership qualities.”

“You fit the prophecy, Shing.”

He rolled onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to face her. “Prophecy is for fools, Erin. It’s just fortune telling on a larger scale. There’s an oracle who’s set herself up in a cave in the hills above Port Kronos. People who are afraid to make their own decisions seek out her counsel. She tells them what they want to hear, and it gives them the courage to make the decisions they wanted to make in the first place. Poof! The prophecy comes true.

“Yet, she’s clever with her words, for if things don’t turn out the way they’d hoped, on closer inspection …” He shrugged. “… perhaps they misinterpreted the prophecy.”

Erin swallowed. “According to Miriam, you’re an orphan king. Your father is King Stralos, and your mother handed you over to a monastery when you were a baby, to keep you safe from him.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he dropped onto his back once more to resume staring at the ceiling. “You know, if I was abandoned, and my father is still alive, I’m technically not an orphan.”

“It could be interpreted that way.”

He looked at her. “Exactly. That’s my point.”

She shook off his argument. “Regardless, you have claim to a throne, and a kingdom that covers half of Lakronos.”

“No, that would give me claim to be heir to a throne, which would make me a prince—not a king—unless ….” He scowled. “I suspect someone has an agenda here. Perhaps this Miriam of yours has a bone to pick with King Stralos and wants him deposed?”

“No.” Erin shook her head vehemently. “No, she’s not like that.”

He snorted. He turned to her again. “Well,” he said, gathering her in his arms and pulling her close, “I have absolutely no interest in being king of half of Lakronos.”

Erin snuggled against him, tucking her head up under his chin, sighing as he buried his face in her hair. She felt light-hearted that he’d taken her confession so well—that he didn’t hate her for keeping such a secret from him. She smiled. She didn’t know what ramifications this might have for her master’s task and entrance into the Guild, but for right now, she didn’t care.

“Unless,” he added, pulling his head back to look at her, “you’ll be my queen?”

She looked up into his face, biting her lip. “I’ve been told, in no uncertain terms, that it’s not me. My task is only to help you find her.”

“Then, I don’t want to be king.” He pulled her close once more. “You know what I do want?”

She shook her head, snuggling close.

“I want to live in the Valley of Kilaren as a herder of umbrae—perhaps partner with your blacksmith, or even set up my own forge in the village. I want to marry a beautiful, red-headed witch, and raise a family.”

“I’m not a witch.”

“It could be interpreted that way.”

She gave him a playful punch, then stiffened. “Wait.” She bolted upright. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

He nodded, his blue eyes searching hers. “Will you at least think about it?”

Erin’s jaw dropped open. Only moments ago, she’d faced the fear that he’d want nothing to do with her, ever again. And now … An impossible warmth spread through her. Wide-eyed, she shook her head.

“Please, Erin,” Shing begged. “Please, just consider it.”

She found enough breath to squeak out, “Yes.”

He cocked his head, giving her a sideways look. “Yes, you’ll consider it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, yes, I’ll marry you.”

A wide grin split his face, and he sat up, his eyes sparkling. “You will? Really?”

She nodded, laughing. “Yes!”

He flopped back down on his back and let out a long breath. “Praise the gods.”

She snuggled down beside him, throwing her arm over his bare chest.

He slipped his arm underneath her, pulling her close and looking into her eyes. “The witch who walks in dreams,” he whispered.

She screwed her face into a grimace. “I’m not a witch, Shing.”

He smiled. “Not a bad prophecy, after all.” His eyes closed. “Nope. Not at all.”

She watched him for a moment, such a look of peace on his face that she’d never seen before. “Shing?” she whispered.

He answered with a soft snore.

She shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” she murmured. She smiled. She really didn’t know the answer to that question, but the prospects were looking very good.

---

15th Day of Winter Moon, 1218th Year, Human Age of Magic …

The two awoke in the predawn hours and had a long, slow bout of lovemaking before falling back to sleep. When next Erin opened her eyes, they came into focus over Shing’s chest on a long black horse face.

Brawn stood next to the sleeping pallet, staring down at them. Fawn stood between his legs, also staring. The little umbra bleated.

Shing woke with a start. “What?” He looked at Erin and smiled. She pointed behind him, and he turned his head to see the two animals standing there. Fawn bleated again.

“Oh,” Shing groaned.

Fawn bleated and nuzzled at Shing’s hand resting on the top of the blanket. He scratched the little kid’s head. “I guess you’re hungry, huh?” Fawn bleated once more and plopped her head on the mattress, her eyes half closed in pleasure.

“You shouldn’t have made a pet of her, Shing,” Erin chuckled.

“Yeah, Shia warned me about that.” He sighed. “Not much I can do about it now, though.” He turned back to her and smiled. “Good morning.”

His smile caused the warmth of the sun to spread through her chest. She raised herself on her elbow and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Good morning.”

A small frown wrinkled his forehead. “I need a piss.”

She suddenly became aware of the pain in her own bladder. She giggled. “Me, too.”

Shing threw the covers back to reveal a huge erection.

“Oh, my,” Erin said, wrapping her hand around it.

“Hey,” he complained, “you’re not helping.”

“But it’s so big,” she giggled, gently squeezing.

“Stop,” he complained. “I can barely hold it in.”

She let go, and he swung his legs over the side of the sleeping pallet, sending Fawn scurrying out of the way. He began to pull his boots on. “I’m going to step outside. There’s a chamber pot on that shelf over there. Shall I get it for you?”

“No,” she chuckled. “I’ll get it. You seem to be in a hurry.” She sat up, looking around. “Where are my clothes?”

“I think I put them over—uh, oh.”

“What?”

He bent next to the bed and picked up a loose pile of her clothing. “I think Fawn slept on them.” He scowled at the little kid. “Bad umbra!”

Fawn looked up at him and blinked. Brawn nickered, seeming to lose interest in the scene, and clopped away in the direction of his stall.

“I’m sorry, Erin.”

He looked so forlorn, standing there holding her soiled clothing, naked save for his unlaced boots, with a huge erection, that she burst out in laughter. “Just … put them … down,” she sputtered, waving toward the foot of the bed.

He dropped the pile on the bed and grinned. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she chortled, eyeing his erection. “Go.” She waved him away.

He turned and shuffled toward the stable door; his gait hampered by the unlaced boots. She smiled and sighed, admiring his bare backside. She shivered. The fire in the forge must have died overnight.

Rooting through the pile of clothing, she found her smock and held it up. “This has umbra drool all over it,” she said, glaring at Fawn. The little umbra blinked. “Don’t try those doe eyes on me. You’re not my pet.” Or was she? Did you become a pet parent by way of marriage? “We’re not married, yet,” she added. Fawn bleated. Erin smiled, shaking her head.

She pulled the smock over her head and stood. She shivered, hugging herself and rubbing her hands over her bare arms. She needed to get that fire going again. She walked over to the shelf Shing had indicated, Fawn following at her heels, and located the chamber pot. Under the kid’s watchful eye, she relieved herself.

She stood with a sigh, then moved the chamber pot to a table out of Fawn’s reach when the kid eyed the vessel hungrily. Fawn bleated a complaint. “Yuck, you can’t be serious.”

She was adding a few split logs to the dying fire when a blast of cold air announced Shing’s return. “It’s stopped snowing,” he called, shuffling in her direction. “But there’s a layer over a shortspace thick on top of what was already there.” He came to a stop behind her. “Good idea. It’s gotten a little cold in here, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has,” she agreed, rising from the fire to face him. “And it looks like you don’t love me anymore,” she said, eyeing his loins.

“Not true,” he argued. “And I can prove it.” He stepped forward and drew her into his arms. She pulled herself close, reveling in his warmth as his hands moved down her back to squeeze her buttocks. She could feel him stiffening against her. “See?” he asked.

“Um-hmm,” she murmured, clasping her arms around his neck and looking up into his blue eyes. “Shing, I’m so happy. I feel like the weight of the world is off my shoulders.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Secrets are a heavy burden to carry. It’s been hard for me since I’ve been here, always having to think carefully about what I can or cannot say. I can barely imagine what it’s been like for you.”

“I still think we should stick to our story about meeting on the East Road, though. And I’m not ready to tell Father or Shia about my dream walking—not just yet.”

He frowned. “Is my not pursuing this king thing going to affect your getting into the Guild?”

She hugged him tighter, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I don’t know … maybe.” She considered for the first time how she would break the news to Miriam. She sighed. “I don’t care. It’s not important.”

He gave a skeptical grunt, and she stiffened. “Where’s my pendant?” she asked.

“I think it’s tangled up in the bedclothes somewhere. I remember digging it out of my back sometime during the night.”

“Would you get it for me? I want to wear it.”

“Sure,” he said, giving her a final squeeze and kissing the top of her head.

He shuffled off in the direction of the sleeping pallet, and she suppressed a giggle as she watched him—the man for whom she was willing to give up her dreams, Fawn following at his heels and threatening to entangle his legs. She shook her head. Life sure was full of funny twists and turns.

She returned to her task of stoking the fire in the forge, and by the time she got it roaring satisfactorily, Shing had returned. “Found it!” he announced.

She rose to face him, frowning in disappointment. “You put your trousers on.”

“I was cold. I can always take them off again,” he offered, grinning.

Fawn bleated, bumping against his leg.

“No, you need to take care of your pet. But will you put that on me first?” She turned her back to him, holding her hair away from the back of her neck.

He draped it across her chest and fastened it. “There,” he said.

She let loose her hair and turned, looking down at the bejeweled design. “This is so beautiful. I want to wear it always.”

He smiled in satisfaction.

“You know,” she speculated, “I’ve always wanted to be my own woman—to make my own decisions, independent of any man.”

“I can’t imagine you any other way.”

“Suddenly, I want everyone to see me wearing this, to proclaim to the world that I’m yours.”

His smile widened. “I feel the same way. My old shipmates—”

“The pirates?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, the pirates. They would always be getting the name of some girl they’d met in port tattooed upon themselves—someone they’d likely never see again. I always thought it was silly. Now, I think I understand.”

“So, you’re going to get a tattoo with my name?”

“In large letters, all across my chest.”

“But who will see it, unless you go shirtless all the time?” She tapped his forehead. “How about smaller letters, across here?”

He grinned. “Whatever you wish.”

“Idiot,” she scoffed.

“You’ve turned me into one,” he accused. “With your witchery.”

She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”

“Hey, if you can call me a pirate, I can call you a witch. Seriously, though,” he added, “I do want everyone to know I’m yours. It gives me … I don’t know … a sense of pride.”

She couldn’t keep her smile from widening. “I can’t wait to tell Shia—she’ll want to take credit for all this, of course. And Father! He’ll be happy, I know. Did I tell you he started working in the shop again?”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s good news.”

“Do you think we can make it to the house today? Is the snow too deep?”

“Brawn and Sura can make it, I’m sure. The wagon’s going to take some work, though. Its wheels are buried completely now.”

She frowned. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to use it to haul some things back up here. I was thinking—with Father on the mend and everything—I could stay up here with you until … um …”

He grinned. “Forever?”

She pulled herself closer and sighed. “I was going to say, until we’re married but …” She looked up at him. “Where do you want to live, Shing? There’s room at the farmhouse for now, but I’d like our own house eventually, with room for a family. And, if you really want to set up a forge, a place in the village might be convenient.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled, stroking her back.

“In fact, if I do manage to get into the Guild, the village might be the best location for a place to offer consultations.”

“Could be,” he agreed.

“But I like open space out here. And there’s so much room for children to run and play.”

“There’s that.”

“There’s a school in the village now, though, and I always hated growing up that Shia and I had to travel so far if we wanted to be with our friends.” Erin looked up at him and frowned. “What are you grinning at?”

“At just how delightfully … mundane it all sounds.”

“Mundane?” She pursed her lips. “Raising a family is important, Shing.”

“I agree,” he said, his tone earnest. “But I’ve lived most of my life by the sword, always sleeping with one eye open for the next enemy who might stab me unawares. I never considered I would face such problems as you propose. And now I get to face them with you at my side. I love you so much, Erin. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Shing drew her into a kiss, and she returned it with fervor, until she felt a shaggy head butting at her legs. An insistent bleat revealed the source. She pulled back and sighed. “For the sake of the gods, will you feed your pet?”

---

Tsing glanced at the sky as they crested the ridge marking the boundary between the south and west meadows. Before he and Erin had departed the herder’s shack, it had seemed the sun might break through, yet now it looked like another storm might be headed their way. As if in confirmation of his speculations, a cold, stiff wind hurled stinging swirls of loose powder against his exposed cheek.

No matter. His heart felt as light and warm as a spring breeze. He and Erin had been discussing their future, and its brightness was in sharp contrast to the dark clouds gathering overhead. Erin’s dream house was taking shape in his mind, right down to the details of a stone fireplace over the mantle of which he could hang the sword now strapped to his saddle—where it could slowly rust as a reminder of the life he would never have to lead again.

He reined Brawn to a stop, pulling the hood of his cloak up to protect his face, and gazed across the winding wagon track to the valley below and the cluster of snow-covered buildings in the distance that comprised the Callen farm.

Erin drew Sura up beside him. “And a loft would be nice,” she was saying, “where guests could stay, and the children could play on days like this. I’ve always—.” She stopped, midsentence. “Something’s wrong.”

The moment she uttered the words, he noticed the lack of smoke coming from the chimneys of either the house or the workshop. “Maybe they went into the village for something,” he offered.

“Without the wagon?” Erin urged Sura forward, spurring the mare down the wagon track as fast as she could.

Tsing’s hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of his blade. Assured it was there, he urged Brawn after her. As if feeling a sense of urgency of his own, the big stallion quickly overtook the mare and led the way, snow flying from his hooves as he cut a wider swath through the snow.

It seemed to take forever, but the snow became less deep as they descended into the valley, and the big horse achieved a gallop by the time they approached the farmhouse and the track along the fence of the corral. Tsing reined Brawn to a halt in the yard, where a single pair of snow-covered footprints led from the front of the house to the door of the workshop, which stood open, creaking eerily on its hinges in the light breeze. The smell of evil wafted from within.

Tsing leapt from the saddle and drew his sword from its sheath as Sura came to a halt behind him and Erin vaulted into the snow, racing past him toward the open door. “Erin, wait! Don’t go in there until …” But she was already through the door. “… I make sure it’s safe,” he finished in a murmur. He ran after her, his blade ready.

When he burst through the door, he knew right away it was too late for any weapon to be of use. The place was a shambles, as if a whirlwind had struck. The stench of the demon was heavy in the air, but the beast itself was long gone. Erin knelt over the body of her father, trying to rouse him. “Father,” she cried. “Father! Wake up! Please.”

Tsing let out a long breath as the tip of his blade sank to the floor. Where was Shia? He looked around, half expecting to see her crumpled form in a similar condition to Casin’s.

Erin turned from her father’s body. “He’s breathing! Help me get him onto this table.”

He tossed his sword onto another table and hustled over. Casin looked bad. His skin was ashen, and there were horrible burns on his throat, where layers of skin had peeled away. He questioned Erin’s assessment that he was still alive. “I’ll get him,” he said. “Clear a space on the table.”

Erin swept the debris from the worktable where Casin’s lathe had once been mounted, the pieces of which now lay scattered across the floor of the shop. Tsing scooped up his body. It felt frail and near lifeless, a mere husk of what had once been one of the most vibrant people he’d known. But he was, indeed, still breathing.

Tsing placed him gently in the space Erin had cleared, and she bent closer to examine his wounds. “I need water and salve,” she murmured.

“Erin, where’s Shia?”

Erin looked up, panic in her eyes. “There’s salve in the kitchen. Can you get it?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I know where it is.” He started to go, but suddenly his wrist was caught in a surprisingly strong grip.

He looked down to see Casin restraining him, white knuckles contrasting grotesquely with the seared skin of his hand. “No,” rasped the man’s voice as his eyes fluttered open to focus on Tsing’s. He sucked in a painful-sounding breath that whistled through an airway that must have been mostly burned shut. “Find her, Tsing. Please.”

“Shia?”

Casin took another whistling breath. “It took her. It—” A sudden cough interrupted his speech. Speckles of blood spattered over his chest.

“Don’t try to talk, Father,” Erin whispered.

“Have to,” he wheezed. “No time.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I’m … so sorry, Erin. Wanted (wheeze) … to see (wheeze) … your mother (wheeze) … again.” He grasped her hand and held them both as a coughing fit splattered his chest with more blood.

“Father, don’t,” Erin pleaded.

The coughing subsided, and a watery bubbling sound was added to the whistle of his breathing. “It was … looking for … you, Erin. The witch … who walks … in dreams.” He coughed up more blood.

“Father, please,” Erin whimpered, wide-eyed.

“It took … Shia … the queen.” Casin turned his head toward Tsing and fixed him with a desperate look. “East.” Blood poured from his mouth, and he convulsed, unable to draw another breath. His grip on Tsing’s wrist loosened, and his eyes stared at nothing.

EPILOGUE

Yesterday …

Shia smiled to herself. It was well into the evening, and she was certain that Erin would not return tonight. She’d had her fingers crossed all day that her little plot would play itself out as intended, and when the storm had come, she felt her prayers had truly been answered.

What better way for her sister and Tsing to work things out between them than to be snowed in together for the night? Even if Erin didn’t find the pendant, surely the two would succumb to their true desires in such forced proximity.

She was standing in the kitchen, stirring some soup she intended to share with Father if she could drag him from the shop—that was another serendipitous turn of events, him going back to the work he loved—and daydreaming of planning her sister’s wedding, when the first scream split the night.

Her blood went cold as she dropped the spoon into the soup with a splash and ran to the kitchen window. Flickering red light from the single window of the shop cut bloody, intermittent paths across the snow as a second scream sounded, more blood-curdling than the first.

“Father,” she gasped. “No!”

Her heart pounded with dread. The nightmare from weeks before was repeating itself, and this time she would have to face it alone.

She sprinted to the common room and grabbed the crossbow and quiver of arrows mounted over the mantel, wishing to the gods she’d taken more interest in learning how to use the weapon. Another scream sounded as she burst through the front door and began slogging through the deep layer of newly fallen snow as fast as she could, fumbling at loading a bolt into the crossbow.

This scream didn’t stop but continued to rise in volume until it suddenly cut off just before she pushed through the shop door to find the same red demon from before holding up the limp figure of her father by his neck. “Let him go!” she screamed, desperately winding the cocking mechanism of the bow.

The demon slowly turned its head and fixed her with its red eyes. “You’re not the witch who walks in dreams,” it complained in a rasping voice that seemed too big for the shop, reverberating off its walls.

“Let him go!” she screamed. She let loose the bolt, praying she would hit the demon and not her father.

Surprisingly, her aim was true, and the bolt flew toward the demon’s head. But lightning fast, it pulled a hand up in front of its face, and the bolt buried itself into its clawed palm. The feathered end of the bolt instantly burst into flame.

She gaped in horror as the demon grunted and shook its hand and the bolt’s ashes scattered in the air. It looked at its palm and flexed its taloned fingers, testing their function. Then it fixed her again with its red gaze.

“Feisty one though, aren’t you?” it rasped. It squinted at her. “You’ll be perfect.” It dropped the body of her father and stepped toward her.

She desperately tried to load another bolt into the crossbow, but the demon was on her, slapping the bow from her grasp and grabbing her wrist. She screamed in pain as the demon’s touch sizzled her skin.

She kicked and struggled, trying to loosen herself from its iron grip. The demon ignored her efforts, looking around the room as if getting its bearings. Its gaze finally fixed on something unseen.

“East,” it rasped, and suddenly they were no longer in the shop but hurtling through a tunnel of shifting, colored light. After what could have been seconds or an eternity, they burst into a room with unadorned adobe walls. The air was hot and dry.

The demon released its grip, pushing her forward, and she stumbled to her knees in front of a wizened albino woman seated on a cushioned bench. Standing at her side was a tall, black-skinned warrior clad in golden chainmail, a wicked-looking scimitar sheathed at his belt.

“Who is this, Graff?” the old woman asked. “We sought the witch who walks in dreams.”

“This is your queen.”

“What?”

The demon sighed. “I followed the witch who walks in dreams on your warlock’s behalf, and it led me to his queen. The lines of the prophecy are fulfilled, and so is my contract with your master. Inform Mazuom that we are done. If he tries to summon me again, he will regret it.”

“But Graff—”

“Careful, crone. That’s the second time you’ve uttered my name. Are you sure you want to name me a third time?”

The old woman pursed her lips.

The demon folded its arms. “I thought not.” The demon looked around, his gaze rested pointedly on the only other person in the room besides the crone and the warrior, an old man dressed in the garb of a desert dweller, sitting quietly in a far corner. “Pray to whatever gods you worship that we never meet again.” The old man nodded in acquiescence, and the demon vanished into thin air.

The old woman let a sigh of relief. Her gaze dropped from where the demon had been to where Shia knelt before her. “Are you a queen?”

Shia blinked. The woman couldn’t possibly see her. Milky cataracts covered her pupils. Shia shook her head. “No,” she murmured, tears forming in her eyes. “Your demon killed my father.”

“The king? So, you’re a princess then?”

Shia shook her head, loosening the tears to roll down her cheeks. “We Callens are not royalty.”

The crone’s eyebrows rose. “Callen? You’re the witch’s sister, then.”

“Erin’s not a witch,” she sobbed, though she began to doubt the truth of her words even as she spoke them. She tried to wipe her eyes with her forearm and winced when the salty tears touched the damaged flesh where the demon had held her. “Where am I, and why have you brought me here?”

The crone pursed her lips again. “It may have been a mistake, unless …” she murmured, tapping a finger at the side of her chin. “Demons rarely make mistakes.” She again fixed Shia with her milky gaze. “Are you familiar with the prophecy?”

“Prophecy?”

“An orphan king,” the old woman quoted, “with a sword that sings, will follow a witch who walks in dreams. And she will guide him to his queen. Empires will fall and rise again.”

Shia blinked. Where had she heard those words? Hadn’t one of the minstrels from the eastern caravan sung them at the Festival? “That’s a song … isn’t it?”

“The prophecy is often sung,” the crone explained. She turned to the tall warrior beside her. “What do you think, Mustava, is she queenly material? She’s certainly fair of face … in a homespun way.”

“She’s hurt, Peche” the warrior responded. The compassion in his voice belied his fierce visage.

“Indeed,” Peche said. “You would be, too, if a demon had touched you.” She frowned. “Healing spells aren’t my forte.” She turned to the old man in the corner. “Do you have anything to treat burns, Mathias?”

The old man stood. “There’s an apothecary nearby. I’ll see if I can rouse the proprietor.” He looked at Shia. “I’ll be back soon, child.” He gathered his robes and swept from the room through a side door.

“Hmm,” Peche murmured, tapping her finger on her chin again. “You’ve certainly inspired the compassion of the men here. Perhaps you truly are the one we seek.” She shrugged. “Prophecy. Go figure.” She turned to Mustava. “Confine her to the back bedroom. Have Mathias treat her wounds once he returns and make sure she’s as comfortable as possible. We’ll leave at first light. I want to cover as many pentags as possible before the desert sun reaches its zenith.”

Peche stood. “Rest well, my young queen. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

---

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Hundley lives and writes in Salisbury, North Carolina. When he’s not writing fantasy or sci-fi stories, you can find him playing guitar, cycling, hiking in the nearby Uwharrie National Forest, or binge-watching Netflix. To keep up with current and future projects, download free content, or sign up for his bi-monthly newsletter, visit his website.

Author Website

https://www.johnhundleyauthor.com