“Trained by my father’s own—”

“Then this lad could not steal it,” Odfrey said. “Impossible.”

“But—”

“Did he steal anything else?”

“He meant to! My saddle and accouterments. My coat of arms on the saddlecloth is embroidered of real gold. He—” “Yet he actually took none of these things?”

“Intent is the same as action,” Gavril said in a sullen voice. “Even worse, he insulted the Circle and would not—” “If you coursed him for sport, let your hounds bay for his blood, and whipped him to a bloody pulp because he did not recognize your Circle, it would seem you ask too much of this young pagan.”

“He’s a thief!” Gavril said furiously. “When I sought to punish him, he defied me. Worse, he insulted me, calling me a liar, and then he tried to harm my person.”

Dain glared at Gavril, who was twisting the truth to support his charge. He was a vicious, deceitful worm. Dain despised him for his lies even more than for his cruelty.

Lord Odfrey’s stony expression did not change. Solemn and unruffled, he showed little emotion.

“He tried to kill me,” Gavril repeated. “You have my word for it, and I am the king’s—” “—son. Yes, I know, your highness. You have reminded everyone in my hold of that fact at least twice a day since you arrived.”

“Then you might trouble to remember the fact, instead of mocking and insulting me,” Gavril said haughtily.

“Cool your wrath, boy. It’s most unseemly in one of your station.”

Gavril stared at him, openmouthed and sputtering.

Lord Odfrey met his look of wild astonishment and dawning rage with a grim lack of deference. “If you expect me to believe a tale such as this, you are much mistaken. You sit on a war-trained horse, armed with dagger, whip, and javelins.  Do you really expect me to believe an unarmed, half-starved, wounded, and frozen wretch like this eld boy could bring the slightest harm to your royal person? I think not.”

Gavril’s blue eyes grew very dark and still. “Do you also call me a liar, my lord?”

“I call you a spoiled lowland brat,” Odfrey replied. “You flight around my lands with courtier airs and too much conceit in yourself. The king sent you to me for training, and by the blood of Tomias I do not see that task as one of providing you with more flattery and spoiling. You’ve been here a month, and by now you should know my rules. Did I not expressly forbid you and the others to enter the Nold forest? There is a war in that land, a war that is no concern of ours except in avoiding its dangers. Your safety cannot be guaranteed in such a place.”

“I will hunt where I please,” Gavril replied. “We were coursing a stag. Would you have us let it go free because of a mere boundary?” “A stag,” Lord Odfrey said. His dark eyes narrowed. “What became of it?” “We brought it down,” Gavril boasted. “Kaltienne took the first shot with his bow and wounded it. My dogs are superb coursers, and we caught up with it as soon as it fell. My arrow finished it. We wear its blood, as you can see.” “Who is packing out the meat?”

Gavril blinked as though puzzled. “The meat is of no importance.” It was Lord Odfrey’s turn to redden. His mouth opened, but although a small muscle leaped in his jaw he did not speak. After a moment he snapped his jaws shut and wheeled his horse around so fast he nearly knocked Dain over.  “Huntsman!” he shouted with enough volume that his voice echoed across the marsh. “Take those men and go back for the meat.”

“But, m’lord, it’s to be dark soon,” the man protested.

“You know I will not abide waste,” Odfrey said.

“But the dark, m’lord. In Nold, m’lord.”

Lord Odfrey growled to himself. “Sir Alard,” he said to one of the knights. “Did you leave the arrows in the beast?”

The man had been slouching in his saddle when Lord Odfrey spoke to him, then quickly sat erect. “I’m sorry, m’lord,” he said slowly. “In the race after—I didn’t think of it—it seemed less important than—” “Mandrian arrows left bold as day in a carcass not even skinned and butchered.  What insult will be taken? What clan owns the land where you brought down the stag?”

All of them, Gavril especially, looked blank. Dain comprehended the reason for Lord Odfrey’s disquiet. It was an insult to trespass when hunting game, and a bigger insult to hunt game for sport, not food. It spoke of an arrogant disregard for ownership of land and property. If any dwarf found the stag on land claimed by a clan, great offense would be taken. Dwarves could and did start wars with far less provocation. Would they attack a Mandrian hold for such a reason? Unlikely, especially with the war against the Bnen now raging. But Lord Odfrey understood dwarf ways, and that was unusual for a Mandrian noble.  Dain’s respect for the man went up a notch.

“Were there clan markings that anyone noticed?” Odfrey asked.

Again, no one answered.

In a quiet voice, Dain said, “Yes, the Clan Nega.”

Lord Odfrey whipped around so fast Dain was startled. His dark eyes bored into Dain, piercing hard. “Nega? Not Rieg?”

“Rieg lands are here, near the edge of the forest,” Dain replied. “The marsh is your land, yes?”

But Lord Odfrey wasn’t listening. “Nega,” he repeated. His face grew thunderous and he glared so furiously at Gavril that the prince looked momentarily alarmed, then more defiant and arrogant than ever. “You went that deep into the Dark Forest? Against my orders?”

Gavril pulled on his gauntlets of fine blue velvet stitched to leather palms. He shrugged. “When I hunt, I do not let my quarry go. Willingly.” “There has been fighting reported on Nega lands,” Lord Odfrey said, ignoring Gavril’s last remark. “You take too many foolish risks. There will be no more of it. What if this eld had gone deeper into the Dark Forest? Would you have coursed him to its very center?”

“If necessary,” Gavril answered coolly. His eyes met Lord Odfrey’s. “I do not fear the dwarves. Besides, we knew he would try to go east, and we kept him from it. I am not the fool you think me, my lord chevard.”

“Then obey the orders you are given.”

“It is your responsibility to keep me safe,” Gavril said. “I shall do as I please. Your orders offend me.”

“Learn to be offended,” Lord Odfrey snapped. “There will be no more adventures in the Dark Forest. There will be no hunting of people on my land. If my huntsman has not told you this before, you know it now.” “Is this wretch your serf?” Gavril said icily, pointing at Dain with his whip.  “We jumped him in the forest, beyond your boundaries, sir. If he is a monster of Nold, then he belongs to no one and should be fair game.” “He’s not an animal. He is not to be hunted,” Odfrey said.  “He’s a thief and a nuisance. If the villagers see an eld lurking about their fields, they’ll be—” “The villagers and their superstitions are my responsibility, not yours,” the chevard said with a snap. “The day’s hunt is over for you. Call in your dogs and take yourself back to the hold.”

Gavril stared at him as though he could not believe what had been said. “You dismiss me?” he said, and his voice was almost a squeak. “The hunt is for my pleasure. You cannot—” “I can and I will,” Odfrey broke in. “My word is law here. Take care you remember that.”

“I never forget any slight done me,” Gavril said, and his blue eyes were hot with resentment. He cast Dain a glare as though to blame him for this disgrace.  “You,” he said in a voice that cut. “If I ever see you on Chevard Odfrey’s lands, I shall feed you to my dogs.”

“If you set your dogs on another person, I will have them killed,” Odfrey said.

The iron in his voice held heat now. His dark eyes burned in his weathered face.  “You would not dare,” Gavril said, then faltered. His gaze shifted to his clenched hands. “They are my property. Am I to blame if they prefer to take pagan scent? One animal is very like another.”

“That is the worst sign of your character yet shown to me.” Gavril blinked. “When I came to Thirst Hold, you admired my dogs. No one in this region owns their equal. Their bloodlines are the best in—” “There are many handsome things in this world,” the chevard said, “but not all of them are good. I have said what I will do if you misuse your animals again in this fashion. You have lived under my roof long enough by now, Prince Gavril, to know that I keep my word. Do not force me to order them destroyed.” Gavril sat his horse as though he’d been clouted hard but had not yet fallen.  His gaze never left the chevard’s face, but Dain watched his hands clench and unclench the reins. “Well?” Odfrey asked. “Am I clearly understood?” Gavril drew a sharp breath. Dain expected him to insult the chevard and gallop away, for that intent burned bright in Gavril’s mind. But Gavril said, “Your words are most clear to me, sir.”

“Good.”

“I hope, sir, that you will not find displeasure when I write to my father the king and tell him of this day’s events.”

The chevard did not flinch. “I have never feared the truth, or King Verence’s sense of justice. He is always interested in hearing both sides of a matter. By all means write to him, but take care that you present the full truth. I am sure he will find your actions, and your motivations for them, greatly enlightening.  Your letter can go in my next dispatch pouch.”

Gavril’s gaze dropped. He wheeled his horse about and kicked it into a gallop.

As he rode away, he splashed water over Dain, who was too cold to care.  Grateful to be free of the prince, Dain edged away a couple of steps, but the chevard’s gaze swung to him and he stopped.

Now that it was just the two of them alone, some deep sadness appeared in Lord Odfrey’s face. “You are just his size,” he muttered as though to himself. “That same way of standing. That same fearless turn of the head. What is your name, lad?”

“Dain.”

“You are far from the mountains of the eld folk.”

“I come from Nold. I am—was apprenticed to Jorb maker.” The chevard smiled, and his face transformed from a stern, stony countenance into one gentle and warm. The deep lines that bracketed his mouth were smoothed away. Crinkles fanned at the corners of his eyes. He looked younger when he smiled, far less formidable. “Jorb, the old rascal. I carry one of his swords,” he said, indicating the weapon that hung from his belt.  “Yes, lord,” Dain said awkwardly. “I saw.”

Odfrey’s smile faded. “But you say you were his apprentice. Not now? Has the trouble reached him too?”

Dain’s throat closed in sudden grief. He thought of how he’d returned from his errand three days, no, four past, and found the tree burrow ablaze. The forge was already gone, charred to ashes. Jorb’s body was a blackened, twisted thing, hacked and broken by the axe that had felled him, so broken he couldn’t crawl away from the fire that had burned him alive along with his home.  Jorb had always been a force in Dain’s life, a short, surly, gruff-voiced taskmaster who liked his pipe in the evenings and who would sit watching the stars contentedly, humming along in his basso voice while Thia sang and Dain played accompaniment on a lute. Jorb liked his ale and his food; he was nearly as wide as he was tall. He was hot-tempered and impatient, yet he took infinite pains with the swords he crafted, turning each blade into a thing of rare beauty. And when the steady tap-tap-tap of his hammering was done, he would hone and polish, humming to the steel as though to bring it to life. His craggy face would light up and he would smile as he spoke the final words over each creation: “Kreith ‘ng kdag ’vn halh.”—“This sword is made.” He had taught Dain metals. He had taught Dain his skills but never his artistry.  Some days as they worked together in the hot forge, Jorb would sweat and hum without uttering a single word. Other days he would talk endlessly on a variety of subjects, giving Dain the teaching, as he called it. He was father, teacher, taskmaster, friend. Behind the gruffness and stern air of authority he was kind and good, with a fondness for riddles and a love of song.  And now he was dead, dead because of Dain. There was no getting past the guilt or the grief. Each time Dain pushed it out of his mind, the memories came flooding back. He could smell the sickening stench of burned flesh, the smoky stink of charred cloth. He could feel Jorb’s sturdy shoulder cupped in his hand, how stiff and wrong it felt. He had dug a grave and spoken the words of passing in the dwarf tongue. He had sprinkled salt over the freshly turned soil and crossed the ash twigs there, but his rites were not enough to cleanse what he’d done or to absolve him of blame.

He frowned, swallowing hard, and found his voice gone. He could not answer Lord Odfrey’s simple question. All he could do was glance up, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears, and nod his head.

Regret softened the chevard’s face. Looking down at Dain from atop his horse, he said softly, “Dead?”

Again Dain nodded. A sob heaved in his chest, but he would not utter it. His grief was not to be shared with men. It was a private thing. His shame, he would battle alone.

But not just yet.

Mastering himself, he swallowed and struggled to speak. “Please, lord,” he said in a choked voice. “I thank you for saving me. Would you also show mercy and save my sister as well?”

“What?”

“My sister. She’s hurt. We’ve come as far away as she can. When the Bnen attacked, they put an arrow in her that I cannot—” “Where is she?”

Hope filled Dain’s chest. He pointed at the forest. “A league away, no more. Not far from where the stag went down. I can show you the spot, lead your men back to it, if you will—” Odfrey’s gaze grew hard and intent. “What know you of the Bnen? How large are their forces?”