“Enough of this,” Sir Roye said. “M’lord, let us go—”

“Silence,” the chevard commanded, and Sir Roye clamped his mouth shut without another word.

Lord Odfrey’s dark eyes bored into Dain. “Your clothes are torn worse than last

I saw them. There’s blood on you—”

“The huntsman’s,” Dain said quickly. “Not mine.”

“How far have you run?”

“A league, hardly more,” Dain said with growing impatience. “Come, if you will save them—” Lord Odfrey lifted his hand. “Boy, my huntsman is not—” “But he came for the stag killed by those boys. I heard you give him the order to fetch the meat.”

“So I did,” Lord Odfrey said as though he’d forgotten until now. “But this morn, when the alarm was raised, I left orders for him not to go. It’s not safe, with raids coming out of Nold.”

Dain shook his head. “The man is in the forest, in desperate need of your help.  Where I hid him and the others will not hold long, especially if they ... It will not hold long. If you mean to save them, you must hurry!” “The chevard must do nothing save by his own will,” Sir Roye said to Dain.  Within the frame of his helmet he had a face like a wrinkled nut; his features were dark and fierce. Hostility and suspicion radiated from his cat-yellow eyes, and Dain knew that were it not for the chevard’s presence, Sir Roye would have run him through with that sword instead of just smacking him with it. Already, Dain had begun to feel a steady ache in his ribs from that blow. Sir Roye leaned down from his saddle and stabbed his finger at Dain. “You don’t tell him what to do, ever! Morde a day, but I’d like to slit that pagan tongue right out of your gullet.”

Believing him, Dain swallowed hard and fought the urge to back up.

“You’re saying these men are in the clearing where the stag was brought down?”

Lord Odfrey asked.

“Near to it. Not far past it,” Dain said. “I’ll show you.”

He tried to go forward, but Sir Roye moved his horse to block Dain’s path. “It’s a smooth trick, this urgent story of men in need of us, but it’s naught but pagan lies, m’lord. He wants nothing better than to lead us to certain ambush.” “I tell the truth!” Dain said hotly.

“You’re lying, like all your kind.”

“Hold your tongue, Sir Roye,” Lord Odfrey said with steely anger. “This boy was Jorb maker’s apprentice. He’s no stranger, and I think no liar.” “M’lord, this tale has holes abounding in it,” Sir Roye said. “The men are in the hold where they should be—” “Nay!” shouted someone from the rear of the column. “They rode out before first light. Caix here saw them go!”

“Aye,” said another voice that was fainter, as though even farther back. “I did, m’lord.”

The chevard struck the pommel of his saddle with his gloved hand. “Damne! Did the fools leave before word of the raid came to us?”

Sir Roye drew back, but the other men surrounding Dain stared down at him, silent now, and intent.

“Fools,” Lord Odfrey muttered again, but Dain wondered if it was the men he meant, or himself. The chevard scowled at Dain. “Quickly now, tell me what you know. You saw Nocine—the huntsman—and two others—” “Sir Tilou and Sir Valon,” Sir Roye muttered.

Lord Odfrey nodded without taking his gaze off Dain. “Exactly where?” “They are hiding in a gully beyond the clearing of the Forlo travel burrow,” Dain said. “Now my sister’s burial place.”.

Compassion sparked briefly in the chevard’s dark gaze, then vanished. “A gully?

They can’t hide there.”

“Not for long,” Dain agreed. “The Bnen were about to torture them.” “And how did you rescue them from this war party of dwarves?” Sir Roye asked with open skepticism.

Dain opened his mouth to answer, but Lord Odfrey interrupted. “Never mind.