“Easily said, but harder to prove—”

“By what right do you question us?” Dain demanded. “Who are you! What hold is yours?”

The lance remained at Lander’s throat. Dain could feel the smith’s rigid tension. His fear hung sour on the air.

The knight who had spoken now dipped his head slightly to Dain. He flipped up his visor, revealing a thin, chiseled face made distinguished by an elegant chin beard and mustache. His eyes were dark brown, and although he did not smile the fierceness had relaxed in his gaze.

“A bold tongue you have, boy,” he replied. “ ‘Tis a pity I can believe you not.  Neither of you have the look of Mandria. You wear no livery to mark you as Thirst folk.”

Lander pulled back his head, taking his throat a few inches away from the steel tip of that lance, which so far had not wavered. “Livery!” he repeated, sounding offended. “Does a smith wear the tabard of a varlet?” “Nay, but smiths do not journey far from their forge either,” the man replied.

One of the other knights rode up beside him and spoke softly, to his ear alone.  The bearded knight frowned, then nodded and gave Dain a closer scrutiny. “Dain, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Chevard Odfrey’s foster eld who ran away four days past?” Dain’s chin lifted haughtily. “I am both eld and a foster,” he said. “I did not run away.”

The knight’s gaze grew cold, but he made no response. Instead, he rode alongside the cart and peered down at its cargo. “What are you hauling?” “Metal for my work,” Lander said. His voice was swift, high, and nervous.  “There’s much to do before the great tournament in Savroix a month from now. A few times a year I go to the dwarves of Nold to buy what I need.” Again they got a sharp look. Feeling the hostility emanating from these strangers, Dain frowned. He did not take his hand off his dagger.  “You’ve been in the Dark Forest, then,” the knight said.  “Aye,” Lander said. “And a mortal bad time in getting back. The whole world has turned upside down these past few days. Nonkind everywhere, and all sorts of—” Dain pinched his side to silence him and glared up at the knight. “By what authority do you question us?” he demanded. “What names do you bear? Who is your liege? What hold do you—” “Hush,” Lander whispered furiously to him. “Cause us no trouble. Curb your tongue, boy!”

Dain ignored him. “What is your name, sir knight?” he called out to the bearded man.

The man seemed momentarily amused. “I am Lord Renald, chevard of Lunt Hold.” Dain stared, realizing belatedly that he should have noticed the quality of the man’s splendid armor, the good breeding of his horse, the aristocratic air in his cultured voice. Gulping at his breach of courtesy, Dain bowed awkwardly to the man.

“Your pardon, lord,” he said with more courtesy. “But what brings you here to Thirst lands? Have you been fighting the Nonkind?”

“You know there’s been a battle,” Lord Renald said, frowning.  One of the other knights swore violently. “Aye, he knows it, the sly demon-caller—” Lord Renald’s head whipped around, and the other knight abruptly fell silent.  “Let them pass,” Lord Renald said, reining his horse aside.

The lance trained on Lander swung away from his throat.

The riders blocking the road reined their horses aside, leaving the way clear.  Lander clucked to his mule, but Dain’s suspicions grew. There was much wrong, much he did not understand.

Lord Renald sent Lander a stern look. “Head straight to the hold. Make no stops until you reach the gates. The way is clear, but it’s been won at a hard cost.” “Yes, m’lord,” Lander said, bobbing up and down with gratitude. “Thank you, m’lord.”

The chevard gestured at one of his men. “Go with them. Make sure the boy arrives and is presented to Lord Odfrey with my compliments.” The man inclined his head, his eyes glittering angrily through the slits in his helmet. “Aye, m’lord. Though wouldn’t it be faster to take him up behind my saddle and ride straight there—” “No,” Lord Renald said firmly. “Let him return as he left. The affair is not our concern.”

“When men die on a field of—”

“Sir Metain, you have your orders.”

The knight bowed. “Aye, m’lord.”

“If you please, Lord Renald,” Dain said in puzzlement, trying to sort out what their exchange meant. “What is—” “Hush,” Lander commanded him, elbowing him. “Hold your fool tongue and let us go.”