“Forgive me, lord,” Dain said, a little out of breath. “I was—”

“No excuses,” the chevard said sternly. “You have delayed his highness. Ask his pardon before you seek mine.”

Anger shot through Dain. He would sooner have his finger chopped off than apologize to Gavril. The prince was smiling openly now, staring at Dain with his brows lifted.

For a moment Dain refused to do it. But then he recalled some wise advice he’d received from Sir Terent only a few days ago.

“The prince is leaving us,” the ruddy-faced knight had said. “And you’re staying. The world’s been laid at your feet, lad. Be patient and bide a little longer. Soon enough he’ll be gone, to trouble you no more.” With those words in mind, Dain forced himself to meet Gavril’s vivid blue gaze.

“Forgive me, your highness,” he said in as courteous a voice as he could muster.  He let no sullenness be heard in his tone, for Lord Odfrey was watching him closely. “Truly I did not intend to delay your departure. I am sorry and ask your pardon.”

“Prettily said,” Gavril replied, begrudgingly. “But must this eld ride here in front as my equal?”

Lord Odfrey frowned. “I thought your highness might enjoy a companion on the road.”

“No, thank you,” Gavril said loftily, sneering at Dain. “I prefer to converse with Sir Damiend.”

The commander of the church forces smiled and bowed over his saddle. “Your highness does me honor.”

With his face burning, Dain looked at Lord Odfrey. “With your permission, lord, I will ride with the others from Thirst.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Gavril said quickly before Lord Odfrey could respond.

“My son is not going to ride at the rear like a servant,” Lord Odfrey told him.  Gavril’s eyes met his with wide innocence. “But, my lord, he is not officially your son yet. Until then, he has no rank and need not be set higher than his proper place.”

A muscle jumped in Lord Odfrey’s clamped jaw. Behind him, Sir Roye’s weathered face grew watchful and alert for trouble. Sir Damiend’s black cloak blew in the hot wind, and his green eyes never left Lord Odfrey.

Dain could smell a trap around Lord Odfrey. Anxiously he said, “Lord, have you any message that I may convey to Sir Terent?”

After a moment, Lord Odfrey’s dark eyes stopped burning holes into Gavril. He shifted his gaze to Dain and nodded. “Yes, give him this map.” He handed the roll of parchment to Dain. His face was like stone, but Dain sensed his anger and blazing humiliation. It does not matter, Dain wanted to tell him. The insult is small at best.

“Ride behind his highness until we reach the road,” Lord Odfrey commanded Dain.

“Then you will give the map to Sir Terent.”

“Yes, lord,” Dain said.

Gavril smirked in seeming satisfaction with his little victory. “You may give the orders to depart, my lord.”

Lord Odfrey bowed and passed the command along.  Then they were riding out, saluted by Sir Bosquecel, who’d been left in command of the hold. There rose a fanfare of horns and cheering serfs. Little boys ran beside them, brandishing sticks in mock swordplay and yelling. Dogs barked in their wake. Women called out from windows and the ramparts, waving ribbons and kerchiefs.

Lord Odfrey and Sir Roye took the lead, with Sir Damiend and Sir Nynth flanking Prince Gavril. Dain rode behind the prince like his squire, taking care not to let his restive horse crowd Gavril’s mount. The company of fifty church soldiers, in their black cloaks and white surcoats, came thereafter, leaving the Thirst knights to guard the slow-moving wagons and donkey-mounted servants at the rear.

As soon as they left the hold, trotted over the practice field, and clattered onto the great road that led south, Dain dropped back. In a few minutes he reached the rear of the column. There, he joined up with Thum, who rode with eyes shining like stars and a big, silly grin on his freckled face.  “We’re really going,” he said. “Can you believe it? I’ve pinched myself twice already to make sure I do not dream this.”

Dain grinned back. His excitement beat inside his chest, and it was all he could do to keep from spurring his horse to gallop wildly down the road. At that moment life seemed just about perfect... except for Tanengard, hidden back there in the chevard’s wagon. He could hear its presence, like an incessant whisper in the back of his mind. Dain regretted ever knowing Lander. He wished, with all his heart, that he’d left the smith’s accursed sword behind. Already it was burdening his heart, like a shameful secret he had to carry.  “Why are you scowling so?” Thum asked. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Dain replied. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sulein riding on his donkey beside the chevard’s wagon. Dain wondered if the physician could sense the sword’s presence too.

Worried, Dain felt tempted to sling the sword into the bushes and abandon it, but he knew that would be an unwise thing to do. Its powers were too potent and might corrupt anyone who found it.

“Something is amiss,” Thum insisted. “You look like you’ve eaten green berries.”

Dain shrugged. “It’s just something I have to tell Lord Odfrey. Tonight.”

“What have you done now?”

Dain met his friend’s dismayed eyes. “Nothing. I’ve done nothing.” “If you confess tonight when we camp,” Thum said gloomily, “you aren’t too far from Thirst to be sent back.”

Dain had not thought of that. His eyes widened as he considered the horrible possibility of being sent back to Thirst with the sword. “Then I’d better wait,” he decided.