“But—”

“When we get to Savroix,” Dain said, “what do you intend to see first? The Bridge of Foretelling or the sword swallowers at the town fair?” Thus distracted, Thum began to chatter about the coming attractions. Dain let him talk, but in the back of his mind his uneasiness grew. Now the secret had forced him to lie to his best friend. And if he waited until they reached the banks of the Charva or even crossed the famous river before he mentioned the sword to Lord Odfrey, then he would be faced with the disagreeable task of explaining why he’d waited so long. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing at all, and just drop Tanengard quietly into the deep waters, to be concealed there for all time.

As for what Lander would ask him later when he got home... well, that was too far away to worry about now. He supposed he would have to lie to the smith as well. Dain frowned to himself, realizing with shame that already he was failing to measure up to his new father’s high standards. But once he got rid of Tanengard, he would be honest and truthful. Never again would he let anything stain his honor. Thus did Dain close his mind to the problem.  That night, camped in Ebel Forest, Dain was awakened by his own shouting. He sat up wildly, fighting his blankets, and found himself gripped by a pair of strong hands that shook him hard.

“Dain, Dain, easy now,” Lord Odfrey’s voice said in the darkness. “It’s only a dream, lad. It’s only a dream.”

Blinking awake, Dain shuddered in his father’s grip, then drew up his knees and rested his face against them. Lord Odfrey held his shoulder a moment longer, gave him an awkward pat, and released him.

The campfires had burned down to muted embers. Sleeping forms lay rolled in blankets. Along the edges of the camp, the sentries kept watch in the darkness.  Dain rubbed the clammy sweat from his face. He felt breathless and very tired, as though he’d ran a long distance. His mouth burned with thirst. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Lord Odfrey filled his own cup from the waterskin and pressed it into Dain’s hands. The cold silver felt good against his hot palms. He drank the water in gulps, and sighed.

“Thank you, lord,” he whispered. “I did not mean to wake you.” “You didn’t,” Lord Odfrey murmured. “I’ll sleep little until we are safe across the Charva and in the lowlands.”

Dain understood the reason for his unease. The Mandrians believed the Nonkind could not cross the Charva’s swift waters. There had never been a Nonkind raid in lower Mandria, so perhaps it was true. But even on this side of the river, Dain had sensed no danger. He sensed no danger now. The only monsters here were those in his dreams.

“Was your nightmare very bad?” Lord Odfrey asked with sympathy.  Dain shrugged. Already the distorted shapes and images that had filled his mind were fading. He started to hand back the chevard’s cup, then held it up a moment, frowning at it.

“There was a cup like this, long ago,” he said slowly.

“Not as large, but silver. Eldin silver.”

“Yes?” Lord Odfrey said in encouragement. Dain’s frown deepened. “I don’t know how I know that. I never saw such a cup while I lived with Jorb. Perhaps my sister used to talk about it. She told me many tales.”

“Was your dream about something that happened to you long ago?” “I don’t think so,” Dain said, rubbing his eyes. They ached and were wet, as though he had been crying in his sleep. He was glad that the night concealed him, for it was unmanly to weep the tears of a child. “It was all bright colors, brighter than anything I’ve ever seen before. I was in a room like the sun, all yellow and gold, but there was darkness in it, a black mist that was searching for me, coming for me.” He drew in a ragged breath, feeling the cold, sick fear grip him again. “I couldn’t run from it. I couldn’t get away.” Lord Odfrey gripped his arm. “You’re safe now, lad. It isn’t here.” Absorbing his comfort, Dain tried to control his foolish emotions. He realized he’d probably awakened the others sleeping nearby, although if so, they were kindly pretending to sleep on.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and straightened his shoulders. He handed back the chevard’s cup. “Thank you. I’m well now.”

In silence, Lord Odfrey gave him another pat and returned to his own blankets.  Dain sat a while, feeling the night breeze cool his hot face. He absorbed the sounds of the forest around him—the faint rustlings, the gliding sweep of a predator’s wings, the soft sighings of the tree canopies overhead. The air smelled of wood ash, horses, and men, but beyond the camp smells lay the scents of wood bark, moss, damp soil, and leaf mold. Reaching inside his tunic, Dain curled his fingers around his pendant of bard crystal for comfort and sat there in the darkness a long while. He wished he could go off by himself into the forest, but he knew Lord Odfrey was not yet asleep. The man had enough worries already troubling his mind. Dain would give him no more by slipping away.  By late afternoon the next day, they neared the river. There was an air of anticipation in everyone. Even the church soldiers, although they did not relax their tight vigilance, occasionally spoke to each other and could be seen to smile.

Many of the Thirst knights rode slouched in their saddles, laughing and talking idly to each other. Lord Odfrey no longer looked as tense and cautious as when they’d first set out. The Thirst knights had a bet laid—much to the disapproval of the church soldiers—as to who would be the first to see the Charva, Lord Odfrey or Prince Gavril.

“A stupid wager,” Dain muttered to Thum. “Even if Lord Odfrey does see it first, he will let the prince claim the win.”

Thum’s freckled face looked serious as he nodded agreement. “I fear our knights would bet on anything, even a race between dung beetles across the stableyard.” “They should save their betting money for who will win the tournament.” Thum’s green eyes shone. “I cannot wait to get there. I wish we could gallop our horses the whole way.”

Dain shifted in the saddle and winced at the ache in his hips. “And arrive with gall sores.”

Thum’s laughter rang out, echoing through the treetops. Birds flew through the canopy, squawking in affront. Dain leaned over and broke off a twig, sniffed the torn bark, then tasted it.

The twig had a clean, minty flavor. He chewed on it, marveling at this gentle forest, with its springy carpet of golden-green moss underfoot and large, well-spaced trees of ancient size. Dappled sunlight shifted in patterns across the riders’ faces, glinting here and there off a bridle chain or spur rowel. The air was warm and humid, almost sultry beneath the trees, and fragrant with varieties of shrubs and saplings Dain did not always recognize.  He couldn’t help but compare these woods with the Dark Forest where he had grown up. That was a place of constant danger, with such a tangle of undergrowth, thicket, briers, and close-set trees no decent road such as this could be built through its heart.

Now and then, a faint breeze sprang up. When it shifted, Dain’s keen nostrils caught a whiff of the river. Its smell was clean, telling him the water ran swiftly in its course. He had heard much of the legendary Charva, but until today he had never seen it. Indeed, he had never traveled so far from Nold in his life. He felt his mind and heart expanding in all directions, as though something small and tight inside him was unfurling. The world was much larger than he’d ever supposed. Now he was becoming a part of it. In only a short year, his life had changed completely, and it was still changing. At times he could hardly believe it.

“Are you listening to me?” Thum asked, breaking his thoughts.

Dain blinked and looked at him with a shy grin. “No.”

“I thought not. I said the first thing we’re going to do when we get there is—” Someone ahead shouted, and the column slowed down.  “It’s the river!” Dain said in excitement.

He and Thum kicked their horses forward, leaving the road to race ahead of the column up to where Lord Odfrey and Sir Damiend had reined up. The forest ended at the edge of a bluff overlooking the swift, gray-green waters below.  Such a river. Dain’s mouth fell open at the size of it. Wide and clean, it coursed along a straight route here beside this rocky bluff, but to the west Dain could see where the land flattened and the river began to meander. Across it, far on the horizon, lay strips of rolling meadowland bordered by trees and hedgerows. A distant curl of smoke showed him the location of a village, too far away to be seen.

The road curved away from the edge of the bluff, winding along a gentle decline to the cleared land on either side of the river’s banks.  “Where’s the ferry point?” Thum asked. “We can’t be far.”

Dain stood up in his stirrups and shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun.

“That way,” he said, pointing.

A short distance away, Lord Odfrey and Sir Damiend sat in their saddles, poring over the map and talking in low, serious voices.

The excitement in Thum’s face faded. He looked almost pensive. “All my life I’ve wanted to see this river,” he said. “Now I have.”

“Aye.”

“When we cross at the ferry point, we’ll be in upper Mandria no longer,” Thum said. His voice had gone quiet, and held a strange tone of wistfulness and regret.

Dain looked at him in puzzlement. “Don’t you want to go on?” “Of course! That’s not it,” Thum said at once. He glanced past Dain at someone else, and his face turned red. “Never mind.”

“He means, pagan,” Gavril said, riding up, “that he’s an uplander with old treachery in his heart.”

Dain frowned and Thum’s face turned even redder. Wearing a fawn-colored surcoat which had been sent to him as a journey gift by Cardinal Noncire, and sporting his new light brown mustache, Gavril twisted his handsome face into mocking contempt for them both.

“I am no traitor, your highness,” Thum said stiffly, his hands clenched white on his reins.

“You would like to see upper Mandria independent again,” Gavril said coldly.  “All you uplanders want that, but it will never happen.” His dark blue gaze shifted to Dain. “It is an old combat. We vanquished them long ago, and civilized them, but they refuse to be satisfied.”

Dain made no reply. Gavril was always seeking to provoke a quarrel, and in politics he usually managed to prod a sore spot in Thum. Although it angered Dain on his friend’s behalf, he kept silent. Every day, one or another of the Thirst knights cautioned Dain against offending the prince, and he intended to follow those orders. Thum said nothing either.

The column was moving on, starting down the slope, and Gavril gave them a pitying smile before riding away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Thum slapped the pommel of his saddle with his gloved hand. “Morde!” he said under his breath, his freckles still aflame. “Why won’t he let me be?”

“He has no one to bully except us,” Dain said with a shrug. “We’ll be rid of him soon enough. Think on that.”

“Aye,” Thum said grimly. “I think on it every day. I pray for it every night.

You take his needles well. Better than you used to.”

Dain wheeled his horse around to follow the others. “I have no fear of him now,” he said simply. “I have protection.”

As he spoke, he glanced ahead at Lord Odfrey’s back, and once again he felt a surge of gratitude for the man’s kindness. He was Odfrey’s son now. All that remained was the king’s signature of permission on the warrant of adoption, and it would be official. Knowledge that he belonged somewhere, that he had friends and a new family, gave him renewed confidence. The world was sweet and full of promise. Even Gavril’s sour contempt could not spoil Dain’s mood.  Thum ducked a low-hanging branch and kicked his horse to move alongside Dain.  “It’s getting late. Think you we’ll reach the ferry point before we have to make camp? It’s best if we cross the river before nightfall.”

“Aye,” Dain replied. “I heard Lord Odfrey say he would have us across ere we see another dawn.”

“Gods,” Thum muttered with a sigh. “Let’s hope we don’t have to get these horses and wagons ferried in the dark.”

Dain frowned. He’d never been in a boat before. The idea of floating on the surface of the water seemed fantastic to him, and a little daunting. He’d heard tales of merchants and peddlers who floated up and down the rivers with their wares, but it sounded unlikely. He did not believe the heavily laden wagons, especially those piled with Gavril’s belongings, could stay afloat. Yet everyone else expressed no doubt, and looked at him strangely when he asked questions.  Besides that, he had the task of somehow dropping Lander’s sword into the water without anyone noticing. That wasn’t going to be easy, if it was even possible.  Dain told himself he’d better prepare an explanation in case he was seen and questioned, but his mind remained blank. He was too angry with Lander for getting him into this mess to be clever.

A braying donkey interrupted his thoughts. Looking around, Dain saw Sulein approaching.

The physician had exchanged his customary long brown robes of learning for a tunic and leggings. Instead of his tall, conical hat, he once again wore his peculiar flat square tied to his head with a broad ribbon. His beard and frizzy hair were all atangle, and he carried a large book balanced on the front of his saddle.

As he came even with Dain and Thum, his dark, intense eyes were snapping with excitement. “Young Dain,” he said with a slight inclination of his head, “I was disappointed when you did not join me last night to resume your lessons.” Dain stifled a groan. “No one said I had to do lessons in Savroix. We’re supposed to have fun.”

“Your attitude should be shameful to you,” Sulein rebuked him mildly. “And we are not in Savroix yet. There is no need to waste the time at our disposal on this journey.”

“But I have other duties,” Dain began, floundering in his attempt to think up any excuse possible. How, he wondered, was he going to be able to get the sword if Sulein stayed in his way? “Tonight perhaps, I’ll remember to—” “Why not now?” Sulein asked, opening the book. “The journey is pleasant. We will have much time at our disposal while we wait for everyone to be ferried.” Dain’s face was turning hot. He glanced at Thum, who was carefully looking away.  Dain frowned, so embarrassed he wanted to wheel his horse around and gallop in the opposite direction. Why did Sulein have to make an issue of his ignorance before the whole company? It didn’t occur to Dain that many of the knights could not themselves read or write; all he knew was that Sulein made him feel a fool by exposing his ignorance like this. He didn’t want to plod along, reading faltering words aloud from some musty old book, not when the day was fine and bright and full of adventure.

Gavril’s laughter made his face burn even hotter. The prince came back to him, looking curious, like a cat that’s found a mouse too far from its hole.  “What have we here?” Gavril demanded while Sulein bowed low over his donkey’s neck. “What pagan book of spells do you carry, physician?” “It is a harmless book of astrology, your highness,” Sulein said in a voice of oily respect. “Thus can young Dain learn twofold from a single effort—both the exercise of reading and the absorption of content.”

Gavril’s dark blue eyes slid over Dain, and he raised his brows. “It is a waste of your time, physician,” he said in cold disapproval. “What need has an eld to learn how to read? Trying to educate someone who lacks true lineage and position is a waste. You might as well try to teach a kee-back to read.”