“They have insulted the brave men of Thirst with their—”

“Silence!” Gavril shouted. “I am in command now. You will hold your tongue or have it cut out.”

“Lord Odfrey is in command here,” Dain retorted, glancing around for the chevard, but not seeing him. “And after him, Sir Damiend.” Gavril’s chin lifted haughtily. “The Reverend Sir Damiend is leading his men in prayers for the dead. As for the chevard, I saw him fall.” A rock seemed to land on Dain’s chest, and he could not breathe. “Lord Odfrey is not dead,” he said fiercely. “He is not!”

“Easy, lad,” Sir Terent said quietly at his side. “His lordship’s hurt. He wants you.”

Dain looked at the knight wildly. Grief filled him, and his eyes burned. “No,” he whispered. “Oh, no!”

He wheeled his horse around, forgetting Tanengard, forgetting Gavril, who turned red-faced and shouted at him: “You have not my leave to go!” Ignoring him, Dain galloped away. Sir Terent rode with him, leading him to the landing. Lord Odfrey lay there, propped up against one of the pilings. Two Thirst knights stood nearby, watching with grief-stricken faces while Sulein worked to stanch the chevard’s bleeding.

Jumping off his horse, Dain ran to Lord Odfrey and knelt beside him. “Father,” he said brokenly.

Lord Odfrey’s dark eyes dragged themselves open at the sound of Dain’s voice. He lay there white-faced and rigid with pain. The scar on his cheek was bright pink against his pallor. His dark green surcoat was soaked with blood.  Dain could smell death on him. He reached out and gripped one of Lord Odfrey’s clenched fists. “Lord, I am here,” he said.

“Dain,” Lord Odfrey whispered.

“You must not talk,” Sulein said fiercely. He bundled up another cloth and pressed it to Lord Odfrey’s wound. “Keep your strength while you lie at the mercy of your gods.”

“I’m sorry,” Dain said, feeling tears prick his eyes. He tightened his mouth, trying to hold back his emotions. “I didn’t sense them in time. I would have given the warning sooner if I’d known—” “Not... your... fault,” Lord Odfrey said. His voice was faint and airless.  Dain could hear the chevard’s breath rasping in his throat. Bowing his head, Dain struggled with his grief. “Do not die,” he said. “Please, please, do not die.”

“Let there be no talk of dying,” Sulein said grimly, tossing a bloody cloth into the river. It swirled there and floated away, with Lord Odfrey’s blood trailing in the water after it. “You,” he said to Sir Terent, “take a cup from my bag.  Empty this vial into it and mix it with water. Quickly!”

Sir Terent hesitated, then clumsily did as he was told. When he returned with a brimming cup, it was Dain who sniffed it and detected only a sedative. Dain held the cup to Lord Odfrey’s pale lips and coaxed him into drinking some of its contents.

The chevard swallowed a few times, then shuddered and sank into deep unconsciousness. Dain pressed his hand to his father’s face, trying to give him strength. Inside, he felt wild and unhinged. Part of him wanted to run away, screaming in denial. Another part of him wanted to curse the gods and be struck dead for his blasphemy. This man did not deserve to die. Lord Odfrey was good, hardworking, and kind. Cautiously, unwillingly, Dain had learned to admire and respect this man, then to love him. Lord Odfrey had become his family, replacing those Dain had already lost. It was not fair that Lord Odfrey should also be taken away.

“Ah,” Sulein said, and shifted back on his heels in satisfaction. Sweat beaded the physician’s face, and he wiped his brow with the back of his bloody hand.  “The bleeding is stopped at last. We will not move him now, although it is a damp place this close to the water. The evil humors in the air make it unwise to leave him here long. Before nightfall, if he sleeps well still, then we shall risk moving him. But not until men.”

Lyias came blundering up, dripping wet, his eyes still wide with horror. When he saw them kneeling around the unconscious chevard, he began to wail with loud, ugly sobs.

Dain rose to his feet and shook the man. “Stop that,” he said sternly. “You’ll wake him. Go to the wagon and get him blankets, plenty of them. Do it now, and be quick.”

Wringing his hands, Lyias stumbled off to do as he was bid.  Sir Terent also stood up. His ruddy face looked grim indeed. “I’ll work a detail to count the dead. As for the wounded ...” Letting his voice trail off, he looked down at Sulein.

The physician gestured absently. “I will come soon. Gather them all in one place, and I will do what I can.”

Worry seemed to be dragging Dain’s wits into a knot. With great effort, he cleared his mind and tried to think of practical things. “The provision wagons,” he said. “We’ll need all the salt available.”

Sir Terent opened his mouth as though to protest, then turned very red and stayed silent.

“Please,” Dain said. “I know this is not your belief, but it must be done. Every wounded man, his lordship included, must be salted. The dead must be thrown into the water or staked through the throats to release their souls.” “Nay!” Sir Alard said in disgust. He stared at Dain as though he’d lost his wits. “ ‘Tis blasphemy to do that. They’ll have a proper burial in the ground, with service said over them.”

“Then the soultakers will get them tonight,” Dain said brutally, “and the rest of us as well.”

“No!” Gavril’s voice rang out.

All turned as the prince and his entourage of guards approached. Gavril was carrying the sheathed Tanengard in his hand, and Dain eyed it warily.  “We’ll not descend to the superstitions of this pagan infidel,” Gavril said arrogantly.

“Superstition has nothing to do with it,” Dain said. “For our safety and—” “We’ll ferry the dead across the Charva and bury them, as is decent and right,” Gavril broke across what he was saying.

Dain saw relief flash across everyone’s face, and he made no more protests. In his heart, however, he vowed to see Lord Odfrey protected with salt, no matter what anyone said.

“How many are dead, your highness?” Sir Terent asked quietly.

“The count has been made,” Gavril replied, and glanced at one of his guards.  The man cleared his throat. “Of our combined forces of one hundred fifteen, perhaps half lie dead. Another ten are injured, Lord Odfrey included. Of the servants, only five survived.”

“And the squires?” Dain asked, thinking of Thum.

The church soldier looked disconcerted. “I know not. I saw none to count.

Perhaps they ran away.”

“Or perhaps they were carried off,” Sir Terent muttered grimly.  Silence fell over them all. Dain closed his eyes a moment, grieving for Thum too now. His friend had not run away; of that he was sure. The only cowards today had been the church soldiers.

While he frowned, deep in his own thoughts and grief, he heard Sir Alard praying beneath his breath. Several men made signs of the Circle.  Dain stared along the bank, where the dead lay sprawled in all directions. He saw no white surcoats among them, and his anger blazed hotter than ever. It felt somehow unreal, like a bad dream or a vision that would soon end. Then these men would stand up, laughing, and call out jests. But this was no dream. The Nonkind had known to strike while they were scattered and disorganized. Dain realized they had been watched, by what means he was not sure, and a chill ran through his bones.

The few survivors looked at each other in varying degrees of shock.  Then Sir Terent set his callused hand heavily on Dain’s shoulder. “If not for this valiant lad, we’d all be dead. It was he who drove them off, there at the last.” “Aye,” Sir Alard agreed.

Dain dropped his gaze with embarrassment. It hadn’t been him, he knew. Tanengard had made the difference.

Gavril’s face grew pinched and hostile. He held up the sheathed sword. “Yes, Dain drove them off with this weapon of sorcery. I witnessed it all.” Dain met Gavril’s dark blue eyes with disgust. Although he knew the prince had not been allowed to fight, Dain’s emotions were too fraught to be fair. How many men, Dain wondered, besides Sir Nynth had died to protect the prince today? How many more, through the years, would lose their lives in such duty? It was a useless question, Dain realized. He might as well ask how many clouds rode the sky. Gavril would one day be king. No matter how long he lived, he would always expect men to die for his protection. Dain thought of how rudely Gavril had snapped at Sir Nynth just minutes before the attack. Did Gavril feel any remorse for that now? Dain very much doubted it.

“Where did you get this sword?” Gavril asked, looking straight at Dain. “You are not a knight. You are not permitted to own weapons.” Sir Terent intervened before Dain could answer. “Forgive me, your highness, but shouldn’t this wait until we’re safely across the river?” “I will have an answer now,” Gavril said angrily. “And, Dain, be warned that these church knights will judge you. On the honor of the dead around us, you must speak the truth.”

It was a fine warning, coming from a liar like Gavril. Dain shot the prince a smoky glance. “It is not my property,” he said. “It was to be entered in the contest for the king’s new sword. Our smith Lander made it for that purpose.” Sir Terent forgot himself and swore aloud. Sir Alard stared. The church soldiers stared.

Gavril raised his brows. “You lie. I saw the entry which Lander gave to Lord Odfrey. A sorry sword indeed.”

“And this one is beautiful,” Dain replied. “Made from magicked steel.” They flinched at that, all except Gavril. His grip, Dain noticed, tightened on Tanengard’s scabbard.

“Think of it,” Dain continued. “If you were Lander, and you got the misbegotten notion in your head to make such an unlawful sword, would you not keep its existence a secret? Aye, you would. He intended that this sword be switched with the plain one at the last moment before the contest.”

Again, they all exchanged glances. Gavril glared at the unconscious Lord Odfrey.  “Fine behavior from a man known to be honorable. What was he thinking, to agree to such a—” “Lord Odfrey knew nothing of it,” Dain said in sharp defense. “Had he seen it, he would have ordered it broken on Lander’s anvil.”

“Aye, he would have,” Sir Terent said loyally.

“Then who was helping Lander in this foul plot?” Gavril asked.  Dain lifted his chin, knowing the time for lies was past. “Lander gave it into my keeping.”

“I knew it!” Gavril shouted, ignoring Sulein’s gestures for quiet. “I knew this pagan would bring us ill luck.”

“This pagan, as your highness calls him,” Sir Terent said angrily, “saved us all. Had he drawn it sooner, more lives would have been spared. Thirst men fought and died alone today. Let us not forget that. If we could not have church swords drawn beside us, then we’ll not denounce what did fight in our defense.” “You speak out of turn, sir,” Gavril said coldly.

Sir Terent turned red, but he didn’t back down. “And your highness judges too quickly. Let us hear it all.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Gavril said, but the men of Thirst shook their heads.

“Tell the rest of it, Dain,” Sir Terent said, giving him a nod of encouragement.  Humiliation made Dain feel raw inside. He knew he should have refused Lander, should have thrown the sword away as soon as he was given it. He’d shown no courage at all.

“Lander wanted me to switch the swords, but I thought this unfair.”

“You mean it was despicable and a dirty cheat,” Gavril said.

Dain met his gaze with a flick of anger. “Aye.”

“Go on, Dain,” Sir Terent said. “Why didn’t you come to one of us, or tell Lord Odfrey?”

A knot closed Dain’s throat. He struggled a moment before he could swallow and force himself on. “I was afraid I’d be punished and sent back to Thirst with the sword. I decided to keep it hidden, and I was going to drop it in the river tonight after dark.”

“Oh, a fine tale,” Gavril said with a sneer. “And such a fine intention. You could have thrown it in the ditch yesterday if you really meant to be rid of it.”

“And have who find it?” Dain retorted. “In whose hands would you have it pass? A serf’s? A Nonkind? Who? I may have been foolish to take it, but I’m not stupid enough to throw it away for just anyone to find. That’s why I thought the river the safest place for its disposal.”

Gavril’s cheeks turned pink, and he said nothing.

One of the church soldiers nodded at Dain. “Well thought, lad. But the best thing for it is that it be broken and its spell released.”

“By an expert!” Gavril said shrilly. His dark blue eyes glared at them all. “I shall take this to Cardinal Noncire. He has men who know the best way to dispose of such an object of the darkness.”

No one protested, but Dain saw a momentary flicker of doubt cross the faces of the church soldiers. He also saw how tightly Gavril was holding that scabbard.  Obviously Tanengard’s spell was working on the prince. Dain hoped the prince would discover that he wasn’t as immune to temptation as he believed.

“As for those who wield such unlawful weapons—”

“Hold there, your highness,” Sir Terent said sharply.

“Aye,” Sir Alard echoed. “Unlawful or not, the use of this sword saved us. Dain does not claim ownership, nor is he trying to keep the sword for himself. He used it to save the lives of others. What wrong lies there?” Dain was grateful for their defense, but he did not think it would sway Gavril.  At that moment, however, Sir Damiend came striding up, stone-faced. He and the church soldiers agreed with the Thirst knights, and in the end Gavril had to defer to their judgment.

“Very well,” he said short-temperedly. “It’s settled. Let us get on with our journey.”