“Sir Alard,” he said carefully. “You are—”

“It’s too soon, too hasty,” Sir Alard muttered. “So much haste is unseemly and disrespectful. Forgive me, but I must say it.”

Now Dain understood. He paused a moment, trying to consider his words. “Yes, it is,” he agreed, and thus gained Sir Alard’s complete attention. “If this matter were already settled, I would journey home at my new father’s side, to grieve and mourn him as is the custom in Mandria.”

“You are Mandrian now,” Sir Alard said sharply, “if you are to inherit Thirst Hold.”

“Aye,” Dain agreed. “I must hold to the customs, as is proper. But I must also fulfill the promise I made to him. Would you have me break it, Sir Alard?” “Nay, I would not.”

Inspiration came to Dain. He valued this man’s intelligence and knew Sir Alard could be an invaluable ally. “Since I cannot do a son’s duty until I return, will you escort my father home, sir? Will you see that the mass is said over him? Will you see him interred next to his lady wife and Hilard, his firstborn?  Will you see that the serfs are allowed to pass him as he lies in state in the courtyard, and that each man bows to him in respect? Will you see that a mass is said also, later, for Sir Roye, who died to save him? And for these other valiant men who fell here? Will you take responsibility in my absence, making sure all is done correctly? I must trust Sir Bosquecel to retain command until I return, at which time all the knights of Thirst may choose whether to continue in my service or to hire themselves elsewhere. But Lord Odfrey himself I would entrust to no better man than you.”

Sir Alard’s face stiffened, and his eyes grew red-rimmed with emotion. He said nothing for a long moment, while his mouth compressed to a narrow line. Then he blinked and bowed his head to Dain.

“This commission will I take from you, Lord Dain. I swear I will perform these duties faithfully.”

“Thank you,” Dain said. “Let Sir Bowin ride with you to guard him homeward.” Sir Alard gave Dain a small nod and a parting look of respect before he strode away.

“Well done, Dain,” Thum said quietly.

Dain sighed and lifted the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Gods,” he muttered.

“How am I to do this?”

“One decision at a time,” Thum told him. “I ask you again, may I serve you as squire?”

Dain shook his head. “Nay, I tread too dangerously already. When my inheritance is secured, then will I seek investiture among the Thirst knights. If you still wish to serve me then, I will grant your request. But for now—” “In Thod’s name, do not send me back to Thirst!” Thum cried.  “For now, as I said before, come with me as my friend,” Dain told him.  Red-faced, Thum looked ashamed at his outburst. “Forgive me. Of course I’ll come.”

Dain gave him a good-natured punch on the shoulder. “Do you really think I would leave you behind?”

Thum grinned back in relief.

Together they hurried to mount their horses. But beside Sir Terent and Sir Polquin waited Sulein as well, mounted on his ragged donkey with his flat, square-shaped hat tied firmly to his head.

Dismay filled Dain. “No,” he said, with less tact than he meant to. “Physician, your place is with—” “Lord Odfrey has no need of me now,” Sulein said in his accented voice. His dark eyes bored into Dain as though to compel him. “You have much need of all the help you can attach to your personage.”

“No.”

“M’lord,” Sir Terent said, leaning down from his saddle, “forgive me for speaking in a blunt way, but with you about to take on legal arrangements, so to speak, it’ll be wise to have someone to read those documents for you.” Dain started to say that Thum could do the reading for him, but from the corner of his eye he saw Thum shaking his head in warning. Frustrated, Dain paid heed and thought it over. He realized they were right. He couldn’t let his dislike of the physician blind him to how useful Sulein could be.  “Very well.” The words came out grudgingly, and Sulein’s eyes flashed in annoyance. Dain knew he should take care not to make an enemy of the man, but it was hard to be tactful when he wanted to send Sulein as far away from him as he could. Biting off a sigh, Dain tried again. “Your assistance will be most appreciated, Master Sulein.”

The physician’s expression stayed cool, but he bowed and in an oily voice said, “I shall cast your horoscope tonight, Lord Dain. It might be well to begin by knowing the auspices which lie over you.”

Dain had no answer to this remark. He turned away and bade farewell to Sir Alard, who was riding alongside the wagon bearing Lord Odfrey’s body. Sir Bowin had agreed to drive it, and his horse was tied behind.  The servant Lyias climbed aboard the wagon to accompany Dain’s little party, and they loaded themselves onto the ferry. The river smelled fresh and clean, its waves lapping against the sides of the boat as they were carried along. When they reached the opposite shore and climbed out, Dain glanced back, but Sir Alard and the wagon carrying Lord Odfrey had already vanished from sight, swallowed within Ebel Forest.

Dain shivered, and he had the sudden feeling that he might never again return to upper Mandria or Thirst.

“What’s amiss?” Thum asked him.

Dain shook his premonition away. “Nothing,” he said, and busied himself with pulling the saddle girth tight.

Under the blazing sun, they turned their faces toward the south and rode for Savroix.

Alexeika flung back her long thick braid and grinned at the three young boys helping her. “That’s the last,” she said with satisfaction, and picked up a rag to wipe the blood from her hands.

It was hot today on the mountainside. The sun burned her shoulders through her coarse-woven tunic as she tossed down the rag and straightened her aching back with a sigh of relief.

They were high above the tree line, with a view that reached across the world to the mysterious Sea of Vvord. Beyond it lay the Land of the Gods, where no living man could venture. Forested valleys plunged below them, with crystalline fjords nestled like jewels at the bottom. To her right rose the jagged promontory called the Bald Giant. Its bare rock peak sported a dusting of snow today, and Alexeika knew that this late-summer weather would soon turn into the biting sting of autumn. In the back of her mind she was counting the days, thinking of all that she and the camp still had to do before taking refuge from the winter storms.

“Do you think we have enough?” Willem asked her.

She smiled at him. He was the youngest of her trio. Since the terrible massacre earlier this summer which had wiped out all the men in their camp of prime fighting age, Kexis, Vlad, and Willem had attached themselves to her like faithful burrs. Alexeika’s Guard, they were called. In exchange for their help with the myriad tasks she had to do, she taught them swordplay and battle strategy and history, all that her father had taught her.  Stair-stepped in age from twelve to fourteen, they were the oldest boys in the camp. They were also the future of the rebellion, and although the rest of the camp had voted to abandon the fight, Alexeika refused to give up her dream of freedom from the tyrant King Muncel. Someday, boys like these across Nether would grow up into young men. There would be more battles. The war would never stop until Muncel was ousted from his throne. That, she vowed on her dear father’s memory.

But for now, there were no battles to be fought. There was only survival to think of.

“Enough?” she echoed, running her gaze over the stack of pelts they had just finished skinning. “Let’s tally them again.”

The boys hurried to cut themselves new tally sticks with their knives.  Separately, they counted the pelts, frowning with concentration as they cut notches in their sticks. When they finished, they came hurrying to Alexeika.  She’d already counted the pelts herself, but she carefully examined their tally sticks and was pleased to see that their count matched her own.  “Exactly right,” she said. “Good!”

Willem and Vlad grinned with pleasure, but Kexis’s face turned red. He swung away from her quickly. “I’ll load them on the donkey,” he said, trying to make his voice sound deep and gruff. “The younglings can clean the traps.” Vlad bristled at that. Sticking out his narrow chest, he raised his fists.  “Younglings, are we? And you think you’re so much older now that this is your birthing day? Hah!”

“I am older,” Kexis told him repressively. “I don’t have to think it. No longer am I a child.”