Alexeika sighed in obvious relief. “Thank the—”

“If she were nearby, I would try something . . . anything,” he said raggedly, clenching and unclenching his fists. “But surely she’s in Grov by now.” “Grov!”

“Aye. Unless she died on the journey.” Dain tipped back his head and blinked fiercely in an effort to control himself. He wanted to yell, to draw his sword and cleave something in twain. He wanted to trample, to destroy, to run with the wind until he could feel nothing at all.

“Your majesty cannot go to Grov!” Alexeika said in alarm.  “I know. My uncle’s men would cut me down. No, Alexeika, I’m turning west to find the Agyas. It’s time for war.”

She made a soft little cry in the back of her throat and suddenly dropped to her knees in the snow before him, clutching the hem of his hauberk. “At last,” she murmured, her voice raw with emotions he did not want to witness. “At last! Oh—” He gripped her shoulders, and gave her a rough shake. “On your feet. There’s nothing to rejoice about.”

“But there is!”

“No, Alexeika.” He sighed harshly in the darkness. “Come, let us get back to the others.”

Just as he slid his foot into the stirrup to mount his horse, a peculiar feeling swept him, rendering him dizzy and suddenly weak. Letting his foot drop back to the ground, he closed his eyes and leaned against Soleil’s reassuring bulk. A terrible coldness suffused him, starting at the top of his head and descending through his body. He felt as though his very life was sinking into the ground with it. He could feel his heart slowing, his energy draining away until there was nothing . . . nothing . . .

“Dain!”

A rattling thump jolted his bones and brought him back from the icy darkness of nowhere.

Opening his eyes with a wince, Dain found himself lying on the ground, which was very cold and hard beneath him. He blinked, momentarily dazzled by the orange flames of a campfire. Thum knelt over him, gripping the front of his surcoat with both fists.

“Dain!” he shouted again with more urgency than before.

“Easy, lad,” Sir Terent’s voice said. “He’s coming around.” Dain tried to lift his hand to his head. He felt dizzy and strange. Nothing looked right to him. He could not figure out what had happened.  “Here, Terent, lift him while I put this blanket under him.”

“Aye, Alard. Here, Thum, move out of the way. You’re of no help lifting.” Thum vanished, and Dain felt himself lifted and set down again. The ground still felt cold beneath him.

Frowning, he gazed up into Sir Terent’s worried face. His head dawdled like an infant’s, and he had to concentrate to hold it steady. “What happened to me?” Sir Terent pressed a callused hand to his cheek and smiled. “Ah, now, that’s what we’d like to know. That lass came riding into camp here like a wild woman, with you draped unconscious over the saddle. She said you were hale and hearty and talking to her one minute, and the next you fainted flat on the ground.” “Oh.” Dain’s frown deepened. He tried to remember and couldn’t. “Is that what—” “As for me,” Sir Terent said grimly, “I’m wondering what those queer eldin did to you. What kind of spell did they cast on you, eh?”

“Move back!” another voice said before Dain could answer.  Alexeika rushed up to elbow Sir Terent aside. She lifted Dain’s head and pressed a bark cup of water to his lips. “Drink this.”

Realizing he was thirsty, Dain gulped down the icy cold liquid with gratitude.  His weakness was wearing off now. He pushed her hands aside and sat up, thrusting against Sir Terent’s attempt to press him back down.  “I’m well, sir,” he said sharply, and glanced around.

The camp lay in a tiny clearing banked with snowdrifts beneath the laden branches of pine and fir. A fire was crackling briskly, casting out enough warmth to hold back the night’s raw cold. Hare carcasses, long since roasted and stripped to the bones, lay atop a flat stone by the flames. Dain could smell the lingering aroma of roasted meat, and his mouth watered.  “Is aught left for me to eat?”

Sir Terent chuckled and clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Aye, that there is.  Now I know you’re well again. Here, Alard! Hand over that morsel of hare we saved back.”

Sir Terent’s idea of a morsel was the entire haunch. But clearly they’d all eaten while he was unconscious, so Dain took it and ate it hungrily.  While he did so, they gathered round and stared at him with blatant concern.  “I like this not,” Sir Terent said finally when Dain was snapping the bones and sucking marrow from them. “You faltered at Thirst and did act most strange. Now you’ve swooned. Perhaps it’s some illness and—” “No,” Dain said with a frown, tossing the bones into the fire and wiping his greasy fingers. “I have been thinking about this, for it’s passing strange.”