“But—”

He gripped her shoulder, forcing her to move. “Well, come on! We’ve done all we can here. Let us get what rest we can before daybreak.” Alexeika had the uneasy feeling that Faldain was rushing ahead too heedlessly and that there was something he’d overlooked, but she was too tired to think of what it might be. “What of the Chalice?” she asked again. “It will wait.” She stared at him, seeing the battle light in his eyes, and wondered if this place was not somehow affecting him. “But you said the Chalice should be returned to Nether first, before you sought your throne.” “And you argued the opposite just a day ago,” he countered. “What’s come over you, Alexeika? Where is my warrior-maiden?”

Unsure how to answer him, she asked another question instead. “And if Thum cannot ride?”

“He’s better. I checked on him not two hours past,” Faldain said blithely. She had never before seen him in such high spirits. “The dwarves have tended him well. He’ll ride, all right.”

“Well, what of—”

“Oh, hush,” he said. “Let us go!”

He strode away briskly. Alexeika picked her way after him much more slowly.  Treading over the bones unnerved her, for she felt as though she was desecrating them. She couldn’t help but think of that mountain valley up near the World’s Rim where her father’s bones lay unburied in the winter grass.  What would the general say about Faldain’s sudden charge to battle? She could not guess. Faldain’s eagerness to fight was exactly what she’d hoped for all along, yet it worried her. Because despite the high principles he’d spouted yesterday, Faldain was still thinking of Lady Pheresa first. Although she wanted Muncel defeated, Alexeika wished Faldain would fight for a reason other than his Mandrian lady.

But, alas, the maiden was beautiful indeed, even with her slender face drawn from illness. Graceful and completely feminine, her reddish-gold hair bright about her face, Pheresa was everything Alexeika would never be.  Tripping over a skull, which went rolling away from her foot with a clatter, Alexeika faced the fact that she’d lost her only chance of winning his heart.  Oh, if only the vision had shown Pheresa dead instead of alive and well.  But as soon as she thought that, Alexeika felt ashamed of herself. If he wanted Pheresa, then he would have Pheresa. Alexeika vowed to wish no more harm against the lady.

Her heart ached, and she felt eaten alive inside.

She thought of victory in Grov and how Pheresa would have his love. His eyes would go to her first, before any other. His voice would soften for her alone.  His hand would take her slender one and hold it. His embrace would hold her safe.

Alexeika’s tears burned past her control. When she reached the edge of the Field of Skulls, she ducked into the pine forest and halted, gripping a fragrant, low-hanging bough to hold herself up. Faldain strode on ahead of her, heedless that she’d fallen so far behind. She wished he would at least glance back. Dear Thod, husband of Riva, she prayed, please let him see me as a woman just once.  Just once.

She sank to her knees in the pine needles, wrapped her arms tightly about herself, and wept.

Three mornings later, Dain waited impatiently outside Alexeika’s tent, stamping his feet against the cold and hugging himself beneath his cloak. He did not understand what was taking her so long. Usually she was up and going at daybreak. But while they’d been staying here in the dwarf camp, she’d acted subdued and unlike herself. Perhaps she was simply very tired from all the ordeals they’d endured. Still, they were rested now and well-fed, thanks to the generous hospitality of the dwarves. At times Dain couldn’t help but compare the dwarves’ treatment of them to that of the eldin, his actual kinfolk. Of course, the kindness was due to Dain’s guardian Jorb having been Cardo’s cousin. Last night, round the fire, Dain and the clan leader had talked late.  “War is a bad thing,” Cardo had said solemnly. “Because of clan war, Jorb’s artistry has been forever lost.”

Dain frowned at the crackling fire, turning over old memories of grief and hatred. He remembered the day when he’d led Lord Odfrey’s men against the dwarves who’d killed Jorb and Thia. Revenge had been exacted that day, but it did not bring his family back.

He sighed. “Sometimes war is necessary, whether we want it or not.” Cardo nodded. His gray beard hung down his chest, marking his great age. “All the news of late is war talk. Man-war. Mandria has taken arms, it is said.” “Against Nether?”

Cardo shrugged. “Oth be thanked, not against Nold.” Troubled, Dain squinted at the crackling fire. He knew Muncel had taken Gavril and Pheresa hostage before handing over their church soldiers and priests to Gant. Small wonder even a man as peace-loving as King Verence had been provoked to war.

Of course, Verence’s ire was all to Dain’s advantage. Perhaps he would be able to join forces with the Mandrian king against Muncel.  It was time to fight, Dain told himself with resolve. Ever since the night he’d walked the Field of Skulls, he’d felt a growing sense of urgency. The only reason he was not already on his road was Thum, who’d needed more time for mending than Dain had anticipated. He would not leave his friend behind.  “Aye, war,” Cardo repeated gloomily, sipping from his cup. His square face, leathered and wrinkled like a piece of dried-out wood, was thrown partially into shadow by the firelight. “I hear the rebels are rising again in Nether. Sanfor’s family have talked of nothing but that since they first arrived for this gathering. They’ve been delivering goods to Count Votnikt’s hold for years, but this time there were king’s soldiers crawling everywhere, ready to think Sanfor a spy for the rebels.” Dain half-smiled. “Isn’t he?”

“Aye, of course!” Cardo replied with a hearty laugh. “He’s built up a great treasure for his burrow over the years, trading information for gold.” “ ‘Tis late in the year for armies to march,” Dain remarked.  “It’s fight or let Gant rule us all,” Cardo said. “I will share a secret with you, because once you were Jorb’s boy. This week, the clan elders have discussed uniting all the dwarf clans together to keep Nold strong against Gant. We fear those devils will turn against us too. Our sages warn us of terrible trouble in the future.”

“Take heed of such warnings,” Dain said, his voice low and serious. “The Chief Believer means to consume every kingdom he can. He would have used me for the purpose, had I not escaped.”

“The gods were kind to you.”

“Aye,” Dain said worriedly, “but I fear that in my flight, I have provoked the Gantese into full-scale war.”

Cardo shrugged. “If there must be war, then let it be fought with hearts brave and true. And let it be fought hard and fierce, with no holding back.” “Aye,” Dain agreed with a nod. “No holding back.”

Now he stood outside Alexeika’s tent in the crisp morning air, blowing on his hands to keep them warm, and wished she would hurry. There was much to be done before they could leave. He was anxious to get at it.

Maug, the yellow-eyed dwarf who’d first brought Alexeika and Thum here from the river, came by with a bundle on his shoulder. He squinted up at Dain. “You will not wait one more day and share the final ceremonies?” he asked in his gruff way.

Dain shook his head. “I respect them, but they are not for me.”

Maug grunted in satisfaction. “You understand our ways well.”

“Have you brought it?” Dain asked.

Maug shifted the bundle off his shoulder and held it in his arms as though it was heavy. “All here. My brother thanks you for the purchase, but he says the sizing—” “Never mind that,” Dain broke in impatiently. He handed Maug the gold pieces they’d agreed on earlier in sharp bargaining, and shook the tent flap.  “Alexeika, come! Hurry!”

The flap twitched aside, and she stepped out. Garbed in her red mail hauberk, she wore her hair braided for battle. From head to toe, she was clean and polished. Even the tears in her cloak had been mended, and Dain could smell the honing oil she’d used on her sword and daggers. He’d seen her yesterday bargaining for whetstone and oil from one of the swordmakers. Apparently she’d been able to strike a deal, and she must have been up half the night taking care of her gear. The dark smudges beneath her stormy eyes confirmed his guess.  With a smile of greeting, Dain gestured for her to take the bundle from Maug.

When she did so, she looked startled by its weight.

“Too heavy?” Dain asked.

At once her head snapped up, and her mouth tightened with determination. “Nay, sire.”

Amused, he let her shoulder the burden and led her across the camp to one of the forges. The sun had not yet risen above the treetops. Light filtered into the clearing in lateral beams, dancing golden among the pines. The air was very cold and still, with scents of the forest overlaying the smells of the camp.  Old memories of dwarf mead, of burrows fragrant with soil, moss, and live wood filled Dain’s mind. His childhood had been secure and happy, busy with chores, and always marked by the steady plinking of Jorb’s hammer in the background.  Stopping at one of the portable forges now, its fire still banked in ashes, and the anvil cold and idle at present, Dain glanced back at Alexeika as she trudged up beside him. She was puffing a little with exertion, her breath misting white.  Puzzlement filled her eyes, but Dain only smiled and swung around to face the dwarf who appeared.

“A well morn to you,” he said cheerfully.

This dwarf looked secretive and unfriendly, the way many of the armorers were.  Dwelling too much with fire and metal, they sometimes lost the ease of dealing with other folk.

“You pay,” he said sharply.

“You hand over the goods,” Dain replied with equal sharpness.

Distrust puckered the dwarf’s bearded face. “Show me your coin.” Dain fished out his last gold dreit and held it up in his fingers so that it glinted in the rosy sunlight.

Greed filled the dwarf’s eyes. He produced the sword he had wrapped up in an old cloth, then shook open the folds to reveal a splendid weapon with a hilt wrapped in silver wire and beautiful carvings down the scabbard.  Behind Dain, Alexeika gasped. “How beautiful.” Scowling at her, the dwarf wrapped the sword up hastily as though fearful she would grab it. Clutching it tightly, he handed over a smaller bundle to Dain.

Dain glanced inside, nodded, and tucked it into his pocket. Then he held out the coin. The armorer held out the sword. They exchanged goods and money at the same time, then stepped back from each other.

The dwarf bit the coin and examined it with a grunt of satisfaction before hurrying away.

“What is all this?” Alexeika asked. “Have you need of another sword?”

“At present, aye,” Dain replied, and grinned at her, refusing to say more.

“Come.”

They went to the far edge of camp, stirring now as folk roused themselves and began to light fires under the cooking pots. Located well away from the dwarves’ ponies and cross-tethered inside a flimsy pen of wattle, the darsteed snorted at their approach, watching them with its fierce red eyes. Its mind reached out to Dain’s: Food/food/food/food! He took a half-frozen, unskinned hare from a pouch hanging in a nearby tree and tossed it at the darsteed. One lunging snap and the hare vanished down the darsteed’s throat. Immediately the beast trained its fierce gaze on Dain again.

Dain laid aside the wrapped sword he’d just purchased and tossed another hare.  Although hampered by its tethers, the darsteed managed to catch it. One gulp, and it was gone. “It’s showing better appetite,” Alexeika said.  Dain nodded as he busily eyed the darsteed for other signs of improving health.  No flames as yet burned in its nostrils, but the patches of missing hide which had peeled off after its immersion in water had scabbed over and were already healing. Stamping and lashing its barbed tail, the darsteed tugged impatiently at its tethers.

“Aye, it’ll do,” he said in approval. “Another day and this flimsy pen won’t hold it. Time to travel.”

“Can it carry the three of us again?” she asked.

“Nay. I won’t ask that of it.”