Six years earlier…

Corec waved a serving girl over before taking a seat with the three other trainees. Before he could order, though, his friend Kevik stood.

“It’s on me this time,” Kevik said. “It’s your birthday.”

Corec nodded. “Thanks.”

Kevik ordered a round of ale while Trentin and Barat looked around, wide-eyed. It was the first time the two boys had accompanied them to the inn, Trentin being a bit too young at fourteen, while Barat had only recently come to Fort Hightower.

“Is it always so loud?” Trentin asked.

“Only when there are people here,” Kevik said, sitting down. “Looks like there’s a new girl, Corec. What’s her name?”

Corec looked where his friend was pointing, to see a young, brown-haired woman in a low-cut dress sitting on a shopkeeper’s lap. The man was pulling her dress up to show off her bare legs to his friends, while she laughed and pushed it back down.

“How would I know?”

“You’re the only one of us with enough money to see the girls here.”

Corec’s father sent him a generous allowance, and there wasn’t much else to spend it on.

“Well, she wasn’t here two weeks ago,” he said, “and I’ve been too busy at the fort to think lately, much less come here. Besides, if she’s new, she’ll be occupied with the knights and the merchants. She won’t have time for a trainee.”

“Is very busy here,” Barat agreed in his accented speech. “Northtower less busy in winter. No teaching outside when much snow.”

“Why’d you come here?” Corec asked.

“Master at Northtower say better teachers here. Say I learn more.”

“Corec, what was that bundle of things the wagon brought you yesterday?” Kevik asked.

“When I was home for Midwinter, my father had our armorer measure me again. The wagon brought the new set, along with Father’s sincere wishes that I don’t outgrow it this time.”

“A whole set of armor?” Trentin asked, impressed. “What kind?”

“Same as the last one,” Corec said, uncomfortable talking about his family’s wealth. The armor included a cuirass worn over a chain shirt and padding—extra padding, to give him some room to grow—plus greaves, vambraces, and a new helmet.

“That must have been expensive,” Trentin said. “Your armor’s a lot nicer than the brigandine we’ve got at the fort, and they don’t have any spares that fit me right.”

“My old chain shirt might work for you, if you add more padding underneath than you usually wear,” Corec said. “I can’t give you the cuirass, though. It’s got our family crest on it.”

“Really? Are you sure? Chainmail alone would be a big improvement.” Trentin seemed excited—a well-made set of chainmail could cost even more than a plate cuirass. And, like most of the trainees, Trentin was learning to fight with a shield, so he didn’t necessarily need the extra protection the cuirass would provide.

“Hey, if you outgrow the new set, too, maybe I could fit into it,” Kevik said jokingly.

Corec laughed. He’d just passed six feet tall himself, but Kevik was five inches taller and even broader across the shoulders. “Maybe if I stretch it out a bit first.”

The serving girl finally returned with a pitcher of ale and four mugs. Corec winked at her, remembering the nights they’d spent together. The prostitutes at Hightower Inn could be identified by the low-cut dresses they wore, designed to display their cleavage, but some of the serving girls could be had for the right price.

“Well, do you feel any different now that you’re sixteen?” Kevik asked as he took his first sip.

“No. Did you?”

“I don’t remember. I spent that night drunk. Now it’s your turn.”

#

Katrin waited outside the door fearfully. Unfortunately for her state of mind, she could hear the voices coming through it.

“That was her last chance,” Dallo said. “Two weeks of planning, wasted.”

“She didn’t mean to fall off the roof!” Barz said.

“You’re just lucky none of us got nicked by the constabulary. She’s fifteen years old now. If she’s not going to be one of us, then it’s time for her to start walking the streets.”

“My sister ain’t no whore!”

“You two have been taking advantage of our generosity for four years. She needs to start paying it back.”

“Let me try the bards again!” Barz pleaded. “You know she’s gifted. She could make us a lot of money!”

“You said the bardic school refused to take her because she’s a girl. She’s had enough chances, Barz, and you’re trying my patience.”

“At least let me talk to her first.”

“Fine.”

Katrin started crying.

Barz came back out the door, shutting it behind him. “Let’s go, quickly,” he whispered.

“What?” Katrin had no choice but to follow as he grabbed her wrist tightly and pulled her along.

“We’re running. They’re not happy with you. We’ve got to get you out of here.” He didn’t mention what Dallo was planning to do to her. Perhaps he didn’t realize she’d heard everything.

“Where are we going to go?”

“Do you remember Uncle Felix? He lives in Circle Bay. He’s a minstrel—maybe he can teach you to play that flute you stole.”

She stopped abruptly. “Circle Bay is six hundred miles away! And he didn’t come when Mother died.”

“Maybe he never got the letter I sent, I don’t know. I don’t have any other ideas, Katrin!” Barz tugged on her wrist and she started following him again.

The building where they lived was run by Dallo’s men, so Barz let go of her wrist and they tried to look inconspicuous as they made their way up the stairs to their room.

Once the door was closed, Katrin asked, “How are we going to get there?”

“I don’t have much money. We’ll have to walk.” Barz grabbed their rucksacks and tossed hers over. “Start packing.”

“It’s winter!”

“I know, but Circle Bay’s to the south. It’s warmer there, so it should warm up as we go. If we can make twenty miles a day, we’ll be there in a month. Maybe we can hitch a ride on a wagon sometimes.”

Twenty miles a day would be considered slow in the summer. In the winter, it might be possible if the roads stayed dry, but if it rained and the roads got muddy, they’d be lucky to make ten. She decided not to say that, though, realizing Barz was trying to sound optimistic for her sake. At least there hadn’t been much snow this winter.

Seeing her just standing there, Barz said, “Hurry up. And pack your pretty dress. If we run across a man with money, you can distract him while I pick his pocket. Maybe we can stay in inns rather than on the side of the road.”

“I can pick pockets!”

“Sometimes you can.”

She glared at him, but added her dress to the rucksack.

Finished packing, Barz peeked out their door carefully. Seeing no one on the second floor, he stepped over to the stairs and looked down. “Nobody’s looking,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Nervously, Katrin slung her bag over her shoulders and picked up her brother’s, handing it to him once she reached the stairs. Barz headed down, and she followed after him.

#

When the first bell rang, Corec struggled to wake up. His tiny room in Fort Hightower had no external light, and in any case, it was deep winter and would still be dark out. He lay in the complete blackness, trying to gather his thoughts. Five hours just wasn’t enough sleep, especially at this time of year. At least he’d ignored Kevik’s exhortations to over-imbibe, having learned his lesson the first few times they’d visited the inn.

He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and peered around to find his clothing. Just as he’d gathered his thoughts enough to wonder why there was enough light for him to see, someone pounded on the door.

“Wake up, Corec!” Kevik shouted from the other side. “You’re going to be late again!”

“I’m coming!” he called back in a panic, after noticing the pale silver light hovering above his head. It had happened before, but he’d thought he’d gotten it under control. If anyone found out…

He concentrated and managed to dismiss the light, plunging the room back into darkness, then immediately hit his shin against the edge of the writing desk when he stood up.

“Bloody hell!” he said, grimacing in pain.

He opened the door to let in some light from the hallway, finding that Kevik had already left for the morning meal. Since it would only take a few minutes to get ready, he didn’t bother lighting his lamp or a candle, and just got dressed in the half light coming through the door.

He could have called the light back, of course, but it was too risky. The Knights of Pallisur strictly forbade the use of magic by members of the order. Only the priests of Pallisur were allowed to use magic in town—not that many of them had been granted that gift.

Corec knew enough to recognize that the silvery ball of light had to be magic, but he had no idea where it came from. He was no wizard, speaking arcane words to cast spells—the light simply appeared on its own. Wizards weren’t the only people who could use magic, but other than priests, he didn’t know much about any of the others.

The ball of light had shown up for the first time a year earlier, and it wasn’t until it had appeared for the third time that he’d even been certain he was the one causing it. It had taken him two more months to learn to control it, making it appear only when he wanted—which was almost never—and disappear when he wished it to be gone. Luckily, the light usually only showed up when he was in his dark room, which he had to himself. The one time it had appeared while he was walking back from town at night, he’d been alone and was able to extinguish it before anyone saw.

If it was going to start appearing again, Corec knew he’d have to do something before he was discovered, but what? The only idea he’d had so far was to speak to a wizard, but there weren’t any nearby. The followers of the war god Pallisur held sway over most of Larso, and a wizard was unlikely to set up shop where he wasn’t wanted. Corec’s family wouldn’t help either, since they, too, followed Pallisur. He debated talking to Jesson, but his father’s cousin was only rarely at the fort, and was devoted to his faith. The only suggestion he was likely to make was to leave the order.

Corec sighed. When he’d been given the choice between becoming a knight or a priest, learning to be a knight had sounded like fun. These days, it merely seemed like the better of two bad choices.

#

Shavala heard the commotion as she left her hut. She was about to return for her bow, but then realized the noise was coming from one of the trading caravans that were permitted to enter the forest.

The northeast border camp received traders regularly, since they were on the closest route from the human city of Tyrsall. The eight camps marked the boundary up to which outsiders were allowed into the forest, though the rangers patrolled farther out to make sure any other human or stoneborn visitors didn’t try to cut down the tershaya trees without permission.

Shavala’s friend Ellisan, a ranger trainee, passed her on his way to the caravan. “I hear they brought extras this time,” he said with a grin.

The traders mostly provided flour, oats, wool, and other things Terrillia couldn't cultivate for itself in the forest. In exchange, Shavala's people would sell silk garments, finely woven rugs, and spices that only grew among the tershaya.

Sometimes the traders would bring extra trinkets and goods that weren’t part of the regular shipments. Shavala followed Ellisan to the caravan, eager to see if there was anything interesting this time. He stopped to look at some human-style clothing, but Shavala thought it was too plain looking so she continued on. She found herself in front of a young trader’s apprentice who’d set up a small table and was laying out items.

“What is this?” she asked in trade tongue, picking up a slender metal tube.

He jumped back in surprise, not having realized she was standing in front of him. Once he saw her, he stared long enough to make her uncomfortable, then shook his head and glanced down at what she held.

“That’s a spyglass, Lady Elf,” he replied.

She was annoyed at how the human boy addressed her, but she didn’t wish to tell him her name. “What is it for?”

“May I show you?” he asked, holding his hand out.

She passed it to him. He twisted the end and pulled, and suddenly, the metal tube became three metal tubes attached together, each one smaller than the last so they could fit inside each other.

“Here,” he said, handing it back to her. “If you look through the small end and point the big end away, you can see things far in the distance. It’s the same as ships’ captains use, but smaller so it’s easier to carry.”

She tried holding the spyglass in front of her face, but it took her a moment to realize she’d need to look with one eye while closing the other. Pointing it toward her hut, she saw Lele on her roof stuffing his face with an acorn. When another squirrel came up to him, he took off running, but they moved too quickly for Shavala to track them with the tube.

She didn’t have much she could trade, but she asked anyway. “What do you wish in exchange?”

“The price is one gold, Lady Elf, and a bargain at that. This kind of glass work is well worth it.”

“Metal coins? I have a metal coin.” She rummaged through the belt pouch where she kept her small valuables, and handed the trader the coin she’d been saving.

The young man looked at it in disappointment. “That’s a copper piece.”

“Is that worth more or less than gold?”

“Less. Much less. If you have four hundred of them, I can sell it to you.”

“Why would I have four hundred of them?” she asked, confused. “I only need one.”

The boy’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

“I have this shiny rock, too,” she said, handing it to him.

He looked at it, then passed both it and the coin back to her. “It’s very pretty, but I’m afraid I can’t trade you anything for it.”

“Oh,” she said, setting the spyglass back on the table in disappointment.

“Shavala!” Meritia said in Elven, walking up to them. “Are you torturing the traders again? Come along. It’s time for lessons.” The druid woman looked impatient. She was Shavala’s teacher, as well as leader of the camp.

“It’s a spyglass, Meritia!” Shavala replied in the same language. “It lets you see things far away!”

“I know what a spyglass is, girl. He’s trying to take advantage of you. You can buy one in a human city for ten silver. I’ve told you, don’t try to trade with the humans until you learn how they work.”

“Is silver worth more or less than gold?”

Meritia just shook her head and pointed back to Shavala’s hut. “Go get your bow and meet me in the western clearing.”

Five minutes later, Shavala reached the clearing, wishing Meritia had let her investigate what the rest of the traders had brought. The caravan would be gone before the lesson was over. Lele had climbed onto Shavala’s shoulder and grasped her hair for balance, chittering in her ear. Meritia was waiting for her with a quiver slung over her shoulder, holding her own bow.

“Why do we need bows?” Shavala asked. Meritia hadn’t been the one teaching her archery.

“You’ve learned what you can from the rangers, but you’re not a ranger. They’ve taught you the mechanics, but that’s not enough. When you and Ellisan were learning together, how did you do compared to him?”

“I’m as good as he is!”

“Almost, yes, but he’s twice as strong as you, and so is the draw of his bow. You’ll have to have a much better aim to be as effective. It would be cruel to shoot a deer and have it run and bleed out over hours because your arrow didn’t penetrate deeply, yes?”

“Oh.” Shavala had never considered that. She’d just been happy to keep up with Ellisan. “But not all the rangers are men.”

“That’s true, and the women among them are some of the best archers we have, because they have to be. But like I said, you’re not a ranger. You have other gifts.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take a deep breath and center yourself. Reach out and feel the ground beneath your feet, the grass growing nearby, the squirrel on your shoulder. Lele, get off her shoulder! Go over to that tree!”

Shavala grinned when the squirrel jumped down and ran away. This was starting to feel more like one of Meritia’s lessons now. Shavala reached for the elder magic, using it to extend her senses. She could feel the area around her for about ten feet, but she could reach farther if she focused on a specific direction.

“What should I do now?” she asked.

“The elder magic suffuses everything,” Meritia said. “It’s stronger in the living, but you can find it in everything around us. Can you feel the dead tree in front of you? Don’t try to cast a spell. Elder magic is about more than just spells.”

Shavala focused her attention forward. She lost her sense of the area immediately around her, but she was able to feel the tree in her mind. “Yes, I’ve got it.”

“The branch facing us, about thirty feet up. Look at it with your eyes.”

“I see it.”

“Now, close your eyes and look at it again. Can you still sense it?”

“Yes, barely. It’s far away.”

“You’ll get better with practice. Now, open your eyes. The spot below where the branch meets the trunk. You should be able to hit that with what you’ve learned from the rangers, yes?”

“I think so,” Shavala said.

“Go ahead and try.”

Shavala’s arrow flew true, and struck just below the branch.

“Good,” Meritia said. “Do you think you could do it with your eyes closed?”

“How?” Shavala asked, confused. The elder senses weren’t the same as real sight. She could tell there was a tree somewhere ahead of her, and a branch, but with her eyes closed, she couldn’t see the path the arrow would need to take.

“Sense your bow, the arrow, the air between you and the tree. Feel the wind on your face, and how much you’ll need to adjust your aim because of it. Feel your own heartbeat, and know where you are at all times in relation to everything around you. Sense the tree, the branch, the arrow that’s already up there.”

Shavala tried to reach out and feel all those things at once, but everything went blurry. She opened her eyes, then had to sit down on a large rock before she fell.

“It was too much at once,” she said. “I can feel the tree, or the bow, or myself, but not all at the same time.”

“All right. Focus on just the tree, then.”

Shavala nodded, her head starting to clear. She stood and closed her eyes, setting the arrow to the string. Drawing back, she aimed for the tree, but tried to force herself to use her elder senses rather than relying on memory. After loosing the arrow, she opened her eyes to watch where it went. She’d had the angle right, but that was only because she’d remembered it from her first shot. The rest of her aim was off, and the arrow missed the tree completely.

“We’ll practice more tomorrow,” Meritia said. “You’ll have to relearn everything, so you’ll get worse before you get better.” She stood facing Shavala, and without ever glancing at the tree to the side, she aimed her bow that way, nocked an arrow, and released it. Her shot hit just below the branch, close enough to Shavala’s first arrow to jostle it. “For now, go retrieve the arrows, and knap new heads if they need them.”

“I used metal tips,” Shavala said.

“Then see if they need sharpening. I used obsidian, so it may need a new head.”

“Yes, Meritia.”

Before Meritia left, she said, “A hundred years from now, I expect you to be able to shoot a falling leaf out of the air while blindfolded, not knowing when or where it will fall.”

A hundred years seemed like a very long time to Shavala. She was only a hundred and fourteen.

“Can you do that?” Shavala asked.

Meritia just nodded and smiled, then walked away.

Shavala would have to climb the tree to retrieve two of the arrows, so she headed in that direction. Lele joined her, always happy to climb.

#

“Next two!” Armsmaster Javin shouted at the trainees.

Corec looked at Barat and shrugged. Barat nodded and picked up his shield from where it was leaning against a bench.

The two boys went to the sparring circle, lowered their face guards, and drew their swords. More and more, Corec had found himself drawn to using a greatsword Jesson had given him, rather than the sword-and-shield style favored by the knights. A shield kept a soldier alive in battle, but he couldn’t get over his awkwardness trying to use one. The greatsword let him use his entire body to power his blows, and by using both hands, he could swing it a bit faster than someone trying to control an arming sword with one hand. With the greater speed and reach it provided, he could block or prevent most strikes. His plate armor could absorb the rest—as long as he didn’t let them hit a joint or a gap.

For his first five years at Hightower, all of the weapons training was done with wooden practice swords, but as the trainees got older, they were sometimes asked to spar with real weapons so they could feel the difference. Javin warned them not to use their full strength, but accidents happened. Kevik had been stabbed through the gut three months earlier, but one of the priests visiting the fort at the time had healing magic and was able to save him.

The trainees practiced for an hour or two each day, and after six years, Corec was pretty sure he could handle himself in an actual fight if one ever happened.

The rest of their time was spent doing chores and sitting in classes. Some of the classes were similar to what the tutors had taught back home, and he found that he was still expected to study literature, mathematics, and courtly graces. Other classes were different. Instead of farming techniques, they learned military history, tactics, and logistics. If the kingdom ever found itself in another war, the knights would be responsible for leading and managing the army, the conscripts, and the noble families’ guardsmen.

Other than his chagrin when he discovered he hadn’t managed to escape mathematics after all, Corec didn’t mind the classes. They weren’t difficult, and it gave him something to do. He liked weapons training the best, though, and grinned behind his helmet when Javin gave the order to begin.

The two boys spent ten minutes trying to spar, but Javin kept interrupting them to have them repeat moves they’d just made or try different ones. He finally let them loose to spar on their own, but by then, Corec’s head had started feeling fuzzy, and he wondered if he was coming down with something.

As the bout began, Corec realized Barat’s training at Northtower must have been good, and the two found themselves equally matched. At one point, Barat got in a good shot that bounced off Corec’s cuirass, and Corec felt something…shift in his mind. He stumbled, and found himself down on one knee.

“Is all right?” Barat asked, stopping his advance. “I do not hit too hard?”

“Keep going!” Javin shouted. “You’re in the middle of a fight. You don’t stop and talk to the enemy!”

“I’m all right.” Corec got to his feet and shook his head, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling. “Let’s start again.”

They continued the match. Barat was good with his shield, able to move it fluidly in a way Corec had never mastered, blocking any strike sent his way. He was also stronger than Corec had expected, so Corec decided the way to win was to wear out his friend’s shield arm. He was attempting to do that when Barat blocked up and left, and tried a tentative stab from the right while Corec's sword was occupied. Corec stepped back to avoid the hit but tripped over something, landing on his ass.

Barat stepped forward to end the match, thrusting his sword lightly toward Corec’s cuirass. Corec knew the sword wouldn’t hurt him, but something inside his mind didn’t. A shimmering barrier formed, curved around where he was sitting. Barat’s sword bounced off the barrier and he dropped it, shaking his wrist. The barrier disappeared and Corec felt the fuzziness in his mind fade as something shifted back to normal. Activity in the practice yard came to a halt.

“What in Pallisur’s name was that?” Javin asked.

#

Mother Ola looked up from her desk at the sound of the knock.

Her assistant, Sister Verla, was standing in the doorway. “Treya is here as you requested, Mother.”

“Thank you, Verla. Send her in and close the door, please.”

The girl in question was ushered into the office, and Ola pointed her to one of the chairs facing the desk. Treya was young, but it had been clear for years that she would be a great beauty when she grew up, with her delicate features, pale blonde hair, and startlingly blue eyes.

“Treya, child, how are you today?”

“I am well, Mother. Thank you for asking.”

An uninformative response, but at least the girl had taken her etiquette lessons to heart.

“Your teachers tell me you are doing well,” Ola said. “How are you finding your classes?”

“I enjoy them, Mother. Well, most of them. I especially like learning about history.”

“I’m glad things are going well for you. I’m sorry about the unpleasantness when we first brought you to Tyrsall.”

The child closed her mouth in a tight line and didn’t speak, apparently still angry about being transferred away from her friends at her first orphanage.

Ola tried a different tact. “I know you wished to remain in Four Roads, but Tyrsall is the largest chapter house of the Three Orders. Men of true wealth simply won’t travel to Four Roads when they’re looking for a concubine. Once you join the order, you’ll see that Tyrsall was the right choice.”

“I’m not going to join the concubines,” the girl said matter-of-factly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not going to join the concubines. I’m going to join the mystics.”

“The…mystics? Child, whatever for?” Ola couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Every indication as Treya grew up had suggested she’d be perfect as a concubine.

“I want to learn how to fight.”

“Fight?” Ola asked faintly. She came from the Order of Scholars herself, and had never been interested in any sort of physical activity.

“Yes. My parents were farmers, and they were killed by bandits. I will learn to fight, so I’ll never be helpless. Four Roads didn’t have any teachers from the Order of Mystics, but Tyrsall does. Sister Kelis has agreed to take me on as her student.”

“Child, I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for. The mystics’ training is very difficult. You would be a natural as a concubine! You’d have your choice of men across the top families in the city. You know how important the concubines are in keeping the peace.”

“All the orders do that,” Treya pointed out. “I will join the mystics.”

“You can’t do that!” Ola protested.

“Why not? The teachers always say we can join any order we wish, or none at all. If I can’t join the mystics, then I’ll leave the orphanage as soon as I come of age.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Ola said. “If you truly wish to join the Order of Mystics, that is your right. I was simply expressing that I believe you’ll come to regret it.”

The mystic training was grueling, and Ola doubted the slender wisp of a girl would make it all the way through. Treya would be allowed to change her decision at any point up till her sixteenth birthday, after which she’d be considered too old to begin concubine training and would have to make another choice. Ola would rather have the girl among the mystics than have her leave the Three Orders entirely, but when had she grown such a backbone? Ola decided to re-read the letters she’d received from Mother Yewen at Four Roads. Had she misunderstood Yewen’s hints about the child? Had her own staff simply believed that any attractive girl would choose the concubines? There had clearly been a breakdown in communication somewhere.

#

Corec finished packing his clothing, then took stock of the situation. He had his horse, his armor, and his sword, and had saved a fair bit of the allowance his father had been sending him. He’d need to buy food and travel supplies, and then figure out a way to pack it all into Max’s saddlebags. All in all, things weren’t as bad as they could have been. At least he wasn’t locked in a cell anymore, as he had been for the first two days after the incident.

Jesson burst into his room. “What the hell is going on? I just got back into town, and everyone’s saying you’ve been kicked out of the order for practicing dark magic!”

“It’s not dark magic! I tried to tell the tribunal that, but they wouldn’t listen. It’s not like I wanted to do it.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t know how to stop it. It just makes light when it’s dark, and it blocked a sword from hitting me while I was sparring. That’s all!”

“Knights of Pallisur aren’t allowed to use magic!” Jesson said, stating the obvious.

Corec pointed to his packed bags.

“No,” Jesson said, “I mean the rule is that you can’t use magic. As long as you pledge to not do it again, they should allow you to stay. We just need a real tribunal.”

“What do you mean, a real tribunal?”

“You know as well as anyone that there are priests, and then there are priests. Javin told me the names on the tribunal—not one of them is blessed by Pallisur. Tibon and his lot are all administrators and sycophants. We need a new tribunal headed up by a real priest. You’ll make your pledge to them, and then you can stay.”

“What, and have the rest of the priests hate me for as long as I’m here?” Corec asked. “Besides, none of the blessed are in town, and I told you, I can’t stop the magic, so the pledge would be a lie.” He’d made his peace with leaving, and didn’t want to draw things out.

“Have you tried stopping?”

“Yes!”

Jesson sighed. “Are you going home, then?”

“For a visit, but Father follows the same rules as the order, so I’m not going to stay.” In truth, he wasn’t planning to return home at all, not wanting to deal with his father’s disappointment, but he didn’t want to argue with Jesson about it. In any case, the trip home through the mountains was unpleasant in the winter, and he’d just been there a month earlier for the Midwinter celebrations. Visiting his family could wait.

“What are you planning to do after that?” Jesson asked.

“East, I think, away from Larso. The free lands, or maybe farther. I can find work as a guardsman or something.”

“Talk to your father first. He may have some ideas. The coastal cities don’t look to Pallisur much. You could go there rather than leaving the kingdom.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well,” Jesson said, eyeing the bags, “it looks like you’re leaving now?”

“The tribunal wants me gone by sundown.”

“I’ll walk you out of town. And if you’re interested, on my last trip, I ended up with an extra pack mule I don’t need. I haven’t figured out a name for him yet, though.”