The night was opaque, and we walked in single file near the amuban border. In the darkness, we had to wind our way between the rocks and the thick sheets of flowering heather that adorned the hillsides. During the afternoon, the sun had glinted off the sinuous Silts and their placid course. There were great marshes to the south, floodplains and bogs, and the light had reflected the still reverberation of the water. Here, in the heights, the river was a living thing that roared over beds of pebbles, its wrath fed by melting snow. The progression was slower, more difficult, but we had chosen the animal and shepherd's paths to the clay of the main road. It had been four days that we had been walking along the broken slopes of the Thorns to avoid descending more than we had to, watching for the lights of the valley's villages, dodging the rare herds, wary and wild like the fugitives that we were. I calculated that the kid I had left alive might by now have warned a courier about the massacre, and that it would not take long for this news to reach the hillian front. We had a handful of days left to find a waddan patrol in the disputed land near Rost without being unmasked by the enemy.

I was leading the way, with the counsellor Goodarm in the middle and Aiden behind us. The latter was dragging a saddlebag across his broad shoulders. In four days he hadn't complained once. I tried to spare the two men, especially Connor, who had cracked several ribs when they had been caught by the hillian cavalry. It had been a big deal, from what they told me, several thousand soldiers under the command of Nawd Corju himself. The two armies had maneuvered for days before finally agreeing to fight, and Connor thought that Wadd had the upper hand, but I didn't know how much credibility to give to that judgment. The red-faced aristocrat was a tough guy. Even though every step made his jaw clench, he displayed an obtuse tenacity that I couldn't help but find admirable. Still, he was chauvinistic and rigid, and we didn't like each other. If he didn't question my directives, each of our exchanges was the object of an uncompromising verbal fencing, because the situation didn't improve my mood, nor his. We were going to have to join the plain and its dangers during the night, we knew it, and that didn't please anybody. The lights of Bellbridge, the border village, shone dimly five or six miles to our left. I wanted to go back down along the meanders of one of the Silts, and get behind the fortified posts on the west side to try to see which side was holding them. The last I heard, Hill was in control, since the Furk coterie had passed by the main road before turning off toward the mountains. I didn't think that would have changed in the meantime, but one could always hope.

We took a final break on the steep foothills to get some food before heading downhill. Connor was nervous, but Aiden trusted me completely, and his glistening eyes often looked for mine. I was just beginning to understand that I had unintentionally accomplished a feat on the cliff road. I had expected inner torture after the killing, but I was wrong. The pit had scoured the superfluous corners of my soul, and if there had indeed been nightmares, they had referred more to my own terror at the numbers and incomprehension of being attacked for nothing, than to the moral dilemma of taking life. My thinking had become more subtle during the carnivorous years in Ifos. I was done with most of the philosophical generalizations that had tormented me in my youth. Now it seemed to me that not all deaths were equal. Killing was no longer just a gesture, because my actions were dictated by the circumstances that triggered them. Killing could make me a savior, even a protector. This idea filled me with a frightening ferocity when I thought of Brindy at the same time. There was nothing I didn't feel ready to do to find her.

"We'll have to be careful later on," I told them while chewing. I didn't think this clarification was necessary, but I wanted to break the silence that had settled between us since nightfall. "If there are patrols coming up here, they'll probably stay near the water." Aiden nodded. A three-day beard was beginning to take over his square jaw and his face was streaked with sweat and dirt, which would help us for what was coming. "Is this the first time you've done something like this, Fyss?" he asked me cheerfully. I smirked. I found it hard not to like Aiden, even if I sometimes found him insufferably ignorant, which I blamed on castle life. He was strong-willed and good-natured, and he was passionate about the few bits of my story that I was willing to let him in on. He was easy-going, and not so tightly bound by tradition, rank or status. For this reason, because he didn't look at me as a lousy vagabond, I sometimes sought his approval. Strangely enough, it seemed to me that sometimes he also sought mine. To tell the truth, I liked impressing him almost as much as I liked offending Connor.

"Since I was ten years old, there has been a bounty on my head because of Brown-Horn and the League of Franlake," I said, speaking darkly. "Twice I escaped the rope, then the blade of an assassin. A little more than a year ago, I escaped from a carmian mine. If there's anything I know how to do, it's to go unnoticed." I refrained from saying more, because, even if it were the truth, I owed none of these accomplishments to myself. Connor snorted his disapproval and muttered into his beard, but Aiden's smile widened, "My father could use men like you. It's a shame your road doesn't lead to Wadd."

I ran my tongue over my teeth and straightened up, bragging some more. "I once served your father. It was during the first Ac-Pass campaign." Connor spat out his disbelief, and I readily admit that in his place I would hardly have believed it either. "I was twelve years old," I said. "I was the yunling of a val-warrior named Ulrick Treikuss. "You've had a pretty busy life for a youngster," Connor Goodarm quipped. I squinted. "That youngster killed four men in mail on the cliff road. And it wasn't the first ones," I said, looking down on him. Connor was silent, because he had seen it with his own eyes and could not argue with it. I rolled my shoulders and stuck a piece of dried meat in my cheek. Aiden hoisted the saddlebags, and we left the foothills for good.

When we had buried the armors in the forest, under a large red-trunked fir tree, I had distributed my weapons to the others in order to polish the story I intended to tell the Hillians, should we cross their path. In addition to the food, Aiden carried the front-runner's shield, and my studded club hung from his belt. I had given my dagger and walking stick to Connor, and kept the crossbow and bolts. My two companions were dressed in the gambesons they had been wearing under their mail. I had hesitated to steal another from the dead for my own use, but my carmian doublet would do the trick better, if I had to pretend to be a foreign mercenary. I had taken great care to rub Aiden's and Connor's coats with handfuls of dirt, and I had also poured a few drops of wine on them, because they looked too new, a creamy white that contrasted too much with the encrusted grime of the infantry's padded armor. We were three errant henchmen, or at least that was the story we intended to tell if we ever got caught.

The gurgling of the water accompanied us to the road. At the beginning we often had to go around small wooded ravines, but soon the path became easier and the ground more flat. The rock was replaced by mud. There were whole fields of bristly rushes rustling in the night air, and the croaking of frogs soon covered the sound of our footsteps. It was a moonless night, and we were constantly watching for signs of human activity, the outlines of huts and farms that appeared unexpectedly here and there. Fortunately, we didn't meet anyone. The fires of the border village were going out one after the other, but there were some torches on the bridge and their reflection flickered on the black wave. The river had widened over the hours, until it was too deep for us to consider crossing in case of trouble, but I had expected this. Weary, we stopped about a hundred spans from the village, to crouch in a wet, reed-lined field. Ahead, on either side of a bridge rose two broad, squashed towers, and between them the dark stone arches swallowed the lapping water.

It was quiet on the bridge, which wasn't surprising at this time of night. I quickly put down my haversack and my things. "I'll take a closer look," I whispered. "There must be a banner on the tower." Connor laid a hand on my shoulder. "I think I should go," he said, without looking at me. I stared at him in disgust and Aiden sputtered. "Come on Connor, this is ridiculous, you've got sunken ribs." "Counselor Goodarm doesn't trust me," I said to Aiden before his liege-man could reply. "You should go yourself, if it makes him happy. I don't think there's much of a risk for you. Stay under cover while you can. Don't get too close, and come back quickly." Wadd's heir hesitated, surprised that the task was now his responsibility, but he put down the saddlebags without a word and slipped away in the direction of the passage. I crouched down in the rushes, and we waited in the din of the croaking.

Connor was kind enough not to justify himself, nor did he try to make conversation. His suspicion angered me, though I understood it and would probably have done the same, had the roles been reversed. Crouching in the mire with a suspicious aristocrat and the frogs making a hell of a fuss, I admit I wondered what was going through my mind. I thought about Brindy and suddenly found myself a fool for taking so many risks for two men I didn't know, one of whom didn't like me and the other who had only a charming smile and a more endearing personality than his fellows. I wondered what she could be doing at that moment - she was probably sleeping - and my mind wandered dangerously. I had to pull myself back together to keep from hurting myself. My life was curious, I thought, and it seemed to me that I had never decided anything. The world had always played with me and tonight was no exception. I stirred in search of a clump of rushes to put my feet on. Tespiné, the Ceras said, but perhaps all men are like that, and most are too ordinary or wise not to give it much thought.

Aiden came back, bent in half with a puzzled look on his face. He was wider than I was, taller too, with the heavy bone structure of the High-Brown, and he couldn't move quietly. I wouldn't have accepted him as my replacement, if it hadn't been for the racket of the amphibians and a line of low walls just off the road. "I didn't see anyone on this side. There are no banners. The tower door is open to the winds. Even the thatched cottages looked empty to me," he gasped. "I don't understand." Connor snorted, "That can only mean one thing, my lord. Rost hasn't taken over the border post, but if the hillians have retreated, it means they don't think they have enough men to hold it, and that's a good sign for us." I nodded. "For once, I agree with Connor," I said. " Well, anything can happen," hissed the counselor in a sour voice. "My lord, here's what I suggest for the next step. There are some hills west of here, where I once hunted with your father. Rost is somewhere behind. We should try to sneak through by traveling by night and sleeping by day."

I shook my head. "That's a bad idea. The area will be crawling with scouts and small bands busy with resupplying. I think it would be better to stick to the road, or at least not stray too far from it." Aiden sighed, "Your agreement didn't last long, and I don't know enough about it to make a decision. Why do you think the road will be better?" "You told me we're two days from Rost," I replied. "The hills will delay us further, perhaps enough for people to start looking for us. No matter what side of the road we're on, if someone finds us snooping around, we may have to fight. On the road, if we look like we know where we're going, they'll probably come and talk to us before giving us the iron. If it's the Waddans who find us, all the better. If it's the Hillians, we can always fool them. The canton's in disorder, it's from this that we must take advantage." I was merely restating the knowledge of the Vals, the lessons I had learned from my time with Ofrid's vaïdoerk and my all-too-short training as a hobblar, but I had done so in a confident voice, as if it were my own idea, because I enjoyed contradicting the counselor after the treatment he had given me.

Aiden turned to Connor, who was yawning and wincing in pain. "Maybe," the latter finally conceded. "But I don't like it. Either way, he ends up a winner." I spat into the peat. "In what way?" I asked laconically. "Well, if it's our men who find us, you'll be a hero. If it's Hill, you'll have plenty of time to sell us out." Aiden intervened before me. "I don't think Fyss wants to sell us out, Connor. He wouldn't have freed us if he did." "He didn't know who we were when he untied us," the counselor grumbled. I bit my tongue to remain polite and sighed loudly. "If you want to go your own way, you have my blessing," I muttered. "No one has any reason to bother me if I'm alone, and I wouldn't have to put up with the contempt of a man for whom I'm putting myself in danger while he spends his time pissing me off." This had the advantage of shutting the counselor's mouth, and Aiden straightened up. "I agree with taking the road. I think we should get started right away," he said, hoisting the saddlebags. Connor grumbled, but followed suit, and we traded the riverbank for worn pavement.

An hour later, fatigue set in for good. With shaky feet, we went in search of a shelter to rest. We went around the first hut that came along, because we could hear dogs howling there, and if we were to meet their masters, I would prefer it to be during the day. A little further on, close to the road, there was a well and three shacks. The first had burned to the ground, and the thatch of the second had also been scorched and half consumed by the flames. The last one seemed intact, but abandoned. I pushed the door open cautiously. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Inside, what was left of the furniture had been devastated, the table had been straightened in a corner, but there was no one there and the hearth was cold. A ladder allowed us to climb under the thatch, to a cramped attic made of floating boards. I pulled the ladder up with us, and we stepped on it in the dark, cursing and swearing, while we set up our beddings. Connor and Aiden had retrieved the thick blankets from the dead. I had been tempted to do the same, but they were impregnated with the smell of the men I had killed, and I figured I'd sleep better in mine, even though they were moth-eaten. Outside, the concert of croaks had been replaced by the mournful clamor of the dogs.

The counselor was tossing and turning in his sleep because of the pain in his ribs. I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. The smell of burning thatch was still in my nostrils and I was filled with apprehension and the memory of other fires. "What's this thing you want that I can't help you get?" Aiden's voice was surprisingly clear, even as he whispered. "What?" I mumbled, my mouth pasty. "When we met, you said you were looking for something I couldn't help you get. I've been thinking about it ever since." I stirred between my warm woolen layers, searching for words that didn't seem futile. I was tempted to say "a woman," but that wasn't quite right. "Forgiveness," I finally said slowly. "I abandoned someone a long time ago, against my will. I want to fix that." He had a moment of silence, then Aiden said to me, "I don't understand you at all, Fyss, but I appreciate you, and I appreciate what you do for us. If you ever need a refuge from your enemies, the doors of Wadd will be open to you." I pondered these words as the young nobleman's breath slowed down.

When I closed my eyes, I was seized by a restless sleep that didn't last very long. In the dark, Aiden shook me gently. I stirred, disoriented. Connor had propped himself up on his elbows, despite the agony he must have endured in that position. "Hush," he whispered. I tried listening. "There are horses outside," Aiden said. I heard the voices, the snorting, the clatter of boots and hooves, the moaning of a wounded man. My hand strayed toward the crossbow, but I didn't have time to grab it, because already downstairs the door was swinging open. The crackling glow of a torch lit up the shack. The three of us went to lay down quickly, our noses buried in the blankets. Men were coming in. "Someone light this fire," a rough voice said as the silence was driven out by coughing, sniffling, and the scrape of boots on the packed earth. "You people make room here so we can get some shut-eye." With my heart pounding, I pressed myself against the gap in the planks, trying to get a better look. There were seven or eight soldiers, shaggy and tired. The one who spoke had his back to me and was dressed in a sergeant's tabard. The torch he carried flickered, revealing the faded outline of Hill's tower.