The warm Dow Serin shot felt good over Falan’s shoulders. They would eat the horses only if they absolutely had to. He was sure they would eat the meat raw that night. When they came upon camp—what they were calling a camp—Falan’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw the crackling fire at the base of a tall pine sheltering Leisa and her mistress from the snow on the ground.

He had almost forgotten the lady mage.

Smiling to himself, he thought about filling his belly with hot meat. Gorkis managed a small handful of frozen berries. Brassen returned empty handed. Jasen seemed relieved they were not eating horse.

All we need is a tent, he thought.

After everyone had eaten their fill—Sorela and Leisa ate more the Falan had ever seen women manage—he gave the two of them his and Serin’s bedrolls. The mage accepted gracefully. Brassen grumbling something about not being smart enough to steel some supplied before escaping. He still wore his fur-trimmed cloak, though. The man had less to complain about than he or Serin did.

The men-at-arms who hadn’t died or were executed were there with them. They too ate, and even all of them together—eleven in total—could not finish the meal. Good. They would have more for later.

“We are nearly there,” Lady Casen said, crossing her legs on Falan’s unrolled bedding. “I must find out what happened to Lord Warfink’s son. As soon as I—“She eyed everyone staring at her.

So that was her quest?

Falan had wondered, but did not suspect Lord Warfink’s son had gone missing. It made sense now.

The lady mage continued. “I will attempt to find out what happened to him, and as soon as I do, we will make our way back to Castle Warfink in Nalandor, provided the boy is not within expedient reach. As much as I want to find him, we are unprepared now.”

“What about our gold?” Brassen growled.

The mage eyed the fur cloaked man with a look of distaste. Wether it was due to the fact she thought him a barbarian or his want to talk of coin, Falan didn’t know. “I have already given you partial payment,” she said. “You will receive the rest.”

“Those bloody Nelothans stole it!”

“That is not my concern, Master Brassen,” the mage replied coolly.

The mage’s journey was nearly finished. She would discover her query dead and then they would get the rest of their gold.

And then Valamor...

Falan entertained the thought of possibly purchasing a plot of land once more. It was a long decline from lordship. He would survive. At least he had not lost his partial payment like Brassen. The scoundrel should be grateful he was still alive.

Without adequate shelter, much less a warm bed, Falan never slept. Under normal circumstances they would have all died of exposure—even with that fire and sleeping with the horses. But Falan had figured out the trick. When he had opened his eyes he found the lady mage drawing colorful symbols into thin air. Whatever she did, it kept them from freezing to death.

Falan had never seen magic before. He had heard of it often enough, being a Lord, but he had never seen it for himself... until last night. He was quite impressed to see a mage use her craft and wondered at the sort of evil one could divise with such unnatural powers.

It was time to get up and get going. They didn’t have far to go to reach the border—where the boy had gone missing.