Leisa slept better than she had in days, though she still missed her bed in castle Warfink. That morning—at least she thought it was morning, there was no way to tell—they ate dried meat and some kind of flaky bread around the pit fire in the center of the main room.

Naikal put an iron pot of dark liquid over the fire. The pot didn’t look like something made by the Hansa, more like a piece they might have scavenged from a human village. After the liquid was heated, she poured it into small deep-set clay bowls, handing one to each of them. The tea was bitter with a slight hint of sweet. Fortunately it wasn’t strong enough to make Leisa wince.

The Hansa gibbered in their own language, occasionally eyeing them as they spoke. Are they talking about us? Leisa wondered.

Naikal spoke with her father while Halgn shook his head.

Were Naikal and her father the only two who could speak common? The other Hansa never uttered a word outside of... Sorela called it Hanish?

Sorela sipped her tea, turned to Falan. In a low, casual tone, she said, “I want to know why they call you oath breaker, Lord Falan.”

Falan tried to hide his surprise, but Leisa saw his eyes narrow slightly. Serin leaned in, watched them. Fortunately Leisa was sitting directly beside Lady Casen and could hear everything.

Annoyingly loud, Brassen argued with one of the Hansa women because she evidentially refused to give him more to eat. He grunted sullenly, then crossed his arms. Leisa heard him mutter something about “damned savages” to Gorkis and the other man, broad as a tree stump on the shoulders, nodded.

Falan leaned in closer to the lady mage. “It was when Lord Nightkar ordered a second season of tax collecting to help fund the hiring of a larger army for the sea crossing to the Dar’nithie islands.”

Leisa imagined Falan in battle against the non-humans. She didn’t know what they looked like, so she imagined them like the Hansa, except with more clothes, standing and fighting on a rocky beach, icebergs floating around them while soldiers poured off ships into boats, reinforcing the battle. It probably didn’t look anything close to what she was imagining in her mind.

Falan continued. “Most the common folk would go hungry during the winter after a second collection.”

Sorela casually sipped her tea. “Go on.”

“Lord Nightkar ordered punishments to anyone unwilling to pay the tax, and my liege lord, Lord Malkar, was especially hard—even killing people. His soldiers were all too happy to squeeze whatever coppers they could from every village they passed, leaving behind burning farms and cottages, death and ravafed women.” He shrugged. “Serin and I disobeyed. So, knowing we would be sentenced to death for treason, we left Nelothar and started for Valamor.”

“And you had no gold?” Leisa asked.

He nodded. “I am not an honorable man,” he said. “I just could not force honest folk to go hungry during winter.”

Sorela nodded slowly. “At least you are not a thief and a murderer like lords Malkar and Nightkar,” she said, then added, “I trust you, Lord Falan. And you may have more honor than you think.”

Falan grunted.

Finally Naikal stopped arguing with her father. She turned to Sorela, eying the mage pointedly. “Some... humaaans were taken into the Deep by...” she grunted uncertainly. “Saval?”

The lady mage’s attention was as certain as an arrowhead. Sorela shook her head. “I don’t know this word.”

Naikal scowled. She grunted, made a flapping motion with her arms. “Saval! The evil beasts!”

The mage’s eyes widened, but Laisa still didn’t know what she meant, but in answer, her mistress said, “I know what you speak of. Go on with your story, Naikal.”

Leisa frowned. Is she talking about those flying monsters? What did Lord Bertran call them?

“The Saval took many humaaans into the Deep,” Naikal said, pointing behind herself with a four-fingered hand. “You are looking for them?” Sorela seemed about to speak when Naikal went on. “I would take you to their lair, but my father has forbidden it!” She eyed Halgn with what Leisa thought an annoyed twitch of her mouth.

If the Hansa called the Blackwood the Dark, what was the Deep? Were they different?

Sorela leaned forward, intent. “Would you know if they took a young man called Jalen Warfink?”

Naikal shook her head emphatically. “I do not know,” she said with a strange gesture of her hands, probably meant to reinforce her words. “If your friends are missing, the Saval likely have them. I know no more, humaaan.” As if to cut the conversation away, she made slashing motion with her hand.

Leisa tugged Sorela’s sleeve. “Do you think Lord Jalen was taken by those creatures Lord Birtran told us about?”

“Perhaps,” Sorela said, staring at the crackling fire with a pensive frown.

The lady mage always said to be diligent. They were already inside the Blackwood, but to go after Lord Jalen into what Naikal was calling the Deep...

Leisa shuttered, heart beating faster. But not in excitement. She caught Jasen looking at her, but he seemed pale.

We’re going into the bloody blackwood!