At Ammas's request Casimir produced a map of the lands outside the Straits of Twilight. The Vilain Reaches represented one of the larger and wealthier of the Anointed Realms, and stretched from the Dyrothi border on the Chalk Hills to the Taskwood Canyons far to the west, arcing down to the Azure Sea to embrace a long stretch of the Torchlight Coast. Between the hills and the canyons stood vast tracts of farmland, some of the most fertile in all the Anointed Realms. Right where that farmland fell away into the great shadowy delves carved by the River Ortien, the city of Vilais had stood for centuries. The Lady Terazla had retired to the bluffs above the city when her days as a Cursewright-Vigilant had come to an end, and there she had laid the foundations of Autumnsgrove.

"We may see others on their way to view the ruins," Ammas told them. "It's still a popular site for tourists, but there are markers posted warning the unwary not to get too close. It's not a safe place, and not merely because of Doyenne Sulivar's watchfulness."

"And we'll be getting too close," Vos said. Denisius laughed hollowly.

"Just follow my lead, and you'll reach Autumnsgrove safely," Ammas said with a brisk smile, rolling up the map.

Carala and Denisius exchanged a look, but neither raised any further complaint. It wasn't Carala's look which convinced Denisius to hold his peace for the time being; rather, it was the angry glare from Casimir, who had not failed to note any of Lord Marhollow's criticisms of his master, implied or explicit.

Ammas himself felt rather more ambivalent. Denisius's skepticism of his abilities might come from an honest place of doubt, but more and more the cursewright wondered if it had struck Carala's promised husband as it had begun to dawn on him that the princess had been at Ammas's sickbed rather than his own early that morning.

They left the monastery in the early afternoon, while the sun was still warm on their faces. This was a lonesome country, well suited to the isolated monasteries that dotted the hills here and there, nearly every one of the Ninefold Faiths represented. Only Tol Daether's devotees could not be found here, as ascetics had little use for gold. They made good time, despite the uneven ground and both Ammas's and Denisius's recent illnesses. So it remained for the next four days, until the weather turned foul.

"We've been lucky at the lack of rain," Vos informed them as they woke to a miserably gray dawn, rain sluicing down their trio of tents -- Ammas, Casimir, and Barthim in one (rather cramped); Denisius and Vos in a second; Carala on her own in a third. "But maybe it's for the best. If we are being tracked, I imagine not even a werewolf could follow our scent in this wet."

It delayed them, but Ammas was pleased with their progress nonetheless. The Chalk Hills were nearly at an end, and he expected their passage through the Vilain farmlands to be speedy and uneventful. In this he was proved correct. Their days were marked with seemingly endless rows of corn and wheat, almost ripe for the harvest. On a few occasions laborers hailed them as they passed, but none seem terribly concerned with them, not with Barthim's size and tattoos, nor Ammas's ominous robes and concealing hat, nor Casimir's youth. Vos muttered that as long as armed wanderers weren't actually bandits, no commoner would dare to notice them.

In the late afternoons and evenings they made camp in small groves of trees or on the banks of nameless streams and ponds. Vos and Denisius sparred most nights, while Ammas led Casimir in his lessons. At first they took turns with the cooking, but when it proved impossible for anyone to surpass Barthim, they simply left the matter to him. Only Casimir came close, and he seemed almost as pleased with this as he did his lessons with the cursewright.

Occasionally Casimir joined in with the sparring, but no one had a blade lightweight enough for the boy to wield. Denisius taught him the basic steps, fashioning a straightened wooden branch in place of a sword. Though he still seemed to resent Lord Marhollow's temerity in questioning Ammas's abilities, he did take to these new lessons eagerly. "Better this than more games of Whistling Jack," Carala had murmured to Ammas one evening. Ammas had laughed and agreed.

Nearly ten days out from that unnamed monastery they were reaching the end of the Vilain farmlands. Distantly they could see the twinkling of the Azure Sea, and at night they could make out the lights of Vilais. The moons had risen, not quite bright enough to make Ammas fear for Carala's well being, but nearly so. He gazed at her tent, weighing whether or not he should check on her. She had not seemed unusually restless, but then even a frenzied wolf would be bone-weary from the journey they had set themselves. Only Denisius was awake with him, laundering some of his clothes by the cookfire as Ammas pored over his lunar manifest. Lord Marhollow had been at least cordial to him since they had set out, and he supposed that was an improvement.

Now Denisius strolled over to him with an uncertain smile. "May I sit?"

Ammas tucked away the manifest and held out one hand. "By all means."

Denisius perched on the ground, biting his lower lip, dragging a stick through the dirt and sketching senseless patterns. "I hope you know, Ammas," he said softly, looking now at Carala's tent himself, "I only want what's best for her."

"I realize that," Ammas replied. "I want the same thing."

"In the Anointed Realms," Denisius said haltingly, "the stories they tell about your kind are . . . well, they aren't complimentary."

"Traitors, thieves, and scoundrels all, is that about the shape of it?"

Denisius nodded gloomily.

"I have thieved only when I was desperate, and in my own lights I never betrayed anyone. As to whether I'm a scoundrel," Ammas chuckled, "I suppose I must let others decide."

"I suppose you must." Denisius frowned at him. "What will you do to keep her safe? If this Sulivar can't cure her before she changes again?"

"Nothing that will hurt her. Casimir will help."

"Casimir? Ammas, your apprentice is a good lad, a smart enough lad, but -- "

"Casimir kept her wolf at bay the night we were attacked, when the Swiftfoot wolves called to her," Ammas said quietly but firmly.

Denisius's face was a study in skepticism. "Still. I'd like to help."

Ammas looked at him sideways. "And make sure I'm not chaining her to a tree? The things I may have to do to keep her safe are unlikely to make you very happy, Lord Marhollow."

"She responded to me. She knows me."

"She fled from you."

"She could have killed me."

"And I won't be the one to say she might not kill you next time."

Denisius scowled. "If you were such an expert on the blood sickness -- "

"I will happily turn my care of her over to anyone who has more expertise in these matters than I do." Ammas hoped he did not sound as aggravated as he felt at that moment. Vos's words regarding the relative callowness of both Denisius and Carala occurred to him, and he forced a thin smile. "Doyenne Sulivar will advise us on a course of treatment. If it seems well to her, I will certainly make use of your connection with the princess. But I cannot promise it."

"I want to be there for her advice, Ammas."

"On what grounds?"

"I am promised to Carala, and she to me. Do you really mean to say I have no stake in this?"

"I don't. But I can't speak to what Doyenne Sulivar will trust you with." Ammas hesitated a moment. "She is not fond of noble houses loyal to the Malachite Throne." This was a rather large understatement.

"She isn't?" Denisius looked back toward the princess's tent, troubled. "Then what will she think of you treating the Emperor's daughter?"

That was a question that Ammas had not been able to answer himself, and one which gnawed at his mind as they drew closer to Autumnsgrove. "Let me speak to Othma Sulivar. Do as I say when we meet her. Please, Lord Marhollow. She is wise, but she is full of a terrible rage for the things that happened twenty years ago, and she is not always careful of where she directs that rage."

"You'll be safe, won't you?"

"Yes. And Casimir. I think his presence may soften her. But listen to me, Denisius. Othma was preeminent among both astrologers and cursewrights before the dissolution, and she has not been idle the last twenty years. I cannot claim to know all of her studies and actions; she is prone to vanishing for months at a time and only giving me the barest hints of what she has been doing when she writes to me. She commands powers and forces even I don't fully understand, and she is not shy about putting them to use. If you value your life and sanity, treat her with respect at all times, no matter how ill-tempered she might seem."

Denisius had grown pale, which Ammas was gratified to see. "Why would she have any anger for me? I've done nothing to her, or your kind. It was all over when I was but a babe."

"Your father is loyal to the Emperor. That alone will be enough to raise her ire."

Denisius nodded and swallowed hard. "All right, Ammas. I'll follow your lead." His gaze moved one last time to Carala's tent. "If it's what I need to do to cure her, I'll do it."

Ammas clapped Lord Marhollow on the shoulder. "Good. Who knows, Denisius? Before this is over, you might even call me friend."

That seemed to put Denisius in a better humor, and over the next several days he seemed more at his ease when speaking to Ammas. They had moved to the roads by then, though they had yet to see other travelers. Vos remarked that this highway seemed little used, which surprised him -- they were drawing near enough to Vilais that the River Ortien was visible as a bluish ribbon on the horizon, and the cityscape itself was defined enough for individual buildings to be seen.

Barthim was not so perplexed. "After the harvest, I am thinking this will be a very busy road indeed, Vos Skullbreaker."

"Skullbreaker?" Ammas asked, his eyebrows rising nearly to the brim of his hat.

Vos shrugged. "He's been saying that since the Munazyri tunnels. I don't mind this one, really."

Ammas shook his head. Soon the road they were on came to an abrupt halt, ending in a crumbling stone wall. On either side were verdant grasslands. Before them, at the center of the wall, was a marble pillar topped by a great sphere, on which was a faded engraving of the borders of the Anointed Realms. The road to their left was well traveled and maintained, the stones clearly marked with cart tracks that probably went back decades if not centuries. The outline of Vilais lay that way.

To their right was a modest barricade of logs spiny with thorns -- intimidating but easily sidestepped. Beyond the barricade the road was littered with debris, its paving stones askew with lushly growing weeds. That disused road climbed upward, toward the bluffs that eventually became the Taskwood Canyons. Ammas called a halt at this intersection.

"Autumnsgrove stands about a day's journey this way," he said, pointing toward the crumbling roadway. "Carala, Casimir, and I must go this way. The rest of you are free to go to Vilais. There should be no shortage of inns there. If nothing else we can meet at the Isle of Tair in the city center. With luck, we may even have something to celebrate when we all meet together."

Denisius shook his head, and Barthim simply laughed. "Do you think we are to be running at the first signs of danger, my good friend Ammas? Lead the way. I am most curious to see if all cursewrights are as bad at chess as you."

Ammas sighed. His warnings to Denisius would have to be repeated to the rest of them. What Othma Sulivar might make of Barthim the Beast he had no idea. It would be most unwise to assume she would accept his usual lack of deference for authority figures. "All right. Follow close and keep to the roadway."

With a nod of his head, the cursewright led the little group up the ancient road. A biting chill began to seep into the air, and a sky that had been still and blameless began to darken and howl with an urgent wind. These were only the first signs of what lay at the end of the path. Steeling himself, Ammas began the long walk toward the home of the only living cursewright he knew within a thousand miles.