The white sands passed under the riders with a speed that amazed them both. Their mount was a sturdy beast, built for stamina rather than swiftness, but the coin they had spent on it suggested its owner believed the steed to possess a variety of talents, and that appeared to be the case. If not for the fact they still had a seaborne voyage ahead of them, Denisius would have purchased the horse outright and brought it back to Marhollow -- assuming, of course, he survived this ordeal. At the moment he had no assurance of that. It soothed him to make plans for the future, though, and so far Ammas hadn't made any effort to dissuade him. Come to that, he wasn't sure Ammas had much of a future himself.

Their destination stood just over the next ridge. Ammas gripped Denisius's shoulder, coughing raggedly. "Some rest before we go much further," he said hoarsely. Ammas's voice had been hoarse for days now, but it was stronger than the croaking whisper it had been when they left Gallowsport.

Denisius nodded, smoothly dismounting, offering Ammas a hand. Laboriously Ammas clambered off the horse, sinking back against the bole of a young darceli tree and mopping the sweat from his face. Frowning, Denisius crouched at Ammas's side, offering a skin of wine. Ammas accepted it gratefully, drinking deep.

"You're not looking much better, Ammas. We should go back to Ismene, hole up in an inn for a few days." Denisius considered suggesting they find a Madrenite sister to treat him, but Ammas had already refused the idea repeatedly.

Ammas shook his head. "There is no time. Already twelve days since we left Gallowsport. Even if we make the best time on the return trip -- "

Their eyes met, or at least one of Ammas's eyes met Denisius's. Ammas's left eye was swaddled in a crude eyepatch. Shortly after he had awakened from the black sleep into which he had fallen in Gallowsport, that eye had turned dark red as a ripe cherry, so gruesome even Casimir had a hard time looking at it. His vision was unaffected but he suffered a deep ache when light shone into the eye. It had recovered somewhat during the journey across the Azure Sea, but he imagined it would be some time before it healed fully.

"She's handled the change before. Will one more do so much harm?"

"One more without me there. Barthim and Casimir will have to cage her. I won't risk it. And there is Silenio to consider. I think it best he never feel the change at all." Ammas took the wineskin and drained it entirely, groaning and leaning back against the tree, his eyes closed as the fronds above his head swayed delicately in the night breeze.

Denisius sat cross-legged at Ammas's side, drawing his blade and idly whetting its edge. "I've never been here before," he remarked. "Heard how beautiful it was all my life. It's not so cold here yet."

"No," Ammas agreed. "Even the winters here are very mild."

Denisius smiled thinly. "A good place to die, then?"

Ammas laughed, then broke into shuddering coughs. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Though I suppose Barthim would approve."

"I wish he were here."

"So do I."

"Do you think Vos will recover?"

"He lost a terrible amount of blood. The Madrenites will do their best. They always do. But I just don't know. His leg -- he may never walk right again. At least he wasn't bitten."

Denisius nodded, staring glumly at the distant ridge. A gust of wind whipped across it, briefly raising a cloud of whitish dust. For a moment he caught a gleam of light on the other side of the ridge. "And what about you?"

Ammas hadn't been able to walk for nearly two days after he'd awoken, and even now he needed to lean on a walking stick like a shepherd's crook. Riding his own horse had been unthinkable, and even riding pillion behind Denisius had been difficult.

"I'll be fine," Ammas said shortly.

Denisius scowled at him. "You're a terrible liar. We thought you were dead. Casimir was beside himself. So was Barthim, for that matter. You haven't been yourself ever since. This whole expedition was madness. We could have at least brought Barthim along."

"Barthim needs to mind Casimir. I wasn't bringing him to this."

They had played through variations of this argument nearly every day since leaving Gallowsport. Vos was in no condition for a journey, much less one that would almost certainly lead to combat; Ammas insisted on leaving Casimir behind and in Barthim's care; and perhaps worst of all the cursewright flatly refused to bring either Carala or Silenio within a mile of the ritual wolf. After hearing of the influence Andreth had held over Carala, and after closely questioning her in private over what it had felt like, he considered it entirely too dangerous for either of the Emperor's children to join them.

Silenio's surviving men, Morell and Ciron, would not leave their Prince's side. Ammas didn't mention it to Denisius, but he had his doubts as to whether they would allow Barthim to cage Silenio, whatever they had seen in the Curia. So it was that when the ship left Hangman's Harbor, only Ammas and Denisius had been aboard.

Resignedly Denisius stood up and crept closer to the ridge, sinking down to his belly and peering over its edge. "There are lights, and smoke from the chimneys," he said, just loud enough for Ammas to hear. Subterfuge was probably pointless given the nature of their enemies, but that was no reason to abandon prudence altogether. "I don't see any patrols. Do you suppose they don't know what happened in Gallowsport?"

"Carala felt it when Andreth died. Whether the connection runs in the other direction as well I can't say." Painfully Ammas got to his feet, limping to their horse's saddlebags and drawing a fresh skin of water, dousing his face with it.

"How many do you think there are?"

"Impossible to say. If Gallowsport was where they did their business as Swiftfoot, this is more of a spiritual home for them. There might only be a handful. Or -- "

Denisius shook his head. Or there might be hundreds. Ammas knelt beside him, drawing his dagger and looking into the idyllic valley below.

The white sands of the Ismenian Coast gave way to soft grass at the foot of the hill. A narrow but well-kept road which ran here all the way from Ismene circled around the estate tucked into the hollow beneath them. Darceli trees lined the tall wrought iron fence in elegantly landscaped rows, and small, carefully maintained streams and ponds gleamed softly under the starlight. The house itself was smaller than one expected from an estate of such prominence, but its wealth was obvious in its statuary and the fine white marble and sturdy granite of its construction. Tall windows that glimmered like shining crystals adorned the house all up and down its galleries. This was no fortress, whatever the wolves had made of it.

"Do you really think we can do this?" Denisius asked in a hushed voice.

"I can't call on the spirit salve again," Ammas whispered. During the two days he allowed himself to recover, he had explained to the others as much as he could concerning his actions that night at the Curia. Over and over he had apologized to Carala for his carelessness in unleashing the Dead, but after hearing what he had found in the Curia archives she hadn't wanted apologies from him. "Not for months, maybe never again. The next time I do it will kill me. I'm not a skilled warrior in the best of circumstances, and now -- " He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"Well, you have my sword arm, Ammas. I hope it will be enough."

"I'm hoping this will be a battle we can win with words."

"Is that likely?"

"There is much about this I don't understand. There are things I would very much like to learn here. I have suspicions, but that's all." Ammas grimaced. "Unfortunately, there is no cure without us committing murder."

"I think the Emperor already did that years ago. He had to know it would end this way."

Ammas snorted. "I don't imagine that troubles him, Lord Marhollow."

Silently they stared down at the manor house for a time, both unsettled by how tranquil it seemed, even bucolic. "It troubles her." Denisius said softly.

"Of course it does," Ammas replied, his brow creasing in a frown. "If I've learned anything in the last few weeks, it's that Carala is not her father."

"Is that why you fell for her?"

Ammas said nothing, unable to meet Denisius's eyes. When Lord Marhollow began to laugh, Ammas turned toward him in mild amazement.

"Did you think I didn't know, Ammas?"

"Denisius -- I never meant -- "

But Denisius was shaking his head. "I just wanted you to know it doesn't trouble me, Ammas. I've given up on her. It was nothing to do with you."

Ammas nodded slowly. "Barthim said something about that. I wasn't sure he was right."

"He was." Denisius flushed. "I have a confession of my own, Ammas. That night in Autumnsgrove -- I -- well, I listened in on you and Doyenne Sulivar. I heard some -- some things about my father, about why Carala was being given to me."

"You listened in," Ammas said, more amazed still. "And that -- you fell out of love with her over that?"

"I don't think I was ever in love with her. I cared for her. I care for her still. I'll give my life to cure her, if it comes to it. But I can't . . . I don't know, Ammas. I don't think I could live with myself, knowing she was just payment. Payment for murder, no less."