Lark and Wren

Talaysen shrugged. 'At that point, I imagine that there was nothing anyone could do. Darian swore to the Guild that he'd escaped death at the hands of the assassins as one of the old King's retainers-and he swore that both the King and his only child were dead. Obviously that wasn't true.'

'Obviously,' Peregrine said, with heavy irony. 'Well, our Kestrel has turned into a most peculiar cuckoo. What are we to do with him? It is plain that his uncle knows that he is alive, and where he is, or we would not have killers at our wagons.'

'Can't we hide him?' Gwyna asked, but her voice betrayed her own doubt.

Peregrine confirmed that doubt with a shake of his head. 'Not possible,' he said. 'The amulet I found upon the man my trap took was one of seeking. No matter how or where we hid him in this land, they could find him with another such. He himself has confirmed that there have been attempts to slay him before this.'

Talaysen remained silent, as Gwyna and Peregrine discussed other possibilities; concealing the young man with magic, or even asking the elves to take him under one of their Hills. That was chancy; what the elves took, they might not want to give back, once they'd heard young Sional play. He had the glimmering of an idea then-

It had occurred to him that there was too much they didn't know, and the only place to learn that information was in Birnam. So why not go there?

After all, why would the current King ever look for Sional in his own kingdom? The assassins could comb all of Rayden, from border to border-but if the object of their search was in the last place they expected him-

'We don't know nearly enough,' he said, into an opportune silence. 'We don't know if this is an idea of the King's, or if it's something one of his advisors thought was best. We don't even know if this is something set in motion long ago and forgotten. This King may be a tyrant-there may already be a movement in place to topple him that only lacks a focus. It seems to me that Jonny-I mean, Sional-ought at least to find these things out. Until he does, no matter where he goes or how he runs, he'll be running away from something, not to something.'

Peregrine raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. 'A good point, my brother,' he acknowledged. 'And there are things about the young man now that the assassins cannot know. Unless I miss my guess, they have associated him with you, but only at a distance, and as a chance-met set of friends. They would be looking for a group of three men and a woman-not two couples. Rune has been in breeches most of the time, yes?'

Rune shrugged. 'It's habit mostly,' she said, 'But yes. And most men don't look twice at me in breeches, they assume I'm a boy.'

'So now you wear skirts, and become most extravagantly feminine. Master Wren, we shall dye your hair as black as mine, but with magery, so that the dye neither grows out, nor washes out.' Peregrine grinned. 'And if I ever wished to be a rich man, I would sell the working of that spell, eh? It is a pity it only is effective on one who is already a mage.'

'So we'll have two young gypsy couples traveling together. Good.' Talaysen played that over in his head, and found no flaw with it. 'Most wagons look alike to outsiders. Once we're on the road, there'll be no telling us from dozens of others without one of those amulets. Those have to be expensive; I'm sure not every hired killer has one.'

'And if you leave by darkness tomorrow, we can make certain you are not followed,' Peregrine told him. 'Now, what of the Kestrel? Do I wake him with his memories, or no?'

'With them,' Gwyna put in quickly. Peregrine turned to stare at her. 'If I was in his place, that's what I would want,' she said defensively. 'While he still thinks he's Jonny Brede, he doesn't know why these people want to kill him. As Sional, he will. It seems to me that makes them less frightening.'

Talaysen nodded. 'I agree with her. Fear is worse when you don't know what it is you're afraid of. Right now these people are simply faceless, irrational attackers from a nightmare. Once he has his memories and identity as Sional back, they aren't faceless anymore, and they have a reason for what they're doing.'

Peregrine nodded slowly. 'Very well. Let me see if I can do this. He has built him a very stout wall between himself and those memories. It may take some doing to breech it.'

When they showed no sign of moving, he coughed delicately. 'I have no need of you now, and this were better done in private.'

They took the hint, and left, crawling over the driver's seat and the lurcher-hounds draped over and on top of it, and down to the ground again.

'Now what?' Gwyna asked.

'We go back to our wagon and sleep,' Talaysen told her and Rune both. Rune nodded; Gwyna looked rebellious. 'Look, we can't help Peregrine and we're all tired. We need sleep. We already know the worst, and nothing we do or don't do in the next few hours is going to change it. So?'

'So we sleep,' Gwyna sighed. 'Though personally, I don't think I'm going to be able to do anything but stare into the dark.'

Gwyna had been wrong, of course; despite their tension, all three of them fell deeply asleep once they reached the safety of their beds. And thanks to their Gypsy friends, their beds were as safe as possible in an open camp. The wagon had been moved from the outer to the inner circle, and a half-dozen fierce lurchers had been tied about it to keep away intruders. The wagon itself was stoutly built enough to withstand a siege once the doors and shutters were closed. Talaysen thought it a pity to shut out the cool night air, but better stuffy air than unexpected knives and arrows.

When he woke, it was near noon by the sun coming through the little smoke-hole over the charcoal stove, and the fourth bunk had a clothed and wakeful occupant.

It was Kestrel-and yet it wasn't Jonny Brede. Talaysen couldn't put his finger on the differences, but they were there; in the way the young man held himself, in the direct way he met Talaysen's gaze.

'Sional?' he said, tentatively.

The young man nodded, solemnly. 'B-better stick to K-Kestrel, though,' he replied, his stammer improved, but still very much a part of his speech. 'Th-that's not a n-name we ought to b-be using much.'

'Point taken.' He sat up and scrutinized the young man carefully. He looked much older in an indefinable