Sasha

toward the king's column. 'I'm glad you saved Jaryd Nyvar, he is a good fighter and I can't see what he did wrong.'

'Toward the throne, nothing,' said Damon. 'Toward his peers in Tyree, everything. But tell me this… back there, you said that Fyden sergeant should shut up and respect his superiors because nobility is always right. And now you think the Tyree lords are a pack of cowards. How can both be true?'

Myklas thought about it for a moment. A gust of cold wind caught at his typically unkempt brown hair. He had a face that would always remain young, Damon suspected, even when his body was grown. Sofy said that Myklas's greatest ambition was to remain a kid forever. People liked him because he was usually positive and had a simple, good-humoured and relaxed view of things. Damon often wondered what sort of man he'd become when he discovered that such an attitude would only take him so far.

'Why does everything have to be so complicated?' Myklas wondered aloud, finally.

'You can ask that question all you like,' Damon said grimly, 'and it won't make the world any less complicated. We can only accept that it is, and go from there.'

'You're enjoying this,' Myklas observed, watching his elder brother with a glint of mischief. 'Crises suit you, all dark and foreboding.'

'Shut up or I'll belt you,' Damon snorted.

Soldiers were staring at the king's procession. If the king had emerged from within the Baen-Tar walls, surely things were bad. A short distance to one side, Damon saw Koenyg, all in black astride his chestnut stallion. He was involved in an angry exchange of waving hands and pointing. The nobles who were the targets of his rage remained stonily unimpressed. Finally Koenyg reined about in exasperation and rode away, his Royal Guards in pursuit.

He spotted Damon and Myklas descending the slope along the paddock road and turned uphill to meet them. He arrived at Damon's side with a thunder of hooves and an angry scowl.

'Can you believe it?' he exclaimed to his brothers. 'Father insists we ride at once. I tried to explain to him that it would be better to wait for Lord Parabys to reach us, take the time to prepare and then depart together… but suddenly Father fancies himself a commander!'

'He is king,' Damon pointed out, with less sympathy than he might.

'He's not ridden into action since the Great War!' Koenyg scoffed. He seemed, Damon observed, highly agitated. 'This is my responsibility, I am Commander of Armies and protector of the realm. I can handle this.'

'Like you handled the Goeren-yai?' Damon nearly asked. He refrained with difficulty, and despised himself for it. 'Sofy is missing,' he said instead, his jaw tight.

Koenyg gave him a dark stare, controlling his unsettled stallion with a yank of the rein. Damon's mare tossed her head. 'You haven't found her yet?' Koenyg asked accusingly.

'She's not here,' Damon retorted. 'There are horses missing, there was chaos at the gate, there were guards away from their posts… she could easily have ridden out.'

'She barely knows how to ride!'

'Sasha's shown her.'

'Bloody Sasha,' Koenyg said between gritted teeth. 'As if it weren't enough to have one sister for a traitor, now she corrupts the other.'

'Maybe she wouldn't have felt the urge if you hadn't betrothed her to that perfumed Larosan shitheap.' Koenyg stared at him. 'Yes, I know.'

'Who told you?' Darkly.

'None of your damn business. It was your idea, wasn't it?'

'Not mine.' Shortly, and more defensively than Damon might have expected. Koenyg was rarely defensive about anything. 'Archbishop Dalryn's. And Father's.'

'Father's?' Disbelievingly.

'Yes, Father's,' Koenyg snapped. 'As you said, he's the king. I'm a soldier. I think we should ally with the lowlands Verenthane brotherhood because I see the military possibilities. I don't arrange marriages. Dalryn took the idea to Father, and Father approved.'

'And you went along with it,' Damon accused him. 'Why keep it secret? Is this how all Lenayin will be ruled from now on? You, Father and Dalryn, making decisions for the kingdom that are so unpopular amongst the people you don't dare even tell them?'

'You speak for the people now?' Koenyg said dangerously. 'You sound just like Sasha.'

'You Ignored Sasha,' Damon jabbed back, a forefinger extended, 'and you ignored the Goeren-yai, and they brought all your precious plans crashing down around your ears. Ignore me if you like, and ignore Sofy and ignore all the people you've infuriated-that's your choice. But if this is what you and Father call leadership, I fear for Lenayin, because the kingdom can't take much more of this!'

For a brief moment, Damon thought Koenyg might strike him. One hard fist balled on the reins and his dark eyes blazed with anger. Then he snorted contemptuously and rode his prancing stallion ahead and across, cutting them off. 'This is what happens when you spend all your time with girls,' Koenyg said to Myklas, loudly enough that the guardsmen and soldiers nearby could hear. 'You start to believe that men will love you just by smiling prettily and complimenting their shoes.'

He dug in his heels, leapt the adjoining paddock fence and raced across the fields, weaving between abandoned tents as he went, his guardsmen in pursuit.

'I hope he falls and breaks his neck,' Damon muttered as he and Myklas continued down the slope toward their father and his entourage.

'No you don't,' Myklas replied, watching him with wary eyes. Damon matched his gaze. Whatever Myklas had hoped to see there, he didn't find it. 'I hope Sofy comes back soon,' Myklas sighed. 'Last I saw Alythia, she was screaming that 'that mangy bitch Sasha' had ruined her wedding and that her husband would arrive in the midst of this chaos and there wouldn't be a proper reception to greet him. Sofy's the binding that holds this family together, everyone says so. Without her, we'll all kill each other.'

'Only now she's being married off to foreigners,' Damon muttered. 'Maybe Father and Dalryn want us to kill each other.'

'No offence, Damon,' Myklas said with typical matter-of-factness, 'but if it ever comes to that, my copper's on Koenyg.'

The rebel column rode onward in the brightening morning, two abreast along the road and sometimes three, then thinning to single file in parts where the forest closed in, or the road climbed steeply to clear a ridge. Sasha noticed that the vanguard appeared to have doubled to as many as ten riders, in addition to several scouts who made brief, random appearances to declare what lay ahead, before galloping off once more. Sasha suspected that the increase was due to Sofy, who now rode several places behind Sasha, at Jaryd's side. Royalty always demanded extra protection in the mind of any loyal officer. Sasha considered sending Sofy further back in the column, but decided against it. Any ambush would likely strike mid-column or to the rear. The column's lead, shielded by the vanguard and forewarned by ranging scouts, was probably the safest place of all.

Jaryd rode in constant pain, his face pale and grim. He had eaten and drunk, but had not spoken. A soldier who knew healing had cleaned his wounds and rewrapped his bandages. The leg wound was a flesh wound, he'd said, but it was not infected and would heal well enough in time. Sasha wished she had a moment to ride at Jaryd's side and talk to him, but the road required her attention. Besides, she would occasionally hear Sofy's light attempts at conversation, and the stony silence that followed.

For a while, the weather closed in with light rain and a gusting, swirling wind that tore at the treetops and scattered the road with falling leaves and needles. But then, just as Sasha began to fear that the road would become a muddy bog for those further back in the column, the rain ended and sunlight speared through lighter, scattered cloud. Craggy, sheer faces of rock climbed clear of the trees in places, looming above the road. At times, Sasha consulted with Captain Tyrun about possible ambush spots, but the scouts' reports remained positive, and the residents of one village turned out to greet them with cheers, ten mounted warriors to join the column, and some fresh provisions, which Sasha directed to the men further back. Food, at least, was one thing she would not have to worry about.

Approaching midday, the road was noticeably beginning to climb. Ascending the winding incline of a thickly wooded valley, Tyrun fell back to consult with some of his officers. Shortly, his place was taken by a small, wiry horse, ridden by a pair of children. Daryd and Rysha, Sasha realised with amazement. The Udalyn boy looked up at her-a long way up, from his little dussieh pony-and gave a clenched-fist salute, as might one warrior to another on