was a loyal one. I just hope, if he is dead, that it was nothing I did that got him killed.'
'Right,' Irrial spat with surprising rancor. 'Because that's so much worse than the thousands of good men that you killed deliberately.'
'Let it go,' Seilloah commanded, even as Corvis, his face growing hot, opened his mouth to retort. He glared, nodded, and turned again toward the lamp.
'What, she doesn't even get a 'Shut up'? If I'd said that, I'd have gotten a 'Shut up.' '
'Shut up,' Corvis whispered.
One last time, one more soul who had served at his side during the Serpent's War, one more to whom he'd attached his invisible tethers of magic. Again the tug, again the mental struggle to translate that amorphous sensation into real distance.
A peculiar gurgle bubbled from his throat, the result of hysterical laughter and a frustrated sob slamming into each other deep in his chest. And he wondered, even as he delivered the news, just how often he would have to retrace his own steps before this was finished.
'Emdimir?' He'd never heard Irrial's voice reach quite such a pitch as he did in that disbelieving squawk. 'After all this, why would you want us to go back east?'
He shrugged. 'Near as I can tell, that's where she is.'
'Well…' Irrial frowned. 'At least it's not all the way back to Rahariem. I'm not sure I could face… What?' she demanded at the sudden chagrin, almost schoolboy-like, on Corvis's face.
'I, uh… I wasn't sure how to tell you, or, well, even if, but…'
'Yes?' It was, perhaps, the most venomous yes Corvis had ever heard.
'Emdimir's fallen, Irrial.'
Her freckles appeared rich as ink, so pale did the baroness's face become. 'What?'
'A couple of weeks ago, according to the mercenary talk I overheard at the Three Sheets.'
'And nobody's done anything? Still nobody's done anything?' Her voice was rising so fast, it threatened to take wing. 'What's wrong with everyone? What's wrong with the damn Guilds?'
'Irrial, we should really be more qui-'
'What's wrong with me?' She reached a final, undignified screech, and then slumped in her chair, her tone following suit. 'Gods, they keep coming, farther and farther, and I haven't done anything… We'll never free Rahariem now, we-'
'Irrial!' It was Seilloah, not Corvis, who barked that name-a peculiar sound indeed, coming from a feline mouth. 'You are working for Rahariem. It's what you've been doing. Don't forget it.'
'Right. Sure I have.'
'And besides,' Corvis added, 'you've seen the soldiers. Some of the noble Houses are mobilizing. Yeah, I know, it's not enough, but if the others start to follow their example…'
'Horseshit. They're bloody useless, the whole lot of them are going to die, and you know it.' Her hair fell around her face and hung limp for a moment, until she'd finally regained her composure. 'All right,' she said, looking up once more. 'Emdimir, then. For, what was her name? Ellowaine?'
'Ellowaine,' he confirmed.
'What,' Seilloah asked slowly, 'makes you think she's the one?'
Corvis smiled grimly. 'Because Ellowaine's a mercenary, Seilloah. And since Emdimir's occupied just now, her being there almost certainly means she's either a prisoner, or…'
He let it dangle, and Seilloah understood.
'Or she's working for Cephira.'
Chapter Fifteen
SHELTERED FROM THE WORST of last season's malice by the gentle shade of surrounding slopes, the valleys of the Cadriest Mountains had long since shed their verdant summer garb, wrapping themselves in coats of scarlet and gold for the autumn to come. The air, though still, was refreshingly cool and smelled of tomorrow's gentle fog. After the distant swamp's oppressive breath-and the strenuous journey over many a hillside trail, down forest paths, and on the King's Highway-the vales were a paradise unto themselves.
But if so, it was a paradise only the horses bothered to notice.
Jassion, as always, saw nothing but the distance stretching before them, separating him from the man he hated more than anything in this world. It seemed, at times, as though the baron's obsession was a tangible barrier he carried around him, one that hemmed him off from the rest of the world.
But for the ignoble nobleman, Kaleb cared little. No, he would reserve his concern, and devote attentions that might otherwise have noted the surrounding beauty, to Mellorin.
The young woman had drawn inward since their encounter with the ogre. Her cloak had become a cocoon, a rampart, a security blanket; her horse an island amid an otherwise empty sea. She spoke to her companions only when she must, and even then, despite her obvious anger at him, directed her queries and comments to her uncle. She'd barely met Kaleb's eyes during those many days, though she often snuck quick glimpses when she thought his focus lay elsewhere.
And Kaleb, after many nights of considered deliberation, finally had to admit that he hadn't any idea of how to deal with her. He was a man of many talents, of substantial knowledge-more than either of his companions suspected-but the eccentricities of young women lay beyond his ken.
He dropped back, ostensibly permitting his mount to crop a few mouthfuls of the deep green grass that sprouted in the shade of far more colorful trees, and allowed Jassion to move some distance ahead. Then, startling the horse with an abrupt yank on the reins, he fell into step beside Mellorin's palfrey.
Still, she would not look at him.
'It's beautiful here, isn't it?' he asked, gesturing as though she'd somehow missed the hills that rolled like playful toddlers around the feet of their mountain parents. 'A man could certainly understand why even an ogre would make a home here.'
Silence, save for the call of circling birds, the bleating of some distant beast.
'Mellorin,' he said, far more softly, 'are you ever going to speak to me?'
She offered only a soft sniff, and Kaleb had already tensed to tug at the reins and move away, a scowl forming on his lips, before he recognized it as a sound, not of disdain, but muffled grief.
'Would you truly weep for an ogre?' Only the tenderness in his tone prevented the question from becoming accusation.
Finally, finally, she turned her face his way from within the folds of her hood.
'I don't understand,' he told her. 'I watched you fight, when Losalis's men attacked us.'
She nodded. 'And it's the fact you and my uncle see no difference that bothers me. Oh, gods…' He watched her clasp hands to her stomach, as though she would physically restrain the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. 'Gods, Kaleb, is everyone in this world like him? Is my father just more honest about who he is?'
For a few moments, the sorcerer struggled to form a reply, for he knew what the wrong answer might cost him. 'Mellorin,' he said, 'do you know what happened to your uncle at Rebaine's hands?'
'I know he was a child when Denathere fell. I know he saw my father disappear with my mother.'
'Your father's men didn't flee when he did. First, they slaughtered everyone in the Hall of Meeting. Nobles, commoners, men, women… Everyone.'
'But-Jassion?'
'The master of Denathere's Scriveners' Guild saved him. He hid Jassion's tiny body with his own.' Kaleb shook his head. 'My understanding is, old Jeddeg's the only Guildsman of whom Jassion has ever spoken highly.
'Mellorin, your uncle waited in a pit of corpses, and he was conscious for every moment of it. He struggled to breathe beneath the weight of the dead, to keep their blood from his eyes and mouth, for hours, before anyone found him.'
Mellorin had gone white as a corpse herself, her lips trembling. 'I had no idea…'
'It's not something he shares readily, though anyone who was around in noble circles at the time has heard
