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    Arion
    Arion
    Arion
    Ebook748 pages12 hours

    Arion

    By Ashley Abbiss

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Irilayne was born a princess. And she hated every moment of it! ‎

    So, when her father tried to betroth her to Lord Griblon, a greedy, arrogant and ambitious ‎man almost twice her age, she ran away. For eighteen months she’s been living in a tiny village as ‎an ordinary peasant, and she loves it. Sure, she has to work hard doing all the things that servants ‎used to do for her. She has to wear rough homespun instead of silk and velvet, and live in a ‎cottage rather than a palace, but she feels, in her own words, real, for the first time in her life. In ‎the palace she felt like a doll, something to be dressed up and shown off. Here, she feels like a ‎person for the first time. She swears she’ll never go back.‎

    But now, her father has been assassinated, and her brother Arion, the new king, has ‎disappeared. The country is convulsing like a headless snake. Irilayne thought she didn’t care ‎about Xanara, but she finds that she does, very much. This is her country, these are her people, ‎and she can’t just sit back and watch while someone destroys them. ‎

    And to top everything off, that same Lord Griblon is claiming the regency on the grounds of ‎his betrothal to her. He even has the betrothal document, which he is using to convince the Royal ‎Council to grant him executive power. ‎

    A document Irilayne knows she didn’t sign. ‎

    But that will mean little if the Royal Council decides to ratify it. ‎

    Suddenly, Irilayne is faced with a quest to find her missing brother and help him to his ‎throne - assuming he’s still alive. If she doesn’t succeed, she may well find herself as Queen and ‎forced to marry Griblon, who will then use his position as her consort to take over. She isn’t quite ‎as weak and biddable as he seems to think, but she has few illusions about that will happen to her ‎if she tries to block him. Finding her brother seems to be her only chance. To save her country, to ‎save herself, she will have to give up the life she loves to find Arion and then return to the capital ‎and the life she left to help him establish his rule and stabilise the country. ‎

    But Griblon has allied himself with the Athreeli, Xanara’s historic enemies, and he now has ‎Athreeli magicians to help him. If she is to succeed, Irilayne will need magic, too. And it’s even ‎more imperative that she succeed, to prevent her country becoming a vassal state of Athreel. But ‎such power comes at a cost. She has already had to leave the life she loves. Will she be willing to ‎make yet another sacrifice in order to gain the power she needs? Just how much will she be ‎prepared to give up to save her brother and her country? Will she be able to learn enough magic ‎in time to make a difference? Can she reach her brother in time and save both him, her country - ‎and herself? There are too many questions and not enough answers. All she knows is that she has ‎to try.‎

    Join Irilayne, runaway princess, in an epic fantasy quest to find her missing brother and save ‎her land – and herself – from a fate worse than death.‎

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAshley Abbiss
    Release dateSep 26, 2016
    ISBN9781370686308
    Arion
    Author

    Ashley Abbiss

    Hello there. I’m Ashley Abbiss. ‎I live and write in beautiful New Zealand, where I live with one large dog, who looks nothing ‎like Friend from my Daughters of Destiny books. She is, however, almost as intelligent and definitely as ‎opinionated, and if she can’t quite speak in the way Friend does to Niari, that doesn’t really ‎hold her back much!‎I write fantasy, mostly of the epic variety. Let me say right up front that if you’re looking for a quick read, you’re in the wrong place. But if you like a substantial, ‎satisfying story that you can really get your teeth into, stick with me. I may have something ‎you’ll enjoy. There’s no graphic sex in my books. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to look ‎elsewhere. There is violence, and there is swearing, though mostly of the ‘s/he swore’ variety, ‎nothing overly graphic or offensive. I also write about strong, independent female characters, ‎so if your taste runs to something more macho, or something more frilly and helpless, this may ‎not be the place for you. ‎I’ve always loved wandering in different worlds, be they fantasy or science fiction, although ‎lately I tend to prefer fantasy. The only proviso is that they have to be believable worlds, ‎worlds that feel real, that have depth and scope – and they must, absolutely must be fun to ‎visit. I read for escape and entertainment, and I don’t really want to escape from this world ‎into one even grimmer. Trouble, tension, and danger I can deal with, what sort of story would ‎there be without them? Where would Pern be without Thread, Frodo without Sauron, Harry ‎Potter without Voldemort? But there has to be hope, and there has to be a light touch. Happy ‎ever after does have a lot going for it, even if initially it’s only a very small light at the end of ‎a long, dark tunnel. My personal favourites include Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy, Anne ‎McCaffrey’s Pern series, and the fantasies of David Eddings, and lately, they’ve been joined ‎by J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and a few others. Of those, David Eddings was probably my ‎greatest inspiration.‎I began to wonder if I could create my own world, one just as believable and multi-layered as ‎theirs. Could I create a world with its own history, geography, social structure, deities, and all ‎the rest? One that hung together? That a reader could believe in? It became a challenge, one I ‎really wanted to see if I could meet. So I dusted off my writing skills, learned a few more, ‎cranked up the imagination, and got busy. I’d always been good at creative writing, but ‎though I’d made a few attempts to write after I left school, none of them came to anything. ‎That was until I started writing fantasy. Suddenly, I knew I’d come home. ‎I quickly discovered that I’m not the sort of writer who can plan a book (or a world!) before I ‎start. I just can’t do it. But I can create characters, and suddenly the characters took on a ‎reality of their own and took over the stories, often to the extent that they actually surprised ‎me. And the stories worked. Their world worked. Sometimes I had to go back and fix the ‎odd contradiction, but mostly it worked and was very natural and organic. Even though my ‎first attempts were pitiful, I knew I’d found where I belong. I persevered, I learned, I wrote. ‎I discovered that the characters are key for me. Once I get them right, they tell their own ‎story. I was away. There were dark days during which my stories became my refuge, my ‎characters my friends. And I kept writing. There were happy times when I didn’t need a ‎refuge, but my characters were still my friends, and they drew me inexorably back. I kept ‎writing. ‎And now, I hope my characters may become your friends too, my worlds ones where you also ‎like to walk; perhaps even your refuge from dark days. Come join me in a world where magic ‎is real and the gods are near, where beasts talk and men and women achieve things they never ‎dreamed they could. But most of all, come and have fun! ‎Happy reading.‎Ash.‎

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      Book preview

      Arion - Ashley Abbiss

      IRILAYNE, RUNAWAY PRINCESS

      Book One:

      ARION

      Ashley Abbiss

      © 2016 Ashley Abbiss

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover Photo Credits:

      Photo of Woman Kiselev Andrey Valerevich

      Cover Design and Editing… Ashley Abbiss

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      TITLE PAGE

      MAP

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

      CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

      CHAPTER THIRTY

      CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

      CONNECT WITH ASHLEY ABBISS

      PREVIEW OF IRILAYNE, RUNAWAY PRINCESS BOOK TWO: WANIR

      CHAPTER ONE

      Irilayne lifted her face to the sun, breathing deeply of air that smelled of spring – and promptly fell to her knees as she stumbled on a root. Muttering a few of Dron’s more colourful curses, she clambered to her feet, rubbing a bruised knee. That’d teach her to go woolgathering instead of paying attention to business. It was a beautiful day, and it was the nicest one they’d had in ages, and it was a relief after the horrible winter they’d had to endure, but that was no excuse for not watching where she was putting her feet. She gave the knee one last rub, brushed off as much of the clinging mud from her skirt as she could manage, and began to scramble around, picking up the plums that had spilled from the basket when she dropped it. If they were bruised she’d catch the rough edge of Dron’s tongue. Not that he scared her at all. He was all bark, was Dron. Plums, however, were his favourite fruit, and he wouldn’t be impressed if they were damaged.

      She got all the plums back where they belonged and was about to continue on her way when she looked down the slope of the hill and closed her eyes in resignation. Climbing up toward her was Pel, the miller’s boy. Although ‘boy’ was a bit of a misnomer. He must be at least as old as she was. He just didn’t look it with his slim wiry frame and smooth, almost girlish face framed by a mop of bright brown curls. Irilayne briefly considered trying to hide, before rejecting it as impossible. He must have already seen her. She would be outlined against the sky up here at the crest of the hill. And indeed, as she stood hesitating, he looked up and straight at her with a cheery wave. Irilayne sighed. If there was a more irritating person on the face of the earth than Pel, she hoped she never had the misfortune to meet them. What had started out as an enjoyable afternoon was about to take a decided turn for the worst. But there was simply no way to avoid a meeting. All she could do was nod politely and hope he was headed somewhere and didn’t have time to chat. Fat chance. One thing Pel never seemed to be short of was time to waste.

      Afternoon, Irilayne, he said cheerily as he came level with her. You seem to have had a bit of an accident.

      I tripped on a root, Irilayne said shortly. Are you going somewhere?

      Oh, no, Pel said brightly. I just thought, since we’re both here on this hill, that it would be pleasant to walk down together.

      Irilayne managed not to grind her teeth with an effort of will. Pleasant was not how she would describe walking home with Pel, but she resigned herself as he fell in beside her and relieved her of the basket. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about him that got her back up so badly. It might have been his almost aggressive cheerfulness. He never seemed to get upset, even when everyone else in the village was. He just kept on grinning in that way that made Irilayne want to slap the grin right off his face. Or perhaps it was the way those bright eyes of his seemed to both pierce and mock you at the same time, as though he was looking right into your soul, knew exactly what you were thinking, and was laughing at you.

      Or the way, as now, that he would just appear out of nowhere and attach himself to you, and never seem to get the hint that his presence might not be welcome. Whatever it was, Irilayne couldn’t lay eyes on Pel without immediately feeling her hackles rise. She felt bad about it sometimes. It wasn’t really his fault. It had been hate at first sight. Well, dislike, anyway. It wasn’t really anything he’d said or done. She just found his very presence, his very existence, offensive in a way she couldn’t explain, even to herself. Dron had been no help when she’d tried to explain it to him. He’d just shrugged and told her that such things happened, and to keep away from Pel. What he hadn’t told her was how she was supposed to achieve that in a tiny village of less than three hundred people! Especially since Pel seemed to have an absolute knack for turning up wherever she was. Dron had suggested that perhaps she could move up to the keep where she wouldn’t have to see Pel. But she’d moved out of the keep to live with Dron, and going back wasn’t an option. Not as far as she was concerned, anyway.

      You’ve been to Orran’s, Pel said, looking at the contents of the basket. I heard she had a bumper crop of plums. That should keep Dron happy.

      Yes, Irilayne said, trying hard not to be too short. As long as I can keep him from making himself ill by eating them all at once, she added.

      Pel’s merry laugh pealed out. Yes, he’s a bit too fond of them for his own good, isn’t he? he chortled. I remember last spring when he ate a whole basketful in one go. He almost had to move into the outhouse for the next couple of days. He was as sick as a dog. Of course, that was before he had you to take care of him.

      I don’t take care of him! Irilayne said sharply. I just live with him. He doesn’t need taking care of; he’s not helpless. And I’m not a nursemaid.

      Pel accepted the rebuke with a shrug. His smile didn’t even flicker. That was another thing that annoyed Irilayne. No matter what the rebuke, it all seemed to just slide off Pel like water off a duck’s back. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t take correction. She knew he was good at his job and well-liked by his employer. It was just that no reprimand ever seemed to puncture that grinning façade. Irilayne found it most aggravating.

      They walked in silence for a few minutes until Pel looked along his shoulder at her in that sly way he had.

      Did you hear the news?

      Which news was that? Irilayne asked.

      They say the king is ill.

      Ill? she said. What does that mean?

      No one knows. They’re talking about poison, so I heard.

      Irilayne gave an enormous snort. Any time a member of the aristocracy gets so much as a bellyache, someone starts screaming about poison. That doesn’t mean a thing. There was a pause before she steeled herself to ask, Did your sources say anything about how bad the king is?

      They’re saying he’s dying, Pel said, watching her with those sharp, bright eyes.

      They say that any time someone’s ill, too, Irilayne snorted. Right after they mention the poison.

      Pel’s smile flickered for a moment. I think perhaps it might not be such a fairy tale this time, he said in a remarkably sober voice. They’re saying the crown prince has called the Royal Council together.

      Irilayne felt as though someone had just kicked her in the stomach. That wouldn’t happen unless the king was indeed seriously ill. She took a moment to catch her breath, hoping Pel wouldn’t notice. It was an effort to maintain her façade of nonchalance this time, but somehow she managed it. Well, even if the king is dying, I don’t see what difference that makes to people like you and me, she said. It doesn’t change anything for us, does it?

      I suppose not, Pel said, still watching her like a cat with a mouse.

      "Will you stop staring at me?" Irilayne snapped. She snatched the basket back and increased her pace, hurrying down the hill at a speed that was risky, given the rough nature of the ground, but Irilayne didn’t care. A sprained ankle would be a small price to pay to get rid of Pel.

      She arrived home gasping for breath and almost fell inside, slamming the door closed behind her.

      Steady on! Dron said. He looked at her more closely. What’s the matter?

      Is it true the king’s dying? Irilayne gasped.

      How did you know about that? Dron asked in surprise.

      Pel told me.

      Ah, Dron said.

      It’s true, then?

      Yes, girl, I’m afraid it is, Dron said gently.

      Irilayne drew a deep, shuddering breath. Pel said they were talking about poison, she said. I assume that’s just the usual rubbish.

      There was a pause that made Irilayne turn her head to look sharply at Dron.

      No, Dron said heavily. It doesn’t seem to be nonsense this time.

      Irilayne stared at him in horror. "Someone has tried to murder my father? she asked. To assassinate him?"

      It seems so.

      But who…? Arion wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t.

      But someone else might, Dron pointed out. Especially if they thought they could remove or simply step over Arion. You know your brother doesn’t exactly have a reputation for toughness.

      Irilayne almost laughed. Arion, her dear, gentle, bookish brother. No, no one would call him tough. No one who didn’t know him well, anyway. There was a streak of toughness under that soft exterior, Irilayne knew. He could be very determined when he wanted to be. There was quite enough to make him a good, strong ruler, although she knew he’d hate the job. He preferred his books and his studies, and he hated the ceremonial of the court. But he would make a just and fair ruler too, she knew, if it came to it. He had strong concerns about justice and strong ideas about how a ruler ought to govern. But he would never be a warrior king like his father. For that reason, their father had always rather looked down on his sensitive, scholarly second son and sneered at his academic pursuits. And the courtiers, of course, had taken their lead from the king. Poor Arion’s life had been hell at times. She loved her father, but she had to admit that he hadn’t been the most successful parent in the world, not after her mother died, anyway. How would anyone hope to get away with that sort of coup, though? she asked. The nobles wouldn’t accept them.

      They’d accept the next person in line, Dron said. They’d accept Morion, for instance.

      Morion’s dead.

      No one knows that for sure, Dron pointed out. His body was never found.

      That’s ridiculous, Dron. Why hasn’t he come back if he’s alive?

      Who knows? Maybe he’s been a prisoner. Maybe he lost his memory. Maybe he was bewitched.

      Do you really believe any of that? Irilayne asked.

      Of course not. But I’m only your father’s old man-at-arms. I’m not the one who’d have to be convinced, am I, and I’m quite sure anyone claiming to be Morion would have a good story to tell.

      Arion and I would recognise our own elder brother, Dron, Irilayne pointed out tartly.

      Well, first of all, you’re not there, are you? And Arion wouldn’t be recognising anyone much if he was dead, would he?

      Stop it, Dron! You’re scaring me!

      Well, good, because you should be scared. There’s danger in this, Irilayne. Don’t kid yourself that there’s not. If Arion didn’t poison your father, then someone else did, and I’m sure they didn’t do it because they had Arion’s or your interests at heart. Someone wants the throne, and there’s only one way to achieve that.

      But it would be just too suspicious if Arion died straight after my father, Irilayne said desperately.

      That’s why they probably wouldn’t kill him immediately, Dron said calmly. If it was me? I’d lock him up and tell people he’d gone on a journey somewhere. He’s travelled quite a lot doing his research, and when he’s on the trail of some interesting document he often ignores everything else. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d disappeared at an inappropriate time. No one would bat an eyelid. Then, after a suitable interval, there could be an unfortunate and very tragic accident. The roads aren’t always safe, after all.

      Irilayne couldn’t think of a thing to say that time. She just stared at her old friend.

      And you’d be even easier to dispose of, Dron went on, boring in. You’re not even in the palace where there are guards to protect you. You’re here, in a tiny village, and very few people know where you are. He gave Irilayne a very direct look. On the other hand, everyone knows that you ran away from the palace, and everyone also knows that all sorts of things can happen to girls who run away from home.

      I’m not a girl! Irilayne retorted hotly. How dare he treat her as a child and try to make her feel as if this was all her fault? And I’m not exactly helpless, either.

      You know that and I know that, but do you really think it’ll make that much difference if someone wants to make you disappear and then wants to explain that disappearance?

      But Father disowned me when I refused to marry Lord Griblon. There’s no reason to come after me. Irilayne couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.

      Dron looked at her. Girl, he said heavily, I doubt that there was much in that. Your father lost his temper. And before he could regain it and think about what he was doing, you’d flounced out of there and run away. He wasn’t the best parent in the world, I’ll admit that, but if you weren’t just as proud and stubborn and impetuous as he is, the two of you would probably have worked it all out long ago. Instead of which, you came here and took on a menial job, no doubt waiting for him to apologise and ask you to come home. And I’m quite sure he was just as busy waiting for you to make the first move.

      Irilayne blushed just a little. He still disowned me, she said sulkily. So there isn’t any reason to come after me.

      If you were planning to steal the throne, would you be willing to put your trust in that?

      Irilayne looked at him helplessly. All right, she surrendered. But this is all conjecture anyway.

      Your father’s illness isn’t, Dron pointed out.

      All right. What should I do?

      Well, first of all, why don’t you sit down and hand me that basket of plums? Dron grinned. Then I think we need to do some talking, and after that, we need to do some planning.

      In that case, I think I’ll make a pot of tea, Irilayne said, handing the basket to Dron. And don’t you gorge yourself on those either, she ordered. If you’re right, I need you fit and well and able to help me, not stuck in the outhouse with a bellyache.

      Dron’s laugh followed her as she made her way to the kitchen. She made the tea and then came back to sit down, bringing a cake for herself. She knew Dron wouldn’t want one, not when he could eat plums instead.

      So it would have to be someone who either plans to take over by force or who’s already in the line of succession and just needs to clear the way a bit, Irilayne said as she took a bite of her cake.

      Dron grunted in assent, his mouth full of plum.

      Can you think of anyone?

      Dron shrugged. Griblon, Atheris, Zankeria, Urland. Those are just off the top of my head. There are almost certainly others; most of the Royal Council, probably. Griblon was always ambitious. But he’s so far down the list that he’d have to create a complete bloodbath to make himself eligible.

      That’s why he wanted to marry me! Irilayne said bitterly. Any fool could see that. Any fool but my father. But even someone planning to take over by force would need some claim to legitimacy, wouldn’t they?

      Depends on how much force they plan to use, Dron said practically and, Irilayne thought, somewhat cold-bloodedly. But then he was an old soldier. He’d probably seen a lot worse in his time. Also, Dron went on, it depends on how much support they have. If they can get enough of the Royal Council on their side, it won’t really matter how much actual legitimacy they have.

      But…

      People can be bought, little princess, the old man said. And you know as well as I that scruples are often in short supply among the nobility, while debt is almost a requirement of rank.

      Irilayne shuddered. I am so glad I got out of there! she said fervently. It may be lined with gold, but it’s still a filthy corrupt cesspool of a place. And don’t call me ‘princess’. Father disowned me, remember? I’m not a princess any more.

      Of course you’re a princess! It would take an Act of Council to delegitimise you. Whether your father chose to own you or not makes no difference to that. You should have stayed, Dron said bluntly. It was your place.

      It wasn’t my place! Irilayne said. It was never my place. I never fitted. I hated every minute of it. Being dressed up like some kind of doll and paraded in front of everyone. And all I was supposed to think of was looking beautiful and catching a husband! It was ghastly. She barked a little laugh. I used to hear that fairy tale about the boy who was swapped for someone else, and I used to think that that was me; a changeling, left in place of the real Princess Irilayne. That’s what I felt like.

      What rubbish you do talk, girl, Dron said easily. And this isn’t what we need to be discussing right now.

      We need to find out what’s really happening in the capital, Irilayne said.

      True. But first, we need to be thinking about getting you out of here. This place is too dangerous. Too many people know where you are.

      No one knows where I am.

      Dron burst out laughing. Wise up, little girl. Did you really think your father would let you run away without finding out where you were and making sure you were all right? And then taking steps to ensure you stayed that way?

      Irilayne stared at him. What are you talking about?

      Dron shook his head in disbelief. Are you really that naïve, Irilayne? You ran straight to me and Lord Brena up at the keep. Did you really think that your father didn’t know who you were close to? And did you really think he wouldn’t ask us if we knew where you were? And that we wouldn’t tell him you were safe with us?

      I didn’t think he’d care, Irilayne muttered, blushing as she stared into her teacup. And I thought you and Brena were my friends.

      We are, girl. But we still weren’t going to put our heads on the block for you just because you were having a fit of pique. Besides, your father had a right to know where you were. He loves you, girl, whether you think he does or not.

      Irilayne tried to wipe away the tear that appeared in her eye without Dron seeing. What did you mean about steps? she asked.

      Dron looked at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. What if I were to tell you that Pel arrived here just a few weeks after we let your father know where you were? In fact, it would have been just about enough time for our message to reach your father, and him to send someone here.

      Irilayne stared at him in disbelief. What are you trying to say, Dron?

      "I’m not trying to say anything, Laynie. I’m telling you that Pel is a member of the Elite Guard. Actually, of the Special Unit."

      Irilayne realised her mouth was hanging open, and quickly closed it. The Special Unit. The elite of the elite. Warriors, spies, masters of intrigue. She didn’t recall ever seeing Pel around the palace, but then she probably wouldn’t. The men and women of the Special Unit were secretive, anonymous and loyal only to the king. Not even the Royal Council had any authority over them. And Pel was one of them? Pel? Annoying, cheeky, laughing Pel, who couldn’t possibly be older than she was? Impossible. You’re joking, right?

      Dron shook his head. You can ask Brena if you don’t believe me. Pel presented his credentials when he arrived. Of course, he didn’t really have to do that, but I think your father wanted us to know that he was here if we needed him.

      So that’s why Pel is always popping up wherever I am, Irilayne said slowly.

      Dron grinned and nodded. And that contingent of royal troops who’ve been billeted with Brena? They’re not here just to help keep the roads free of bandits. They’re actually under Pel’s command. They’re here because you are, Princess.

      There was quite a long silence while Irilayne tried to digest what she’d just learned. She absently sipped her tea and stared at the table in front of her while her mind whirled with such a mixture of emotions that she wasn’t actually sure how she felt. The thought that her father actually did care warmed her more than she would have expected, but to think that he’d tracked her down and set guards on her without her knowledge! How dare he? And after he’d disowned her and everything! And the knowledge that all this time Pel had been creeping around watching her every move just made her blood boil. The whole thing was intolerable! And over all that a dreadful fear for her father and her brother was growing, and coupled to that a horror of what might happen to Xanara if someone did succeed in removing her father and brother. What might happen to Dron, and Brena and his lady Dria, and Thann the miller, and the farmers, and all the others like them? She doubted that anyone would go to all the trouble of taking over because they cared about the people. She’d thought she didn’t care about Xanara, but she found that she did, passionately. It was her land. They were her people. They mattered. And her father was dying and she couldn’t help him, probably would never see him again. And if Dron was right, her only remaining brother was in danger too. And so was she…

      Abruptly, all the emotions of the moment seemed to crystallise, and she found herself weeping helplessly; great tearing sobs that racked her entire body. Dron sat and watched her with those wise old eyes until the storm passed. As she began to sniff back the last tears and attempt to wipe the others off her sticky face, he wordlessly handed her a cloth.

      Thank you, Irilayne said, busily mopping up.

      Feeling better now? Dron asked gently.

      Irilayne nodded with a rather watery smile. Dron always knew what to do for the best. He seemed to know instinctively when to comfort her and when to let her cry herself out, when to let her run and when to rein her in. If only her father had had those skills. But he’d been busy with affairs of state, and devastated when her mother died, and as impatient and intolerant as Irilayne herself used to be. It just hadn’t been in him. He’d done his best. It just hadn’t been enough. And really, that was no one’s fault. It was just how he was made, and just how she was made, and they’d rubbed each other up the wrong way for as long as she could remember. In despair he’d given in to her nagging and let her learn to fight, probably hoping to both shut her up and siphon off some of the excess energy she’d always had as a child. And when he’d found that Dron could handle her, he’d left her mostly to him. Just as he’d left Arion to his tutors while he’d concentrated on Morion, who was his heir and a warrior prince just like him. Those two had understood each other. But Fawdlan had failed to understand his other two children. Ancient history. Water under the bridge.

      Will you be able to concentrate now? Dron asked.

      I think so. Just let me go wash my face.

      Good idea, Dron grinned. You’re a mess at the moment.

      With a snort of laughter, Irilayne got up and went outside to the trough. That was filled every morning from the pump that stood at one end and served both the household and the livestock for water. She splashed water on her face and dried it on the rag that hung by the pump, and found that she felt better. With a firmer tread, she went back inside, determined to face the future, whatever it brought, with as much fortitude and strength as she could manage.

      Much better, Dron said approvingly as she sat down again. Now let’s get to work.

      What are we doing exactly? Irilayne asked.

      Working out how to make sure you stay safe, of course. If there’s a likelihood of funny business going on back in the palace, we can’t afford to take chances. Better to be needlessly cautious than find out too late that we should have been more careful.

      Irilayne nodded. Her emotional dam-burst seemed to have cleared her head a little. She couldn’t really believe that she was in danger, but she was at least willing to listen to Dron. He was an experienced professional soldier, after all, and knew a great deal more about these things than she did. If he thought there was danger, Irilayne was willing to concede that there just might be, whether she believed in it or not. And as Dron had just said, better safe than sorry. Besides, he’d done a lot for her, and if she could repay even some of that by taking a few extra precautions to please him, that was fine by her. After all, it wouldn’t really cost her very much, would it?

      So, what do you think we should do? she asked.

      Get you out of here, Dron said bluntly.

      What? Irilayne had been thinking about being careful if she saw a stranger, or making sure the door was barred at night, that sort of thing. Not leaving her home.

      Do use your brains, girl, Dron said wearily. If someone wants to kill you, it makes no kind of sense to stay where they know to find you, does it?

      But we still don’t know that someone does want to kill me! Irilayne wailed. She’d already lost one home when she ran away from the palace. She’d made a life for herself here, and the thought of having to give up everything all over again was immensely painful.

      We’ve been through this already, Irilayne, Dron said wearily.

      Irilayne could tell that he was trying to suppress a sigh and immediately felt guilty. But she wasn’t about to give up her home without a very good reason. She suppressed the feeling ruthlessly.

      We have one piece of hard evidence, Dron said. And that is that your father’s been poisoned.

      Can we even be sure of that? Irilayne asked quite seriously.

      As sure as we can be without going and seeing for ourselves, Dron said.

      How did you find out about it?

      Through Brena.

      He got a dispatch?

      Dron laughed. Goodness, no. They wouldn’t want that getting out. It would cause a fiasco. The currency would drop in value; the whole nation would start to totter. They won’t let that news out until the king’s actually dead and they have a successor all ready to go. No, Brena has a friend on the Royal Council.

      Then how did Pel know about it?

      I’m not sure. It’s possible that Brena told him. He knows who he is, of course.

      Can we find out? It might help to confirm the news. I mean, if Pel heard it from some dispatch that he received and not from Brena, that would make it less likely to be a mistake or just a rumour, wouldn’t it?

      Yes, it would. It’s nice to see that you can actually use your brains.

      Now that, Irilayne thought, definitely required a reply, preferably something tart and squashing. The trouble was, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. So, should we go find out?

      I think we should, Dron agreed, getting to his feet. Come along.

      I haven’t finished my tea, Irilayne objected, but Dron was already out the door, so she had no choice but to follow or be left behind.

      She caught up with him halfway along the lane, and they walked together up the hill towards Brena’s keep. It was all Brena’s land around here, so the keep was both his home and the administrative centre of the area. It was almost a small town all on its own. It bustled with clerks and administrators and the people needed to support them. But it was Brena himself they needed to see today, not some functionary. The gate was more heavily guarded than usual, an indication perhaps that Brena himself took the news seriously, but they had no trouble getting in. Dron was well-known as a friend of the lord, and Irilayne had lived in the keep for a while before leaving to go and live with Dron in the village. And to think she’d done that because she was afraid her father would find out where she was if she stayed in the keep. She’d thought the village would be more anonymous. And these two had already told on her. She quickly suppressed a spurt of bitterness as they were waved through with a cheery good day and informed that Lord Brena was in his office.

      Five minutes later they were seated in chairs in front of Brena’s desk and a servant was placing a tray of tea and cakes on the desk. Brena waited until they were all served and the servant had departed and closed the door after him before getting down to business.

      Dron. What can I do for you?

      Irilayne bristled a little. What was she, a potted plant?

      Laynie and I were wondering if you were the one who told Pel about the king’s illness, Dron said.

      Does he know? Brena said in surprise. No, I didn’t tell him. I haven’t seen him in days. If he knows it must be because he heard from somewhere else. A dispatch from his own people, I would imagine.

      That’s about what we thought, Dron nodded.

      Then that would mean it’s really true, wouldn’t it? Irilayne broke in in a voice that shook just a little despite her best attempts to keep it even. I mean, not just a mistake or a rumour or something?

      I’d say so, yes, Brena said gravely. I’m sorry, Princess.

      Irilayne’s breath caught in her throat, and she realised that until that moment, she hadn’t really believed that her father was ill. Not really. It had been like a dream, something not real. Until she heard Brena’s words, it might still have been a mistake or even a sick kind of joke. But if Brena hadn’t told Pel, that meant the news had come from two independent sources. Surely they couldn’t both be wrong? Could they?

      Do we know what Pel’s message said? she asked. Because it might not be the same.

      I think you’re grasping at straws there, girl, Dron said gently. But we can send and ask him if you’d like.

      Irilayne hesitated, but only briefly. I would, she said firmly. I need to be sure.

      I can understand that, Lord Brena said. After all, it’s going to impact your life quite substantially if it is, isn’t it? I certainly wouldn’t want to make any far-reaching decisions without being certain that the information I’m acting on is reliable. He picked up a small bell on his desk and rang it. When a servant answered the summons, he issued crisp orders that Pel the miller’s boy was to be asked to attend at the keep as soon as possible. When the servant had departed on her errand, Brena sat back with a sigh. Well, he said. Now we wait. I imagine they’ll be a little while. There’s usually quite a delay after I issue one of these summonses. I’d suggest a walk in the garden while we wait, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Laynie to be seen more than is necessary.

      I agree, Dron said. We’ll wait here out of sight.

      Brena and Dron chatted quietly as they waited. Irilayne didn’t join in. Instead, she sat trying to make sense of the day’s events. Was it really just a day? Not even that, when she came to think of it, more like an hour, or maybe two, since she’d met Pel on the hill. It felt like a lifetime ago. How could her life change so drastically in so short a time? How could she be in danger? How could her father be dying, probably already dead, now that she thought about it? How long did it take to get a message here from the capital? Slower than poison could move through human veins, anyway. Her father might have been dead for days, might already be buried, and she’d known nothing about it. It was a horrifying thought. She gave herself a little mental shake and told herself to stop thinking nonsense. It was just as likely, after all, that her father was long recovered, just as energetic and irascible as usual, and already busy hunting down the poisoner.

      But against that was the fact that Dron and Brena were talking about it being too dangerous for her to even walk in the gardens! She knew which one of those options she wanted to believe. She just wasn’t sure that she could afford to. And no matter how she tried to rationalise things, there was a part of her that couldn’t decide whether to scream or burst into hysterical sobs. She rather thought if that part managed to break loose things would become highly embarrassing in a very short time. She set her jaw, clenched her teeth, and made up her mind to endure. She would not make a fool of herself. Not in front of Dron and Brena; certainly not in front of Pel. That would just be too humiliating.

      She couldn’t, however, shut down her thoughts, which continued to skitter around and around like so many trapped mice. She caught herself starting to hyperventilate and concentrated on calming her breathing. At least that diverted her somewhat from the trapped mice, although they did continue to skitter in the background. They were perfectly frantic, and also perfectly futile because there were simply no answers to be had before they’d talked to Pel. But reminding herself of that did nothing to solve the problem. Hopes and fears and terrible uncertainties chased each other around and around in her head, and she knew with humiliation that they were all showing on her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide them. Her father had been forever at her because her thoughts always showed on her face. She just could not learn to present the calm, controlled, dignified countenance that was expected of a princess of the realm. Just one of her many failings. When she got right down to it, there hadn’t been a lot that she’d managed to do to her father’s satisfaction.

      She wished Pel would hurry up. The longer she sat here with nothing to do but think, the more real the whole thing began to feel, and the more scared she became. Scared for herself mostly of course, but also scared for her father, scared for her brother. Scared for Xanara and whatever atrocities its people were about to be subjected to if Dron was right. Scared for Dron and Brena and the others who had befriended her. If Dron was right and she was to ‘disappear’, what might happen to those who knew she was alive? They couldn’t really be left to contradict the official story, could they? It all added to the confusion in her head and went around and around and around with the rest, thoughts bumping into each and rebounding like ricocheting stones, shuffling the deck and changing the pattern, but still going around and around and around… There was a knock on the door, and Irilayne almost jumped out of her skin.

      Come! Lord Brena ordered, and a moment later a servant threw open the door and bowed low.

      Pel the miller’s boy, he announced, and tactfully withdrew, closing the door quietly after Pel.

      Pel had entered with the usual subservient half-bow that all the villagers exhibited when they came for an interview with their lord. But as the door closed he straightened up, and it was all Irilayne could do not to gasp. The bright gaze was still there, but that seemed to be all that remained of Pel the miller’s boy. In fact, even that had changed. It was still sharp and penetrating, but now it had become intelligent and calculating as it had never been before, and the face had lost its merriment and become alert and businesslike. He looked quickly around the room, taking them all in, before turning to Brena.

      You’ve heard. It wasn’t a question.

      Yes, Brena said. And according to her Highness, you have too. What we’re wondering is whether we’ve all heard the same thing.

      A fair question. Pel looked at the other chair in the room, then back at the lord. May I?

      Certainly.

      Pel crossed the room and grabbed the chair. Irilayne noticed that even the way he moved seemed to have changed, becoming more lithe and catlike. He’d always been nimble and athletic, but now there was a suggestion of the predator about him. He carried the chair back, swung it around, and sat on it backwards with his arms folded across the back. Well, if you’ve heard that the king’s dying, and that it’s almost certainly poison, then yes, we’ve heard the same thing, he said without preamble.

      It’s true then? Irilayne asked, unable to quite keep the tremor of apprehension out of her voice. He is actually dying?

      Pel pierced her with those gimlet eyes. I’m afraid so, Princess.

      Irilayne blinked hard against the sudden rush of tears, determined not to cry like some soppy kid. It took quite a few blinks before she could get herself under control. And all the time she was aware of Pel watching her.

      We’ve been discussing what’s best to do now, Brena said. We’d appreciate your input.

      CHAPTER TWO

      You shouldn’t be discussing anything! Pel said sharply. What you should be doing is getting her out of here. He pointed at Irilayne.

      Now, just a minute! Dron said. We do need to know what we’re doing before we go rushing off, Pel.

      Pel turned to look at him. You don’t have time, Dron. I received my message yesterday. It takes a week for a message to get here from the capital. That means in all probability the king is already dead.

      Irilayne drew her breath in sharply.

      I’m sorry to be blunt, Princess, Pel said, turning to look at her. But that’s the simple truth. And that being the case, anyone who is coming after you may only be a day away. Perhaps even less, depending on whether they waited until the king was dead before setting out. We have to get you out of here, and we have to get you out now.

      He’s right, girl, Dron said. You can’t stay here.

      But how can you be sure anyone is coming? Irilayne asked desperately.

      Pel turned to look at Dron. Did you explain this to her?

      I did. But she seems to be having a little trouble grasping it.

      Well, that’s understandable, I suppose. This must all come as a shock. Pel scratched his head. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to wait while she gets her head around it. I suggest you go straight home, pack, and get her out of here today.

      Irilayne had listened to all of this in growing indignation. "Will you stop talking about me as though I’m not here? she demanded. This is my life you’re busy destroying."

      No, Pel said, once again fixing her with those eyes that seemed to see right through her and out the other side. What we’re busy doing is trying to save your life, and we could do with a little cooperation.

      You tend to get that better if you ask, Irilayne said tartly.

      Pel laughed. My apologies, Princess. I should have thought of that.

      Yes, you should, Irilayne snapped, not about to be mollified. And stop calling me ‘Princess’. I have a name, and I know you’re aware of what it is.

      All right, Irilayne. I apologise. Now, will you please go with Dron and get packed? You’re leaving here today if I have to carry you. Your father personally put me in charge of keeping you safe. That charge hasn’t been rescinded. Not that I know of anyway, and not by any authority I care to recognise if it has, so that’s what I’m going to do.

      You’re coming with us? Irilayne asked in dismay.

      Of course I am. Now, stop arguing and go pack. He deliberately turned his back and addressed Lord Brena. I’ve sent some of my men out to watch the roads, so we’ll have some warning of anyone approaching.

      Irilayne stared at Pel’s back, bristling at the summary dismissal. But she’d just opened her mouth to say something when Dron got to his feet.

      Come on, girl, we’d best be getting on with it, he said, touching her on the arm.

      Irilayne shook him off irritably.

      Will you be able to stall them? Pel was asking. They’re certain to come here, and they’re also certain to be suspicious. If they know the princess is here, then they know that you’ve been helping her.

      I’ll be fine.

      We won’t tell you where we’re headed for obvious reasons, Pel went on. You’ve got enough influential friends that you’ll probably be fairly safe.

      That’s what I’m counting on. I’ll admit that she was here and tell them I have no idea where she’s gone.

      Probably the best way, Pel said.

      At that point, Dron grabbed Irilayne firmly by the arm and pulled her out of the room. Stop standing there gaping, and come on! he said firmly. You heard Pel. Do you really want to die just because you were too stupid and pig-headed to do as you were told?

      Irilayne looked at him as though she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then she gave herself a little shake and followed as he hurried through the keep and back down the road toward his cottage, going so fast that she had to jog to keep up with him in stretches. It was all happening too fast. There was no time to take one shock in before they hit her with another. She felt dazed, as though nothing was quite real. She almost expected to wake up soon and find that she was safe in her bed and it was all a dream, but somehow she knew that wouldn’t happen. It was all real enough. The problem was convincing herself of that.

      They entered the cottage. Dron rummaged in a chest beside the front door and came up with two backpacks. He tossed one to Irilayne.

      Here. Take only what you can fit in there, and remember, you have to carry it on your back, so don’t forget to think about the weight as well.

      He went into his bedroom, and she could see him through the door beginning to stuff clothes into his own pack. Numbly, she went into her own room. She stood for a moment in the middle of the floor, looking around, taking stock. She didn’t have a lot of possessions, but then the backpack wouldn’t take a lot. She began to run an inventory in her head, trying to prioritise. What did she absolutely need, and what could she afford to leave behind? Clothes first. She’d need at least one change of clothes. And shoes. No, boots. Good strong boots. Well, she was wearing those, so that was all right. And her cloak, of course. That was an absolute necessity, and it would do as a blanket, too, if they had to camp out. She began to empty her chest, laying the things out on her bed. Her warm scarf and gloves; she might need them. In fact, spring being an unpredictable sort of season, she could almost count on it. She put them in the bottom of the pack and then began to sort through her clothes. There weren’t very many, but even so, some would have to be left behind. She thought for a moment, chewing her lip, then discarded the dresses in favour of trousers and tunics. If they were on the run, practical clothing was definitely the better option. She didn’t need skirts binding her legs at an inopportune moment. While she was at it, she closed her door, stripped off the dress she was wearing and swapped that for trousers and tunic too. Then she packed the others carefully in the pack and looked around again. Her dagger and the sword Dron had given her. Those were essential, of course. She took the belt down from the peg on the wall and strapped it on, then clipped the scabbards to it. She picked up her jewel box. There wasn’t much in it, just her cloak pin and a few things that had been her mother’s. Most of her mother’s jewels had been left behind when she ran away. She’d only taken those few things she valued the most, and she wasn’t about to leave them behind now. She tucked them into a corner of her pack and looked around again. That seemed to be it, apart from her bow, and that was in the main room. She hoisted her pack, looked around one last time at the place that had been the happiest home she’d ever had, and walked out, pulling the door closed behind her.

      And that was when it suddenly all became real. She didn’t even have the strength to stagger to a chair. She simply sank down right where she stood. Her father was dying, was probably already dead; her brother was probably a prisoner, and if Dron and Brena and Pel were right, there were people already on their way to kill her. The tears she’d managed to hold in check refused to be stopped any longer. She crouched on the floor like a small wounded animal and howled her grief and despair and fear to the bare boards beneath her.

      Girl, girl, girl! Dron was suddenly there, lifting her up off the floor, putting his arms around her, something he almost never did, holding her close, stroking her hair.

      I’m sorry! Irilayne gasped. I’m sorry! I’m trying to be brave, but I just can’t any longer. I just can’t! And she laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed as though her heart was breaking – which indeed it was.

      Well, of course you can’t, Dron said gently.

      Irilayne was so startled she stopped crying and jerked her head back to look him in the face.

      Your whole world just fell apart, Irilayne. A couple of hours ago life was going on as usual, and suddenly your father’s dead and your own life’s in danger. And to top it all off, you don’t even know who your enemy is. Of course you’re shattered. He gave her a last squeeze and stepped back. But right now, we need to do as Pel suggested and get out of here. Can you do that?

      Irilayne sniffed back the last of her tears and nodded.

      Are you packed?

      Yes. I just need my bow. What about food? I’ve got some room left in my pack.

      I’ve already filled up my pack with food, but by all means, add a little extra if you can fit it in. And here. He handed her a tinderbox. Flint’s in there. You can use your knife to strike it. Tuck that in your pack. I’ve got one of my own, but it’s best if you have one too, just in case we get separated.

      Irilayne nodded as she accepted the tinderbox and slipped it into her pack. She was grateful to Dron. His calm practicality helped to stabilise her. She clung to that. There would time later to weep, to grieve, to do whatever she had to do. For now, she focused on the practicalities of preparing to leave. Pots and pans? Plates? she asked. Bedrolls?

      Dron pointed to a frying pan and a saucepan tied to the back of his pack. Plates and cups are in the pack.

      Irilayne nodded. What about bedrolls?

      Take the thickest blanket off your bed, roll it up tightly, and use the leather straps here to strap it to your pack, Dron instructed, pointing out the straps in question. And hurry, girl. I don’t want to be hanging about here too long. The quicker we’re out of here, the further away we’ll be by the time whoever it is arrives. A few minutes now could make all the difference.

      Irilayne nodded and headed back to her room. Grab the kettle, Dron, she said over her shoulder as she went. I think that might come in useful. It’s better than a pot for boiling water, and if we have that we can be cooking a meal and still make tea. I can carry it.

      Five minutes later they were both back in the main room, ready to go.

      Ready? Dron asked, and Irilayne knew he wasn’t just asking if she was packed.

      She nodded tensely. Where are we going?

      We’ll go out the back door. We’re less likely to be seen going that way. And we’ll head across country, there’s too much chance of being seen on the road. We may as well head for the woods down by the river, to begin with, since we’ll be heading that way anyway. That’ll get us undercover and out of sight, and we’ll have a good choice of directions to go in from there. It’s not hard to cross the river if we want to. When we’re well away, we can take stock and make some decisions about where to go next. Here. He handed her a water bottle with a long leather strap that could be slung over the shoulder. Fill it at the trough outside.

      Irilayne nodded and followed Dron out the back door of the cottage, grabbing her bow and quiver on the way out. They paused briefly to fill their water bottles, and Dron dived into the shed and came back with a good coil of rope looped over his shoulder. Then they passed quickly through the yard and over the stile into the orchard.

      Head to your right, Dron said as they reached the first of the trees. We don’t want to go anywhere near old Mother Adarin’s place. If she sees us, no one will have to even ask where we’ve gone. The entire village will know before we reach the end of the orchard.

      Irilayne barked a laugh as she swung right. Adarin couldn’t keep anything to herself if she tried. That was one denizen of the village Irilayne was most definitely not going to miss. She’d never met anyone so nosy, and whatever Adarin found out was all over the village seemingly before you could blink twice. No, she wasn’t going to miss Adarin. She quickly closed down that line of thought before she could start thinking of the people she would miss. She had enough to deal with at the moment. That was for later. They reached the end of the trees, and Dron paused in the shadow of an old pear tree, looking out at the way ahead. Irilayne came up beside him. She’d never noticed it before, but the fields between them and the forest were very flat and very open. The only cover, if it could be called that, consisted of three widely-spaced shrubs. And somehow, the forest looked much further away than she remembered.

      This isn’t going to work, is it? she said.

      Dron shrugged. There’s no more cover on any of the other ways unless we go down the back of the hill behind the keep, and that only leads to the marsh. At least this way leads to cover.

      Irilayne nodded.

      All we can do is to get across as quickly as we can, Dron said. Don’t run, that’ll call even more attention to you, just walk at a good businesslike pace. All right?

      Irilayne nodded, nervously licking her lips.

      Let’s go, then.

      Dron led the way, setting a good brisk walking pace that covered the ground without looking too hurried. It couldn’t possibly have taken more than five minutes to make their way across the fields to the first trees, but as she stepped under their shelter, Irilayne’s heart was pounding as though she’d been running for hours. She would have liked to pause and catch her breath, but Dron didn’t even slow his pace. He led them on, deeper into the trees until the village and its surrounding farmland were completely out of sight and they were deep in the wood. Only then did he stop.

      Catch your breath for a moment, Dron said, sinking down with his back against a tree. We’ve got a long way to go before dark.

      Where are we going? Irilayne asked.

      For now, that way, Dron said, pointing towards the river. I want us across the river and well into the big woods on the other side before we stop. After that, we’ll see. Once we’ve made camp we can talk about it.

      I need to get to the capital, Irilayne said anxiously. I have to know whether my father and brother are all right. I have to know what’s happening there.

      As I said, we’ll discuss that when we’re camped for the night, Dron said. He unslung his water bottle and took a long drink. They sat for about ten minutes before Dron clambered to his feet and dusted himself down. Ready?

      Irilayne got to her feet and shouldered her pack. Ready.

      Let’s go.

      Side by side, they trudged on through the wood. This was still familiar territory to Irilayne. The wood wasn’t far from the village, and she’d been here many times collecting firewood, or berries and nuts, or hunting deer and rabbits, or even fishing in the river, though that wasn’t one of her favourite pastimes. The wood on this side of the river was in reality as much a part of the village environment as the surrounding farmland. That was no doubt why Dron was in such a hurry to get through it and across the river. There was too great a danger of running into some villager wandering around in here. Dron pressed on at the best speed the terrain would allow, and three-quarters of an hour later, they reached the river.

      Irilayne eyed it apprehensively. Early spring was not the best season to think about crossing. It had rained all of the last week, and the water looked deep and muddy, the current swift. Which is the best ford, do you think? she asked Dron.

      Dron frowned at the river, absently rubbing his chin. I’m not entirely sure, he admitted.

      Well, let’s go right then, Irilayne said. There are two fords that way, so we’ll have a better chance.

      Dron shrugged. Might as well, he said laconically and began to lead the way along the bank.

      They came to the first ford in just a few minutes. Being close to the village, this was the one mostly used by the villagers when they wanted to cross the river, and a clear trail led down to it. But Dron took one look at the swiftness of the current and shook his head.

      Too risky, he said shortly. Let’s move on.

      Feeling a peculiar mixture of relief that they weren’t going to try the crossing there and apprehension about crossing at all, Irilayne led the way further along the bank. It was twenty minutes before they came to another place where the river obviously ran shallow over a gravel bar. A great old tree had been swept down the river by some winter storm and was caught broadside on to the bar. It would provide handholds to help themselves along for at least part of the way. Dron looked it over with an expression of approval.

      Looks as though we’re going to be doing a little bit of swimming, he said, pointing to the water below his feet, which looked much deeper than that out in the middle.

      Irilayne quailed a little bit when she saw how strong the current was under the bank. She looked at Dron apprehensively.

      Ah, it’ll be all right, girl, he said heartily. You can swim like a fish, I’ve seen you, and I can hold my own. The trick will be to jump out as far as we can, to begin with. With a bit of luck, we can jump right over that bit of strong current and land in shallower water on the other side.

      But what about our packs and weapons? We won’t be able to do that weighted down with those.

      Dron tapped the rope he still wore over his shoulder. We tie them all into a bundle wrapped up in our cloaks, and I’ll tie the end of the rope to my belt. When we’re across the deep bit, I can just haul them in.

      The food supplies will get wet, Irilayne said.

      Yes, I know, Dron sighed. Most of it will be all right, but the bread won’t be, and neither will the flour. We’d better take them out and throw them away now before we start. That will probably be a lot less messy than trying deal with it when it’s all saturated and leaking through our packs.

      Despite herself, Irilayne laughed. "Why

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