Voyage into Twilight: Anchorage, #2

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Cover Artist: Catherine Dair

Third Edition

VOYAGE INTO TWILIGHT: ANCHORAGE BOOK 2 © 2014 Sandra C. Stixrude

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: Voyage into Twilight: Anchorage Book 2 is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material is a model and is being used solely for illustrative purposes.

PUBLISHER

Mischief Corner Books, LLC

Dedication

For my father, who reads everything I write, regardless of content. Though I may bristle, as only a daughter can, at his critiques, his insights have always been invaluable, his faith in me crucial beyond measure.

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

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

Dear Reader

Author's Note

About Sandra C. Stixrude

Also by Sandra

About Mischief Corner Books

Chapter One

Pursuit

At least it was warm by the fire. He stretched his legs out toward the flames and settled deeper into the soft-backed chair. He tried propping his right leg up on the grate, but his knee hurt abominably, so he drew it back and settled it on his uninjured leg instead. No, that was worse. The ankle stabbed at him. Disgusted, he threw the leg over the arm of the chair, which was only slightly better.

Customers crowded the inn's common room, the steady hum of conversation punctuated by occasional laughter, a comforting buffer against the darkness outside. It would be safe to doze here with all of these people around and he was so tired. Surely, for a moment he would be all right…

Please, ma'am, I wish you'd reconsider. The clipped, precise voice of his sergeant drifted into his sleep. Me and the boys will gladly bed down in the barn, but the commander's hurt and exhausted. Just look at him. Have a heart, ma'am. I'm only asking for a proper bed for him.

The innkeeper's voice answered him. Romenel remembered her from when he had stumbled to the chair by the fire. I see him. He's the only reason I don't run you off my property. I can see he's in a bad way and I'm partial to a pretty face, not to mention he's young enough to be my own son, but, Sergeant, I can smell mercenaries a mile off and if you lot are anything else, I'll eat my shoes. Mercenaries always bring trouble and by the looks of your commander, I'd say someone was after you, to boot. I don't need them finding any of you in my inn and causing me problems.

All right, time to get up and intervene. He forced his eyes open, even though they felt as if the lids had lead weights attached, and heaved his aching body out of the comfortable chair. He had to catch himself on the mantelpiece with both hands when his right leg wouldn't support him and he stood still for a moment, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. If only he hadn't insisted on pushing forward into the night, Brighthorns might not have slipped on that patch of ice and fallen on top of his right leg. Too late for might-haves.

Sergeant Mardis hurried to him and dragged one arm across his shoulders to support him.

He leaned heavily on Mardis and then turned to face the innkeeper with what he hoped was his most charming smile. Perfectly all right, ma'am, I certainly understand your precautions. He extended a hand toward her. Commander Romenel Devar. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you for allowing us the use of your barn. I'll be more than happy to bed down there with the men. We appreciate your understanding. The men were concerned I wouldn't last in the saddle much longer.

The innkeeper shook her head and gave him a sympathetic look. Can I send a healer out to you, Commander? It's the least I can do under the circumstances. You look like you could use one.

Thank you, ma'am, he answered cordially. The room had started to sway. No, wait. That's me. I'd appreciate that very much. Why is it so dark in here all of a sudden?

Joris! Tren! the sergeant bellowed. Come help me! He's going out on us!

There were strong arms around him holding him up, but he still had the sickening sensation of falling and a loud rushing filled his ears…

The room had stopped pitching. He was… where? On his back, lying on something that rustled. Straw?

…and you keep the compresses on, Sergeant, if you ever want him to walk again, someone was saying sternly. It sounded so far away.

Yes, sir, the sergeant's voice seemed to drift to him from across vast distances. We'll keep a close eye on him.

And for heavens sakes, he needs rest! the healer scolded. When was the last time he actually slept?

Four, five days ago, Sergeant Mardis answered. He dozes in the saddle sometimes.

The healer snorted. That doesn't qualify as sleep where I'm concerned.

Romenel opened his eyes and had to blink a few times before anything would come into focus. The healer, a grouchy-looking old man, nearly bald, stomped about nearby. Still, it wasn't a woman. He didn't feel comfortable with women healers. Except for a special one whom he hadn't seen in years, who loved him like a son, whom he knew would help him understand this horrible thing happening to him. He had to find her. He had to.

Sir? The sergeant touched his shoulder. Are you back with us?

I'm here, Mardis. His voice sounded hollow and distant. I'm going to make a guess and say we're in the barn.

Good, the healer grumped. He knows you. He knows where he is. I'm going home. Commander, if you want to live, get some sleep.

With that, the healer gathered his bag up and stumped off.

Sergeant Mardis shook his head. Sorry about that, sir. He had no right to talk to you like that. Then he turned to Romenel, his face carefully expressionless. We brought you upstairs to the loft, sir, where it's a bit warmer. The men are downstairs with the harduks.

A wave of panic engulfed him. He grabbed the sergeant's arm. Mardis, you're not going to leave me up here alone in the dark, are you? Send some of the boys upstairs, stay up here with me, at least leave a lantern on!

The sergeant sighed, no longer able to keep the concern from his face. Sir, we're right downstairs if you need us. I'd be glad to sit with you a bit if it helps you get to sleep, but, sir?

Yes, Sergeant? Romenel struggled to sound calmer.

I wish you'd tell me what's going on, meaning no disrespect, sir, but me and the boys are worried about you.

If I told you, I doubt it would make you feel any better.

Are we staying, sir? At least a day or two, so you can rest?

No, no, we can't. Romenel rubbed the side of his face and yawned. We'll ask around town tomorrow, then we're moving on. I have to find them.

Yes, sir. The sergeant's tone implied he did not agree, but he would never say so. Try and rest, Commander, go to sleep. I'm right here if you need me.

Romenel nodded, exhaustion finally winning. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, full of evil dreams.

It seemed moments later when he woke again with his mother sitting beside him. He was still in the barn loft, still lying on blankets in the straw. His mother rested one hand on his forehead and the other gently held his hand.

Mama? he croaked. What are you doing here?

I heard you were sick, she said, smiling her warm, sunny smile. I came to help.

It's… good to see you, Mama. Something nagged at the back of his mind, something he should remember. I think I am sick. I feel so weak, so tired… It felt as if he sank into a fever dream, so weighted down by fatigue was he. Maybe with his mother here he could finally rest.

That's it, she murmured. Go back to sleep. You need to rest, son, just rest…

Son? She had never called him son. Sweetie, darling, honey cake and when he had been small, her pretty, golden moonpup, but never son. With a jolt of horror, he remembered. His mother had been dead for almost two years. Oh, gods. Terrified to look, he glanced down at the hand that held his. Her fingers ended in long, gray claws.

He struggled to move. He had to get away, but the hand on his forehead pressed him down like a millstone, his limbs buried under mountains of snow. He couldn't think, couldn't resist. He was dying, his life draining out into the straw. His fingers twitched convulsively and met the hilt of his belt knife. With an effort that felt like it took years, he closed his fingers around it.

Just rest, just rest, the thing masquerading as his mother whispered.

The agony of movement lanced through him. He screamed aloud as he ripped the knife from its sheath and swung at the thing. It shrieked and let go of his hand. A pounding inferno roared through his brain where the thing touched his forehead, but he could move now. Any resemblance the thing had to his mother vanished, replaced by something dark and shadow-shrouded. He swung the knife again, the edge of the blade catching on a gray limb. The thing grappled with him and a sudden searing pain pierced his shoulder. Booted footsteps pounded up the stairs. The thing released him and leaped out of the window.

Sir! Sir, are you all right? Mardis shouted on his way up the stairs.

As soon as the sergeant's head cleared the landing, Romenel, panting and sweating, pointed the knife toward him and snarled, Hands! Now, Sergeant!

Mardis swore softly and handed his lantern to Joris who stood behind him on the steps. He extended his hands toward Romenel, to show him first the backs and then the fronts; human hands, unmistakably the sergeant's scarred, familiar hands.

It's me, sir. It's really me, the sergeant offered.

Romenel sagged in relief and collapsed back on the blankets. Sorry, Mardis, I'm sorry. Joris, go on back down, it was just a bad dream.

Joris looked uncertainly at the sergeant, but received a nod from the older man and retreated down the stairs.

Commander, you might want to put the knife down, Mardis suggested. When Romenel did so, he approached and said in a neutral tone, Your dream seems to have bitten you, sir. There's blood on your shoulder.

Romenel drew a shaky breath and put an arm over his eyes. He had to tell Mardis something. The man had been with him for years. If he couldn't even trust his own gunnery sergeant, he might as well lie down and die.

Mardis unbuttoned his commander's shirt far enough to look at the bleeding shoulder. Sir, I was just making a bad joke about your dream, but there's… sir, there's tooth marks here. Really sharp teeth, by the looks of things. Mardis went on in a distressed whisper, Commander, what in thunder's going on here?

The room pitched under him again. He felt so drained, so horribly weak. The thing had stolen his strength, what little he had left these days. He had felt this dizzying exhaustion before, more than once, but still had no idea how it happened. This time it was much worse.

Sergeant, he said with considerable effort. I need help, please. Don't let me go to sleep now. I might not wake up.

Do I call the healer back, sir? Have you been poisoned? Mardis asked in alarm.

No, I don't think so. Help me sit up. Get me some water. He swore as he tried to lever himself up on one elbow and failed.

Mardis propped him up against a support post and pulled out his water flask. All right, sir, you stay with me then. Try to drink a little. That's it, sir. We'll get through this. Do you think you can eat something? Mardis dragged a pack toward him and dug inside for some bread. He broke off a few small pieces and Romenel choked them down with the help of more water. The room steadied, he could almost focus again.

I told you not to leave me alone, he whispered.

Yes, sir, you did, and I'm sorry about that. I thought you'd just been having bad dreams, though, and you were sleeping so soundly, I didn't see the harm in leaving you for a minute or two to check on the men. Hard to really help you, sir, if you don't tell me what the problem is.

Until tonight I wasn't sure I was still even sane, Romenel murmured, his eyelids sliding shut again. Didn't want you to think I was losing my mind… He just wanted to rest his eyes for a moment.

His head jerked sideways and his eyes flew back open when a stinging blow landed on his cheek. Mardis had slapped him.

What was that for? he complained.

Sorry, sir, you said to keep you awake, the sergeant answered briskly.

Good man. Romenel patted his arm. Anyone else having any disturbances at night, problems sleeping, bad dreams, things like that?

Well, no sir, not unless you count Joris talking in his sleep, but he's always done that.

Romenel nodded, it was as he suspected. I'm being stalked, Sergeant. I don't know what it is or why and it only happens at night when I'm alone. If we're sleeping out in the open, it's happened when I've put my bedroll too far from anyone else's. It pretends to be people I know. It even looked like you once. I… think it's slowly killing me.

Sir, you should have told me. Mardis managed to sound both indignant and horrified. You'll never be alone again sir. We'll keep a watch over your sleep.

I need to find the captain and my healer friend. He felt himself drifting again. I'm a military officer. I don't know how to fight monsters…

Mardis shook him by the shoulders. Sir, don't go out on me like that! Is it all right to let you sleep yet, if I stay right here with you? You can't die on me, Commander. I won't allow it.

I don't want to sleep until this awful feeling goes away. I feel like my life's dripping out of me, like I'm bleeding from somewhere, but there's no wound. Get the boys up here, he said as firmly as he could. You shouldn't watch alone. Help me up. Help me move. I think I'll be all right in a bit.

Using the support post to lean him against, Mardis dragged him to his feet and took his weight on his injured side while bellowing down the stairs, Get up you slugs! Grab your things and drag your lazy carcasses up here!

Some grumbling and muffled swearing drifted up and a young voice called out, Come on, Sarge! We just got settled in!

Get up here, Bedaren, or I'll settle you! Commander wants us all in one place tonight!

The muttering ceased and all three of Romenel's remaining men came up the steps at a run. His young scout, Bedaren, headed the small troop and stopped at the top of the stairs when he saw his commander.

Gods! he breathed out and hurried to Romenel's other side to support him. Begging your pardon, sir, but shouldn't you be lying down?

Not yet, not yet, Romenel answered. It was so hard to keep his head up and the men all looked so worried. All right, boys. He hoped his smile didn't look too ghastly. I'm feeling a little under the weather, but it's going to be all right. Let's just pretend for now that I've had a bit too much wine and I'm due at a reception in the Ecclesiarch's grand hall in an hour. Can we do that? He received nods from three wide-eyed, young faces. Same things apply. He wavered and clutched desperately at Mardis's shoulder. Keep me up. Keep me moving. Keep me with you. This should pass soon and then I can let you boys get back to your beauty sleep.

They took it in turns, walking him back and forth across the loft, Mardis and Bedaren, flame-haired Joris and gray-eyed Tren. The pain in his leg and shoulder helped keep him conscious, and eventually the draining feeling stopped. He felt only normally exhausted again. He drifted into the light half-sleep that was all he could manage. If the men settled in a little closer to him than was strictly necessary, the loft was small and he didn't really mind.

* * * * *

Their search for information the next morning proved absurdly easy. The captain and his family had stayed at that same inn a little more than seven years before. Oh, yes, the innkeeper remembered them.

They were such a nice couple, that shy northern man and the pretty, little healer. Got married right here in my common room, such a lovely ceremony. The elderly innkeeper sighed. And his three boys, or were they hers? I can't remember, but they were all here, too. The youngest one with the black, curly hair, he was very sick as I recall, but his big brother carried him down to watch his Papa get married. Oh, and the tall one with the beautiful smile, he wasn't at all ashamed to cry right along with me. It was so grand to see two people so in love. She became teary-eyed again recalling the day, but then she shot him a suspicious look. Now what would you boys be wanting with those nice people?

Romenel sat in the common room by the fire with his leg propped up by cushions on a bench. He had brought the men in and bought them a proper breakfast of eggs, sausages, and sweetrolls. Since he had money and no one had pounded on her door the night before, the innkeeper was more kindly disposed toward them.

They're friends, he said as calmly as he could. I'd like to see them again.

The innkeeper snorted. And if you aren't just the worst liar I've ever met.

Hang me for having an honest face. Well, it's true enough, he went on. But you're right, there's a more urgent reason. I'm in terrible trouble. I need help. That nice, shy, northern man, as you put it, is a knight captain of the Tersha Brotherhood and his wife is the most wonderful healer I've ever met.

She plopped down in the chair opposite his. A Tersha knight? Under my roof? Who would have thought it? And he never said a word, so polite and quiet.

Romenel nodded. That would be him. If anyone can help me, it's those two. Did they say where they were headed?

Not really. The innkeeper frowned. It's a while ago, though, and hard to remember. The only thing I can dredge up is that he said he wanted to go home.

Home? Then why didn't he ever return to Akia? Wait, he had missed something. His tired brain ached with the effort of thinking. The captain wasn't originally from Akia. He was from… where? Then he realized he had never made the connection before. The gray-green eyes, so unusual in the south, the long braid he wore down his back—the captain had come from the clans.

Tren? he called. The young soldier leaped from the bench where the men were finishing breakfast and crossed the room at a brisk walk.

Sir? There was concern and respect in that one word.

Tren was half of his bodyguard contingent on this trip, Joris the other. He had never wanted bodyguards, but the men had insisted some years back. A small elite unit handpicked by Mardis accompanied him outside the garrison and rode beside him into battle. That he had convinced them to let him go with just two this time had been nothing short of a miracle. They were almost obsessively dedicated to his safety. Tren was smaller than average, but wiry and fast, one of the best Romenel had. His light eyes and midnight black hair marked him as clan-born, and he still wore his braid, as well. Romenel made it a policy never to ask what drove any of his men to a mercenary life, but he was glad of whatever had driven this young man from the northern steppes. Tren had saved his skin more than once.

Tren, if you said to me that you were going home, where would you be going? he asked softly.

The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked uncomfortable with the question. Sir, I'm sorry, some things I'd rather not answer.

I'm not asking about you personally, my boy, Romenel persisted. In general, if someone from the clans says he's going home, how do we know where that is?

Well, sir, Tren's gray eyes were puzzled and wary. Home would be the steppes.

Romenel sighed. He knew that much. Either he wasn't asking the right questions or he was asking them in a way that made Tren overly cautious. He pulled himself to an upright position to make room for Tren on the bench.

Sit down, soldier, he said. Did you get enough to eat?

Tren eased himself down on the bench, careful to avoid bumping the injured leg. He nodded and swallowed hard.

Relax, please, you'd think I was conducting an interrogation. Romenel leaned back and closed his eyes a moment. He was feeling stretched and irritable, and it would do no good to get annoyed, to start growling at the poor boy.

Sir? Are you all right? Can I do anything for you?

It was almost heartbreaking how concerned his men were about him. He opened his eyes and looked at Tren. Yes, you can bear with me and try to answer my questions. I'm going to start over because I'm not thinking straight this morning. Now, if I needed to find a particular individual out on the steppes, how would I go about it?

You'd ask, sir.

And who should I ask? he insisted patiently.

Anyone you meet, sir. It may take a while, but if you ask enough people, you'll find someone who knows the person you're looking for. When Romenel sighed again, Tren spread his hands apologetically and continued, It's not like asking for someone's address in a city, sir. It would help to know which clan. That would be easier to find than a person. It's winter, so all the clans will be in their winter camps now. Those are more or less in the same place from year to year. If you wait until spring, everyone will be on the move again and it would get a little harder. Trader clans usually have better information since they have contact with more clan groups and don't hold blood feuds.

Romenel blinked in surprise. Blood feuds? We'll certainly try to steer clear of those. And you can translate for me, right? I don't know the language.

Pain clouded Tren's eyes as he whispered, Possibly, sir, I can't promise anything.

Gods, he wished he didn't feel so tired and muddled. Nothing made sense that morning. "What do you mean, 'possibly'?'

Tren buried his face in his hands and whispered, I'm outcast, sir, expelled from the clan, a nonperson. Sir, if anyone recognizes me, they won't speak to me or even through me. It's not permitted. I am… without a voice.

Romenel was shocked into a moment's silence. Shunned by his own family, thrown out into the world, Tren had come to the garrison when he was barely seventeen. How long had he been out on his own before that?

Why would they do such a thing? he blurted out and immediately regretted the question.

Tren stared at his hands, trembling, and choked out, Sir, you promised I'd never have to talk about it if I joined up with you. You said what was past was past and that every man who joined the Kairavas was reborn.

Of course, I'm sorry, Tren. Please forgive me for asking. It was stupid and thoughtless. The short conversation had taken more energy than he could spare. I'm just not quite myself today.

Yes, sir. Tren stood and made a brave effort to collect himself. No harm done, sir. I'll do what I can.

Good man. Romenel gave him a tired smile. Let the sergeant know we're moving as soon as everyone's finished eating. Give me a hand up, please. I'll start saddling the harduks.

No, sir, Tren said firmly.

What do you mean, 'no'? Romenel growled.

His young bodyguard ducked his head on a grin. Sergeant says you're to stay put while we pack up. He said for me and Joris to collect you when it's time to go, but until then, you're supposed to rest, sir.

The commander glared and sulked. Mutiny, that's what this is, soldier, pure and simple.

Yes, sir. Sergeant said he'd personally see to it if you gave us any trouble.

Fine, he grumbled. I know when I've lost. I'll behave and stay put.

* * * * * *

Some days later, Romenel believed they were finally heading in the right direction. They had skirted the edges of the steppes, the great, flat, northern plains and asked everyone they saw about the captain's whereabouts. They had no luck at first. Romenel didn't know the name of the clan the captain had been born to, and his questions, translated by Tren, received puzzled looks and shrugs. They had finally come across a trader caravan, a large family group, camped for the winter. The traders recognized his descriptions, but were initially suspicious. What did this group of armed southerners want here? Romenel nearly screamed in frustration, but he kept calm and dismounted, his right knee and ankle complaining miserably.

Tren, he called, and motioned the young man to his side as he limped through the snow to stand in front of the older man who seemed to be in charge. He kept his hands held wide, palms up, to indicate he offered no threat, his aching, exhausted body protesting every step. When he reached the trader, he dropped suddenly to his knees.

Sir! Tren cried out in alarm and reached to support him.

He held up a hand to signal his bodyguard to stay where he was. I'm all right. Translate for me, please, word for word. He saw Tren nod out of the corner of his eye, and began, I am not a man accustomed to begging, but I do so now. Please help me find the people I'm looking for. I am afflicted with something I don't understand and I am dying. Tren's voice choked on his translating at that point, but he went on, These are the only people I know who might be able to help me.

The trader stared at him, apparently at a loss for words. A shrill voice suddenly rose from within the family group gathered in a knot nearby and a tiny, white-haired woman stomped out and swatted the trader on his arm. She scolded him at length, then turned to Romenel and spoke softly. She took him by the arm and urged him up out of the snow.

Tren fought to keep a straight face. Sir, this is the clan mother. She's just called her son all sorts of names for letting an ill and injured man kneel on the cold ground because he was too stupid to answer a simple question. She apologizes for her son's terrible behavior.

The clan mother patted his arm and looked up at Romenel with her pale blue eyes. All the lines in her face crinkled as she smiled and spoke quietly to him.

Tren cleared his throat and became suddenly interested in his boots. She says, sir, that she knows who you are. That the healer had spoken of you fondly and that she recognizes you by her description. She says it has to be you with your impressive build and your… ahem, beautiful cloud of golden hair. Tren grinned apologetically. Just translating, sir.

Romenel's face grew hot, but he smiled back at the clan mother. Thank you. Do you know where they are?

The clan mother gestured and pointed toward the west, speaking soft, fluid words.

She says we need to follow the trees west for another day or so. They live in a house on the edge of the forest overlooking the steppes. She says it's odd that they cut themselves off from the sky and attach themselves to one place, but they are kind, respectful people and they seem to be happy that way.

At a tap on the shoulder, Brighthorns knelt for him so he could climb back into the saddle. After thanking the traders once more, he set his men racing westward. He hoped they would have only one more miserable night out in the open. They took watches in pairs, Romenel included since he wouldn't sleep anyway. He could feel it out there in the trees, watching, waiting for that one unguarded moment when he might be alone and too exhausted to stay awake, waiting to get its claws on him again.

In the morning, Bedaren rode on ahead to see if he could spot anything. He rode a swift little brown and gray dappled harduk, Hurricane, who blended in well in most landscapes and could move through brush or woodland silently.

Romenel felt at the end of his strength. If they had no luck today, he would fall asleep tonight and the thing would find a way to get at him. He saw it as if it were already happening. The thing would pretend to be someone the men recognized, maybe someone in need of help. It would draw them off and he would be left by the fire, alone, unguarded, unable to wake. It would circle back, come for him, put its hideous gray-clawed hand on his forehead, and drain the life from him…

He jerked in the saddle and realized he had dozed off again. Gods, these half-waking dreams were getting worse. He felt so dizzy and distant. Brighthorns' ears flicking back and forth in front of him seemed so far away. If he tried to reach down and pat his battle harduk's neck, he would never make it, the chasm between his arm and the curly, cream-colored coat was too vast. His life bled out into the snow, sliding away into deep, unseen canyons of bitter cold. Maybe if he just let go, let himself fall into the endless, peaceful distance between the saddle and the ground…

Sir? You all right? Joris's rough, bass voice sounded close to his ear. His large hand gripped Romenel's arm as he rode knee to knee with his commander.

Romenel pulled himself back from the brink of the dark chasm and blinked his bodyguard into focus. Tren rode close on the other side now and he realized that he must have been about to pitch from the saddle.

I'm here, boys, sorry, he muttered, forcing himself to concentrate. He turned his injured ankle in the stirrup so it hurt, and used the pain as an anchor to keep him conscious. The thing stalking him was nearby. He could feel the monster's mind prodding at his. It no longer had to touch him physically to affect him. If he let his guard down, it might be able to steal his life from a short distance away.

Bedaren raced back toward them and stopped to speak to Sergeant Mardis. He pointed up the path and glanced back toward Romenel, lines of worry furrowing his forehead. The sergeant said something and patted the young man's arm. Commander! Our scout's spotted a house just a mile down the road. Just a little farther, sir!

Romenel made an effort to sit up straighter in the saddle and called out hoarsely, Lead on, Bedaren. We'll get there in time for lunch.

He urged Brighthorns into an easy canter, Joris and Tren right beside him. Around a bend in the path, the outline of a house appeared at the edge of the trees, a cozy little cottage with a steep-pitched roof and smoke curling invitingly from the chimney.

Tren reached out for him as he wavered in the saddle again. Sir, maybe we should slow down?

Romenel shook his head. We're almost there. Pray that this is it. I don't think I can make it much farther today.

As they approached the house, Romenel almost sobbed in relief. The door opened and out stepped the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. A slim, delicate figure with dark hair tumbling about her shoulders stood on the doorstep. A straight,