Abandoning argument, she let him lead her into the Black Woods. And when at last they stopped, beneath a bobbing of glimfire, and debated the best travel incant to use, she gifted him with magework from the Hall’s most secret archives. They worked the obscure incant together, drawing even more strength from Lur, and felt the incant’s power like a waterfall thundering through their blood.

“She’ll be furious with me,” he said, before Venette triggered the final sigil. He held his knife tightly, fingers cramping on its hilt. “Barl. She’ll need you, Venette. Don’t let her turn you away. Help her, however you can.”

Her fingertips traced the scar on his cheek. “I will, my dear. I promise. Just finish this, I beg you. For your sister. For Orwin. For everyone we’ve lost.”

Irielle. He nodded, his vision blurring again. “Venette, tell Barl—”

“I will,” she said. “Now go, my dear. Go. Before I change my mind.”

The night air burned with magic… and the Black Woods disappeared.

When at long last the meeting in Gribley’s village hall broke up, Jervale loitered a little distance from the doors until he saw Bannet come out, a subdued Del by his side. Catching sight of him, Del’s cheeks pinked. She murmured something and slipped away.

Paying no attention to the curious glances thrown in his direction, Jervale waved to catch Bannet’s eye.

“Thought you’d come back in,” said Bannet, joining him. “There was a lot of lively talk, after you left.”

He could imagine. “I said my piece, Bannet. But I’ve more to say to you. Are you willing to listen?”

Bannet’s eyes narrowed in his plain, weathered face. “You’re set to tell me something hacklesome, ain’t you?”

“Something… heart-thumping,” he said, not smiling. “But for all our sakes, Bannet, it’s got to be told.”

“I can see that.” Heaving a resigned sigh, Bannet nodded at the Olken leaving the hall and milling in the narrow street. “They chose to side with the Doranen, Jervale. Every last one of ’em’s said they’ll chime home to say it’s best.” Another sigh. “And who can blame ’em? Lur’s in a bad way.”

“I know. For better or worse, I’ll be chiming home the same thing.” Jervale touched his arm. “We’ll go back to my tent.”

Bannet took the news of being dreamed about without fuss. When the telling was done with, he sat silent on his tree-stump stool, scratching his raspy chin and watching the excited comings-and-goings of the other Olken who’d travelled to Gribley.

Jervale eyed him, nervous. “Bannet, reckon I know how this sounds. And you ain’t known me long, so—”

“Reckon I’ve known you long enough,” said Bannet. “And it’s funny.” He frowned. “Now you’ve told me? What you say about these Doranen… it feels right, Jervale.”