“I can’t say that surprises me too much,” Talia put in, in slow, clear Hardornen. “Once you get a few miles off our Border no one except Heralds speaks yours!”

“Right then, you can be on your way as soon as you’re ready. Here’s your map,” he handed Kris a folded packet “and best of luck to you.”

“Thanks,” Kris said, both of them rising and heading for the door.

“And don’t forget,” he called after them as they headed for the stables, “Check in with the relay towers every night. The capital wants to be able to keep track of you.”

The first day passed without incident. Alessandar’s people seemed as content as Selenay’s; they were friendly, and looked quite prosperous, at least from a distance.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a village along here soon?” Talia asked around noon.

Kris pulled the map they’d been given out of his beltpouch and consulted it. “Assuming I haven’t been misreading this—let’s see if we can find a native.”

One more turning of the road brought them to a grove of trees in the road-side corner of a fenced field. Beneath those trees was a group that could have been exchanged for farmers of Valdemar without anyone noticing the difference. They were stolidly munching their way through a dinner of thick, coarse bread and cheese, but when one of them noticed that the two Heralds were approaching them with purpose, he stood, brushed crumbs off his linen smock, and met them halfway.

“Eh, sir, and can I be of any help to ye?” he asked, as friendly as the Captain had been.

“I’m not quite used to this map,” Kris replied, “And I wonder if you could tell me how far it is to Southford?”

“That be just a league or so a-down the road; there’s that hill yonder in the way, or ye could see it from here.” The man grinned. “A’course, if the hill bain’t there, ye wouldn’t have to ask, eh?”

Kris laughed along with him. “That’s only true,” he said, “And thank you.”

“Nice man,” Talia commented when Kris returned to her side. “He could have been one of ours.” She squinted across the fields of swiftly-growing green grain, and Kris followed her gaze. “They seem to be thriving, too. So far Alessandar gets high marks from me.”

“Ah,” Kris replied, “But it isn’t Alessandar that’s the prospective bridegroom.”

“That’s true.” The face she turned toward him was a sober one. “And I wish I didn’t know so many tales of black-sheep sons. . . .”

They were to stay only at the hostels, or so their orders went, so as sunset neared they checked the map for the first town ahead of them likely to have one.