Stories were passed from mouth to ear along the Traders’ Route. The Sorceress of the East had made an unholy pact with the Sunderer himself, who had promised to make her his Queen in exchange for the head of Malthus the Counselor. She had sent her dragon to abduct the Lady of the Rivenlost and offered a dreadful bargain.

Haomane’s Allies had chosen war instead.

Not all of them, no, but already a mighty force was on the march, moving from Seahold to Harrington Bay, where the Free Fishers had agreed to carry them to Port Calibus. There, a fleet of Vedasian ships would ferry them around the lower tip of Dwarfhorn and on to Port Eurus to unite with a Vedasian company under the command of Duke Quentin, the King’s nephew. Two of the Five Regents of Pelmar had given pledges of war, and the another was expected to agree soon. It was a force the likes of which had not been seen since the Fourth Age of the Sundered World. The Sorceress of the East, all agreed, had overreached.

These were the stories heard along the Traders’ Route, until they turned south onto a lesser road that led unto the heart of the Dwarfhorn.

“Why do you smile?”

It was Blaise of the Borderguard who asked the question one evening, pausing in the process of skinning a rabbit the archer Fianna had shot for the supper-pot. She was some distance away, motionless in the uncultivated field, bow drawn, tracking some unseen movement. Malthus had vanished; communing with Haomane, perhaps. Hobard was gathering firewood, while Peldras knelt in serene concentration, stacking kindling in an intricate structure. Nothing burned hotter and cleaner than an Ellylon-laid campfire, constructed in tiers which collapsed in on themselves with a delicate shower of sparks, laying a bed of immaculate embers. At his side, Dani squatted and watched in fascination, while his fat uncle Thulu went in search of running water.

On alert, Carfax regarded the Borderguardsman in wary silence.

“You smile.” Blaise’s hands resumed their movement, parting the rabbit’s skin from its flesh. His gaze remained fixed on Carfax. In the deepening twilight he looked much akin to General Tanaros, with the same unthinking competence. “Watching the knights pass. I’ve seen it. Why?”

A thrill of fear shot through him. Had he smiled? Yes, probably. It was the one bitter pleasure left to him, watching Haomane’s Allies dance unwitting to a tune of Lord Satoris’ piping, marshaling their forces eastward.

“You’re afraid,” Blaise said softly, plying his knife.

To speak or not to speak? There was no safety in silence, if his face betrayed him. Carfax met the Borderguardsman’s gaze. “Afraid, aye.” His voice was rusty with disuse. “You want me dead.”