“What?” she asked sharply. “No, I will speak! For a thousand years the Were dwelled in Beshtanag in peace. What do I care for your old quarrels?” She stared at the faces of her captors, one by one. “What did he care? Is there to be no end to it?” Against her will, her voice broke. “Will Haomane order you to slay everything that lives and does not obey his command?”

For a moment, they stared back at her. The Ellylon were expressionless. Blaise’s face was grim. Fianna, the Archer of Arduan, turned away with a choked sound. Aracus Altorus sighed, rumpling his red-gold hair. “Sorceress—” he began.

“We were attacked,” a soft voice interjected; an Ellyl voice. It was Peldras, of Malthus’ Company, who alone among his kind traveled in worn attire. He gazed at her with deep sorrow. “I am sorry, Lady of Beshtanag, but it is so. Blaise and Fianna will attest to it. On the outskirts of Pelmar, in deepest night, the Were fell upon us. Thus was Malthus lost, and the Bearer, fleeing into the Ways of the Marasoumië. Thus did one of our number fall, giving his life so that we might flee.”

“Hobard of Malumdoorn,” Blaise murmured. “Let his name not be forgotten.”

“Even so.” Peldras bowed his head.

“Phraotes?” Lilias asked in a small voice. “Is it true?”

“What is truth?” The Were bared his bloodstained teeth. “A long time ago, we made a choice. Perhaps it was a bad one. This time, we were forced into a bad bargain. Yet, what else was offered us? Perhaps you made a bad bargain. I am only an ambassador. I would be one to this Son of Altorus did he will it.”

Aracus frowned. “Do you gainsay the testimony of my comrades? Your people attacked Malthus’ Company under cover of night, unprovoked. A valiant companion was slain, the wisest of our counselors was lost, the greatest of our hopes has vanished. You have shown no honor here, no remorse. Why should I hear your suit?”

“Why not?” The Were’s head lolled, eyes rolling to fix his gaze on him. “It was a favor extracted by threat, nothing more. We failed; it is finished. We did not make war upon you in Beshtanag, Arahila’s Child. The Grey Dam fears the wrath of Satoris Third-Born, but Haomane’s is more dire. We seek only to be exempted from the Shapers’ War. Yea, I feared to approach in good faith, and I have paid a price for it. Will you not listen before it is paid in full?”