They were all very near their destination, the settlement at the head of one of the two dead-end streams. The locals called this “the Brandywine” in their language, and their little village “Brandywine” as well.

The sun shone down hotly on the expedition, and the air smelled of fresh water and trampled vegetation.

Squire Lesley rode next to her on a fat cob. She looked down at him. “You’re sure you want to do this?” she asked anxiously. “You’ll probably never see your sons and daughters again.”

“My sons and daughters are smart and strong. I love them and they’ll be all right. They can always visit, right? The good folk of Brandywine are my sort of people,” the Squire replied. “When they asked if some of us would join them, and I got a look round the place, I honestly couldn’t imagine myself taking the long journey the mages are saying we should.” He sighed. “I’m too old for such things, and that’s the truth. Uprooting me and my pigs and piling everything into barges and making that crossing took more out of me than I ever thought it would. I’m ready to settle. And these good folk are ready to have us! It seems like providence, to me.”

Delia couldn’t argue with that. The elders of Brandywine and the other settlement, Oakton, had come down the rivers, taken a look at the Valdemaran armada, and had evidently very much liked what they saw. And, truth to tell, it was a good bargain all around. Some of the Valdemaran families got new homes immediately and would not face the great migration that was ahead of the others, and all of those families had at least one elderly member who was spared a grueling journey. Crescent Lake certainly could not support the whole population that had arrived, much less the ten thousand or so yet to come; there was a lot of discussion going on about who would be staying and who would be going.

And the locals got an infusion of new people, new herds, and folk who were no strangers to putting their hands to weapons.

This might be land mostly empty of people, but it was not empty of dangers. The Valdemarans had already encountered some of them—things born of twisted magic that were far more perilous than bears. And there were roaming bands of bandits as well, men who preferred to take rather than produce.

Beyond that—and the locals always seemed to point in different directions—was something called “The Pelagirs.” Marauding monsters, bears, and what was essentially an invasion of foreigners did not make the locals as sick-looking or pale as the word “Pelagirs.”