She whistled, and through the open door watched Warrl climb lazily to his feet, then bark once, as Hellsbane played herd-mare. That was all the poor beasts needed; they shied away from him, and broke into a tired trot, shambling past her and out into the pasture. She slammed the stable door after them, and walked as wearily as they had back into the stone-paved, sunlit court.

The kyree was waiting for her, looking as if he was feeling every year of his age. :Are we finished yet?: Warrl asked hopefully, his tongue lolling out.

“You are,” she replied, stretching, and feeling old injuries ache when she moved. “I’d better see what Keth’s up to.”

:If you don’t mind, I’ll go get something to eat, and then become flat for a while.: Warrl headed off in the direction of the kitchen-garden. :I think that under-cook still remembers me.:

“I wish I could do the same,” she sighed to herself. “Oh, well. No rest for the wicked....”

She caught up the pouches of jewelry and money on her way past the pile of packs. I don’t think anyone out here is other than honest, but why take chances? The Keep door was halfway ajar; she pushed it open entirely, and walked in unannounced.

The outer hall was cool, and very dark to her tired eyes after the brightness of the courtyard. That didn’t matter; this place had been her home for years; she knew every stone in the walls and crack in the floors. As long as Rathgar didn’t install any statues in the middle of the path, I ought to be able to find my way to the Great Hall blindfolded, she thought, and I’ll bet that’s where Keth is.

She was right.

The Great Hall was nearly as bright as the courtyard outside; it was three stories tall, and the top story was one narrow window after another. Not such a security risk as it looked; it was rimmed with a walkway-balcony that could be used as an archers’ gallery in times of siege—and the exterior walls were sheer stone. Kethry was in the middle of the Great Hall, supervising half a dozen helpers with her usual brisk efficiency, robes kilted up above her knees, hair tied back under a scarf. She’d set the entire Great Hall up as a kind of infirmary, and she had no lack of patients. Even Tarma was a bit taken aback by the sheer number of wounded; it looked suspiciously as if the raiders’ specific orders had been to cause as much havoc and injury as possible in the shortest period of time.