The purple knot above Devane’s right eye had receded somewhat but the mottling of bruises had merged together to form a dark patch across his left cheekbone, both painful memories of the violence of Cardinal Black’s raid on Y Beautiful Bedd. Devane’s mouth curled when he said, “You’re well aware that this is a suicide mission, are you not?”

“I’m aware it’s a mission,” Matthew replied. “I don’t consider it suicidal.”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I suspected. And here you’ve dragged me into it!” He reached into his black cloak with an equally black-gloved hand and brought out a pistol that had four short barrels, two atop two, and double triggers; obviously, Matthew thought, the sword that Devane wore in a scabbard at his side did not possess enough deadly power to suit him. “Should I kill you now or later, and tell the professor this was a fool’s errand?” came the question.

“It should be later,” Matthew said calmly. “The guards up on the parapets could likely hear the shot from this distance.”

Devane urged his horse forward until he was side-by-side with Matthew. The sun faded;

the ironwork of clouds had arrived.

“Hear me well, Corbett,” Devane said. “I don’t like you, I don’t like this damned circumstance you’ve gotten me into, and if I somehow survive it I will make you pay. But I will do this to the best of my ability, because I’ve given my word and I abide by that rule. I have killed many, and most of those deaths I enjoyed dealing out. If I have to kill you, I will … and you have my word on that. Understand?”

“Without question,” said Matthew.

“I am the bad man,” Devane said. “Just so you know.”

Again without question, Matthew thought, but he remained silent.

Then Devane put his gun away and wheeled his horse toward the northwest. Matthew gave his mount a flick of the reins and followed behind, his resolve ready for both saving the woman he loved and meting out justice to the killer behind the deaths of his brother and sister Black-Eyed Broodies, as he’d vowed to a lost friend. He was wearing black leather gloves the professor had given him, but he was always aware of the tattoo of a stylized eye within a black circle, embossed between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, reminding him that he was the last of the Broodies, and for the kindness they’d shown him—rough kindness, but kindness nonetheless when he needed shelter and friends—the loyalty oath he’d taken was not to be shrugged off and tossed aside like an old cloak.

They went on along the road, the good and the bad across the ugly landscape.

It was hard for Matthew to concentrate on the task ahead, because of Berry’s condition, but concentrate he must because of her condition. If he had his druthers he would kick his horse into a gallop to get where they were going, but his sense of logic told him it might very well be galloping into a trap, and getting killed so soon on Cardinal Black’s trail would not bring Berry back from the land of the lost.