“The usual small jobs, I suppose,” Seregil said as they rose to go. “Though the Cat has had more commissions from the pleasure houses than Silvermoon with so many nobles out of town.”

“I’m not surprised. By the way, Seregil, I’ve been refining that translocation spell that gives you so much trouble. I’d like to test it to see if it still makes you so terribly ill.”

“Another time. I’d hate to lose this fine supper,” Seregil told him, hurrying for the door.

“Coward!” Thero called after him.

“Sadist!” Seregil shot back with a laugh.

Chapter 3 - Beka Cavish

BEKA Cavish crouched in the deeper shadow of a huge oak tree and bound her wild red hair back with a bit of leather lacing. Syra, her fellow scout tonight, did the same with her own dark hair. Or at least that’s what the uncertain shape in the darkness seemed to be doing. Between the gloom and the light ground fog, Beka could see her fellow soldier only because she knew where to look.

It had been tricky getting this close to the Plenimaran encampment; the moon was just past full, and oak mast rustled and crunched inconveniently under cavalry boots. Beka envied her Aurënfaie husband his ability to make little noise as he moved and wished he were here, though Syra was a skilled scout, as well. Luckily there was no starlight to betray their movements.

From here they could make out the enemy watch fires through the trees and mist, spread out across the Mycenian plain, and hear the soldiers laughing and singing. A raiding party wouldn’t be making so much noise. There must be enough of them that they weren’t worried about an attack.

There would be sentries posted around the perimeter, of course. She and Syra were both armed, in case they ran into anyone here in the woods, but that would be a doubly unlucky thing, since dead or missing soldiers could alert the Plenimarans to the Skalans’ presence less than two miles away.

They’d left their horses tethered at the far side of the long, narrow wood, knowing that, even through trees, sound carried. It had been a long walk, and slow going.

They made it to the edge of the trees, and Syra boosted Beka up into an oak. Climbing higher, she counted the enemy watch fires spread out before her, scattered like bright flowers on a sea of fog. There were more than fifty. Beyond the encampment were the smoldering remains of some unlucky farmer’s house and barn, and beyond that, the crucial ford Queen Phoria had ordered her half sister to capture at any cost. The warm night breeze carried the sound of rushing water.