"Yes, my lord," the man says obediently, but he weeps, as humans do when their emotions overwhelm them. And despite everything, Stronghand still does not truly understand them.

From ahead, he smells the fires of home. A faint hum raises the hair on the back of his neck. His dogs yip.

OldMother is waiting for him.

"She's at prayer," said a guardsman to Captain Lukas.

Alain shook himself to a halt just before he slammed into the captain's broad back. Lukas had stopped at the top of the stairs, below a gate carved with Dariyan rosettes. Beyond lay the remembered courtyard, lined on one side by a stone colonnade and on the other just to their left, by a stone rampart that opened onto a spectacular view of the town below, although from this angle Alain saw only one corner of the cathedral tower. The graveled courtyard had recently been raked and tidied. Opposite stood the famous octagonal chapel with its proud stone buttresses. He heard hymnal singing and, from farther away and therefore harder to place by direction, male laughter.

"An odd time to be praying," commented the captain, "unless you're the queen."

The guardsman and Lukas were clearly old friends, and indeed the other man wore the badge of a captain as a clasp for his cloak. "True enough." He chuckled and said, with a smirk, "Praying in thanksgiving, the lady is. The queen gave birth at dawn."

"Is that so?" asked Captain Lukas, eyes widening as he leaned toward his comrade. "Girl or boy?"

"A lad, wouldn't you know it? It'll be proclaimed in three days if the mite survives that long. The other two didn't."

"Yes, I recall it, but the older girl seems likely to stick. Still." He glanced around to make sure none of the other guards could overhear, and leaned closer. "Still. How is the duke taking it?"

"Look there," said the other guard, pointing back down the stairs. "Here he comes. He went out hunting."

The stairs wound down the slope, switching back several times, and because they were sheltered under a roof, with no walls, it was difficult to see the procession the guardsman alluded to, but the lively clatter of their progress drifted on the breeze. The hounds had their ears up and were looking that way with interest.

"What are these great beasts?" added the guard, extending a hand toward Sorrow. "Here, boy. Are you the friendly one? You're a big one, aren't you?"

Sorrow gave a warning growl, ears flattening, and the guardsman withdrew his hand. "I've seen the like of these beasts before, but I can't recall where. You'd think a man would never forget such monsters!"