Martin grinned. “I thought about that, Sir Tristam. The problem is, everybody else still does. If I get used to dropping the ‘sirs,’ I might forget with someone else. Then things would get unpleasant.”

Tristam smiled despite himself. He liked Martin. The cheerful shieldman would have made a fine squire had he been higher-born. While the other Red Shields stayed aloof from their commander, Martin often spoke to Tristam. Either the young Red Shield was too young to have learned to keep a respectful distance from his superiors, or he was just too gregarious to help himself. Selfishly, Tristam couldn’t bring himself to discourage him.

They picked their way through the forest, ducking under the occasional branch. “Do you believe the whispers, sir?” asked Martin.

“What whispers?”

“The villagers say the Demon Riders raise their cats like their own children, nursing them at their own breasts. They say that’s how the cats grow so big, and why the cats are so obedient to their masters.”

“That sounds painful,” said Tristam with a grimace.

Martin fought to keep a straight face. “Does indeed, sir.”

“Well, they can keep that secret to themselves,” said Tristam. “I’d be happy just to find them.”

“It’s like they disappear into thin air, in’t it?” said Martin.

Tristam let out a breath, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. “This is our third trip out. We should have found something by now.”

Week after week, new reports came in from traumatized farmers. Livestock slaughtered, villagers injured or killed. Adding more patrols hadn’t helped much. Oftentimes, soldiers only arrived after the barbarians had fled.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Tristam. “The tracks are here, and they’re fresh. But why don’t we ever find anything else? If only these trees could talk.” Tristam paused. “Martin, when are we reporting to Sir Malikel tomorrow?”

“Midmorning.”

He conjured the map of the forest in his mind, trying to determine how far they were from the city. “Lead the group back for me. I’ll stay a little longer.”

Martin looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not planning to do anything unwise, are you?”

“No, nothing foolhardy. I just have a hunch.”

“If I may speak freely, Sir Tristam, you should at least tell us what you’re planning. Sir Malikel won’t be pleased with us if something happens.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we’re going about it the wrong way, looking for them when we clearly know they come here often. We should stay here and wait for them to come to us.”

Martin frowned. “May I have permission to accompany you, sir?”

“I can’t ask you to do that, not without more thought. It’s too—”

“Too dangerous? You’re starting to contradict yourself, sir.”

Tristam chuckled. “It would be nice to have some help, but I can’t command it of you. This isn’t a Palace order; it’s just my crazy idea.”