His tutor had drilled him for years about the star systems, and as Aidan studied them he recognized the Four Points, and the Seven Daggers; he saw which way they were turned and he took comfort in realizing he was indeed heading south—though also a bit west. That could only mean one thing: they were heading to Andros. Exactly as Aidan had hoped.

Aidan knew his father was heading south, but was still unsure where. The capital had been his first guess. After all, wouldn’t his father want to go to the capital first, to win the old king’s support? And was that not south? That was where Aidan would find him, he decided. Andros.

The last time Aidan had been to the capital he had been too young to remember. He imagined himself entering it now, on the back of this wagon, dismounting and taking it all in, the greatest city in Escalon, a sight, he knew, which would not disappoint. He would enter it boldly, fearlessly, make his presence known and demand to know where his father was. He would be taken right to him, and would arrive as a welcome hero.

Aidan was disappointed his father did not have faith in him to let him know where he was going, to invite him along; he felt certain he could help his cause somehow. After all, he knew more about the great battles of history than most of his father’s men. Could he not counsel them on strategy, at least? Why did his father think one had to be a grown man to achieve great things? After all, hadn’t Nikor the Great conquered The Plains at fourteen? Hadn’t Carnald the Cruel taken the Western Half when he was but twelve? Of course, those were centuries ago, in another time and place. But Aidan refused to be discounted. He was still a great warrior’s son, even if the youngest and weakest of them.

Aidan was jostled as the horses hit a ditch, and as he banged his head in the carriage, he grunted involuntarily.

The carriage came to a sudden stop, and Aidan immediately slid down beneath the bales of hay, his heart thumping, terrified, praying he was not discovered. If he was kicked off this carriage, as far as he was from anything, he knew he could very well die out here.

Aidan peeked out and saw the driver, a heavyset, middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a bald spot on the back of his head, turn and peer back in the night, examining his carriage. He had a bulbous nose, wide jaws, a low forehead, and the look of a man who wanted to kill something.

Stupid, Aidan thought. Why didn’t you stay put? Why did you make a noise?