The man’s face shifts back to that of a stranger. Gods, what was that? I grab on to my confusion and use it to propel myself into the man. For a moment, we’re a tangle of limbs—his neck is slick with sweat, and he smells like swamp mud—and then I catch his ankle with mine and throw him down. He hits the ground with a grunt as I sprint away.

“Halt!” he shouts.

What self-respecting fugitive has ever halted? I double my speed, plunging blindly through the grass. The soldier screams for reinforcements. I flinch as an arrow flies past my head, and I swerve toward the hills. Once I get there, I can disappear into the shrubs, but it’s at least a quarter league away. Hooves thunder behind me now, sending vibrations through the ground, and I bite back a curse, reaching for any last bit of speed.

It’s not enough. I skid to a stop as a soldier on horseback cuts me off, his warhorse kicking dirt into my face. Two other horsemen take their places behind me. That’s the problem with Amparans. They never want to give you a fair fight.

“Halt,” says the soldier in front of me, “or we’ll grind you into the mud.”

This time I halt.

I call myself all sorts of names as I put my hands up in the air. If the Amparans don’t beat me senseless, I’m tempted to do it for them. What kind of good-for-nothing fighter mistakes an enemy for a friend and drops his knife? There are toddlers in my tribe who could have done better.

The soldier who’d threatened to trample me dismounts now and raises his sword. He’s an ugly brute with a scar that makes his eyebrow look crooked.

“Who are you?” he asks. “What is your business out here?”

A sliver of an idea. Since I dropped my knife, that first soldier might not even know I’d drawn a weapon. “Sirs, there’s been a misunderstanding. I was just out to gather wood for our cooking fire.”

“You run pretty fast for someone with nothing to hide.”

It’s not hard to fake a nervous laugh. “I was afraid I’d be cut down on the spot.”

“You might be cut down yet.”

“I’m umbertouched, sir.” I reach for my sleeve, and Crookbrow raises his sword. “I’m just rolling up my sleeve,” I add. “I’ll move slowly.”

He doesn’t relax, but he doesn’t skewer me either.

“I have no reason to fear the plague,” I say, pulling up the fabric to reveal my skin, “but my fellow Rovenni do. We must boil river water if we want any chance of surviving, and wood from the riverbank burns hotter than grass.”