“I note,” said Joss once he was sure the women were out of earshot, “that you didn’t tell them about the strike force that’s riding up from behind.”

“What none know, no traitor can reveal.”

“You think there’s a traitor in this village?”

“Three hundred men hid out on the Olo Plain for almost five months, and only now make their break north? I choose not to take the chance.”

BY EARLY AFTERNOON the eagles were flown, the village emptied, militia concealed, and volunteers loitering in places visible on the far shore where the road ended at river’s edge. Menard had stayed, but every other elder, all the children, and most of the women had left.

The sun swung over the arc of the sky. As the afternoon grew late, its rays glinted off the water as if to blind the town to the coming threat. Forested slopes covered much of the land on the far side, although trees had been cut back on either side of the road by folk gathering fuel or supplying logs to villages downstream. It was a peaceful enough scene. Yet Joss, standing beside Anji in the town’s watchtower with a good view, felt uneasy, as at the approach of an ill wind.

“Did you tell Mai you meant to face a Guardian?”

Anji ignored the question and indicated the covered platform that housed the ferry winch and operators. The ferry itself, a sturdy raft with railings, bumped against the dock. “Do you see it?”

At first Joss thought it was a trick of light scattering off the river. The hells! A winged horse flapped over the river, circled Westcott once, and descended, landing in the open ground between ferry and gate beside the Ladytree and traveler’s trough where any soul might water. Wings folded, the horse stepped to the trough and dipped its nose toward the water.

Aui! It was such a stunningly beautiful creature that at first he noticed nothing except the elegance of its head and neck and the glorious pale wing feathers.

Then he blinked again, startling as though doused with water, and realized Anji was gone. The folk in fields had dropped to their knees.

Menard walked out from the gate alone, below Joss. “Greetings of the dusk, ver.” His voice carried clearly in the silence, although he kept his head bowed.

The man riding the winged horse looked like exactly the sort of man you would find selling fans or eels in the marketplace or dipping cordial for customers at an inn. He wore a dark green cloak appropriate for the rainy seasons. “Greetings, Uncle. Now hurry yourself. Have your ferry released. I’ve men to cross over from the other side. We’ll need food and drink and shelter for the night.”

“Of course, ver. We’ll be happy to accommodate. Before I send my lads to the winch, best we discuss how many travel with you and how much coin we’ll need to lay on a feast. If you’ll come with me to our council hall, modest I admit but I think we may be justly proud of our cordial, we can discuss—”