Skurn was drinking too, but farther downstream, since Vansen’s horse had startled when he had fluttered down next to it. Some yards away from both of them, Barrick’s gray steed drank with the same silent concentration it brought to everything else. Vansen’s horse’s ribs were still heaving as it caught its breath, but the fairy-horse seemed as fresh as when they had begun.

Is it truly stronger, Vansen wondered, or is it merely that it is at home here and mine is not? The same question, he reflected, could be asked about Gyir, who stood impatiently waiting while the horses drank their fill. Barrick had not even bothered to dismount, but sat and stared out at the road ahead, which was little more than a trail between rows of ghostly white trees of a sort Vansen had never seen, a tangle stretching away on either side like the traceries of frost on a window. The track itself looked considerably less magical, a lumpy swath of mud and pale grass, the stones of the old human road long since carried away by water or some more intentional pilferage.

“Highness,” Vansen called—but not too loudly: it was easy to imagine those trees listening to the unfamiliar sound of human speech like coldly curious phantoms. “When will we stop and make camp? It must be day again, if we can call it such, and both you and I need food even if the fairy doesn’t. In fact, we have used everything in my saddlebags, so before we can eat, we must also find something worth eating.”

“Gyir says it is indeed day, but he does not want to stop until we have crossed the…the…Whisperfall.”

“What is that?”

“A river. He says that Longskulls do not like the water. They can’t swim.”

Vansen laughed despite himself. “Perin’s fiery bolts, what a world! Very well, then, we’ll camp by the river. But we must eat before then, Highness.”

“Us will catch summat for you,” offered Skurn.

“No, we will find our own.” He’d seen too much already of what Skurn thought edible. He and Barrick had struggled by so far on a few unfamiliar-looking birds and an injured black rabbit, all caught by Vansen with his bare hands—they could survive without the raven’s help a little longer. “Unless you can find us something wholesome—eggs, maybe.” He looked at the spotty old bird and decided he needed to be more specific. “Bird’s eggs.”

But can we afford to be particular? Vansen wondered. I have no bow, so I can’t even hope to bring down a squirrel, let alone a deer or something really toothsome. In fact, now that he thought of it, other than the Followers and Longskulls Gyir had killed, they’d seen no creature bigger than Skurn during this whole venture into the shadowlands. He pointed this out to Barrick, who only shrugged.

“And what does that fairy eat?” Vansen asked suddenly. “We’ve been traveling together for over a tennight and I’ve never seen him eat. Even if he doesn’t have a mouth, he must take food somehow!”