Alec and Seregil rode out with Sergeant Oris and six soldiers, stopping first by the rock where Mika had first encountered the other boys. Seregil walked up and down the bank, looking for signs Alec might have missed, but shook his head.

“Maybe he did dream it,” said Alec.

“I don’t think so. The way he described the people he met and what he did was too detailed.” He walked down to the bank, squatted down by the water’s edge, and began turning over stones. Sure enough, after a moment he held up a little crawfish, its tiny claws flailing. “He didn’t dream these.”

He mounted Cynril again and they galloped across country toward the large flock Alec and Mika had seen.

The new spring grass and bobbing wildflowers of various shades rippled under the caress of a light breeze that carried the scent of new herbs. Bare patches and dried sheep patties showed where the sheep had already been.

Four boys and several dogs were guarding the sheep. Two shaggy island ponies were tethered to a few bushes near a fire pit.

The dogs began to bark but the shepherds called them in and came to greet Alec and the others as they reined to a halt at the edge of the flock.

The boys—all brown-eyed and tan and dressed in rough, dirty shirts and leggings—ranged from about Mika’s age to a gawky teenager with bad skin who stepped forward as the leader. The youth greeted them in Plenimaran, clearly worried at the sight of the armed soldiers.

Alec asked the youth in Plenimaran, “Are you the only …” He didn’t known the word for “shepherd.”

“Sagma,” Seregil finished for him.

“Yes, are you the only shepherds out here?”

“We are,” the youth replied. “I’m Nothir and these are my brothers. Why do you bring soldiers here?”

“We are looking for a man who attacked one of our friends, and a boy about that size,” he explained, pointing to the youngest. “The boy is a mute.”

Nothir shook his head. “No, sir. Don’t know of any mute.”

“Do you speak any other language than Plenimaran?”

The youth looked down at his feet, saying nothing, but the answer was clear.

“Please, you won’t be in any trouble,” Alec told him.

“It’s not allowed,” Nothir explained.

“By whom?”

“Them that live in Deep Harbor.”

“You mean the Plenimarans who ruled here? They’re gone now. You can speak as you like.”

“What language do you speak?” asked Seregil.

The youth shrugged. “We just call it the grandmother’s tongue.”

“Could you speak a bit of it to me, please? There’s no need to be afraid,” Seregil assured him.

“Don’t do it, Noth,” the second oldest muttered.

“Really, it’s all right,” said Alec.

Nothir let out a breath. “Very well. Saugas melistook rak solis, mekir. That means ‘It’s a nice day today, man.’ ”