“We are more than halfway to the Inner Sssea,” Tapio said. “It isss very beautiful here. Thisss valley sssings to me. I wish for Tamsssin.”

Redmede frowned. “I wish there was more here.” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen a deer in a day. Nor a track of deer or moose.”

Langtree, one of the Golden Bears that had broken out with them, paused to distribute late-season blackberries. “We know this, grr, valley,” he said. He had a very expressive face; his big eyes were a golden brown. “Grrr. Strange, rrrr, valley.” He swung his linen bucket by the handle, a fearsome warrior turned into a bear drunk on berries.

“Strange how?” Tapio asked.

“Mrrrm,” Langtree said. “Witch-bears come, grr? Come here, rrr? Test their powers and grow them, mmmmrrrr?”

Kwoqwethogan ate a handful of the berries. “These are full of green potentia,” he said. He took a wooden cup carved from a maple burl and beautifully inlaid in gold and silver, and with a nod of permission from Langtree, he dipped a measure of berries and poured them into his beak.

“Ahh,” he said. “Ahhh,” he said again, as purple-blue fire played along his back. His red ridge crest engorged and rose atop his head. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “Damn. That cleared my head.”

Langtree nodded. “Witch bears say the berries here grow all year.”

Redmede handed his berries to the warden. “Be my guest,” he said. “I don’t fancy being turned into somethin’ unnatural.”

Tapio was still watching the mist. “I agree that isss odd. Where are the animalsss?”

Albinkirk—Shawn

The Grand Squire, now captain of Albinkirk, had withdrawn most of the population of the Albin north of the river into Albinkirk. His garrison was small; mostly recovering wounded from the great battle at Gilson’s Hole, reinforced by a trickle of volunteers and replacements for the western alliance army; two dozen Occitan knights under a famous troubadour, Ser Uc Brunet; a company of Occitan crossbowmen, all borderers, released by the termination of Outwaller raiding in the west country of Occitan, and a trickle of Morean cavalrymen. All told, he had almost five hundred men and women fit for duty; a far larger and better garrison than his predecessor had. In addition, he had all the farmers of the region; this time, unlike their response to Thorn’s incursion, they had come in immediately when ordered, and every man and strong woman had joined their militia company willingly.

Albinkirk was packed not just with men and women but with animals, because by Lord Shawn’s order, every animal larger than a house cat had been brought inside the gates. Since the alarm at Mistress Heloise’s manor house, the militia had been digging out the old moat and fosse; dozens, if not hundreds, of small garden plots were ruined to scrape the old brick clean and dig the ditch back to its original depth.