Oh, yes, thought Bifalt. I am hurt. But those were not the words his wrecked heart demanded. He had to tell someone.

“It was Estie.” The effort of speaking threatened to choke him. “In my mind.”

Elgart flinched. He understood instantly.

The Prince did not. “In your mind?” he protested. “What do you mean? Was it that Magister who called you to search for the library?”

A small sound exposed Bifalt, a sob he could not suppress. He had never told his brother Estie’s secret.

Suddenly fierce, Elgart snapped, “Leave it, Highness. This is not the time. We will speak of it later, you and I.”

A true friend—

Elgart’s retort was a slap in the face. Jaspid jerked up his head. Anger flamed in his eyes. But he did not act on it. Restraining himself, he replied stiffly, “As you say, sir. We will speak.”

Elgart nodded. Moonlight caught a glisten that may have been tears in his eyes. In silence, he and the Prince supported their King toward the trees.

Soon, Jeck and Malder returned. Gruffly, Malder said, “We will take him. Spliner and Boy have set up a tent. If he can sit and eat, there is a fire ready. If not, we will settle him in his bedding.”

“He should not be seen like this,” murmured Jeck. “His frailty will do more harm than his death.”

Bifalt had made himself Belleger’s cornerstone. If he was seen to crumble, his people might falter as well.

Elgart and Jaspid surrendered the King. Gently, Jeck and Malder bore him up the slope. The former spy and the Prince followed without speaking. Elgart could guess at Jaspid’s thoughts, but he did not prod them. He had his own concerns.

Deep in the woods, Elgart and Prince Jaspid came to a clearing that would become a glade in springtime and turn lush during the summer. Now it was dirt and dead grasses exposed to the night air and the cold stars. But it was large enough to hold a camp for the survivors of the Fist’s destruction.

Among the riflemen, some of the older veterans began stitching cuts and wrapping bandages for their wounded. Others distributed heavy sheepskin cloaks and oilcloth rain-capes, especially to the Magisters. Fires had been started to heat iron stewpots. But the King’s people needed more than hot food. They ached for warmth to chase the fear from their bones.

Muttering to himself, Prince Jaspid went to take charge of the soldiers and post sentries. While he worked, Elgart scanned the camp.

The Magisters had one fire to themselves. They sat huddled around it like people who had no friends. Perhaps they did not want any. Elgart studied them until he located Magister Astride. Then he looked elsewhere.