Almost as if they somehow knew their enemy had a way to discover information about them, they had put as many people as possible in the Black Knight’s costume. This made it difficult—if not impossible—to find out the identity of the “real” Black Knight.

A thought occurred to Brother Qown, a thought so outrageous he had to stop and jerk himself away from the firepit he had been scrying in Atrine.

Did Janel have a way to communicate with the others?

It seemed impossible, but he knew Janel’s consciousness went elsewhere when she “slept.” He had always assumed the ability passive, not under her control, even if she’d inadvertently created that spell. But could she somehow use her ability to keep in touch with others?

No, he thought. It wasn’t possible. If she went to the Afterlife, she’d have to be able to communicate with someone else with the same ability. He didn’t know anyone else with that power besides gods. And possibly Relos Var.

He had a hard time shaking the nagging feeling he’d missed something.

And what if he had? He wouldn’t do Janel any favors by ferreting out her secret, only to report it to Relos Var the next time the wizard asked Qown to tell all he had discovered. Better to leave it alone, a truth not confirmed and thus impossible to betray.

As Relos Var himself had said, Brother Qown couldn’t be trusted.

He therefore decided to start with the other names on the list, the unfamiliar names not associated with Marakori bandit queens or her forest-dwelling outlaws. It proved difficult to track down the Black Knights, because they lived their own lives while not performing. Nobody spent every hour running around a tournament wearing black and upturning people’s ale mugs for laughs.

Then he came across a Black Knight who wasn’t trying to be funny.

It had taken weeks, hampered because tournaments didn’t happen every day of the week. On days when tournaments ran, they tended to happen all at once, all across Jorat, leaving Qown to try to goat-leap across multiple locations. Additionally, they tended to happen during the day, when people didn’t light fires, lanterns, or candles. And kitchen fires were seldom built within viewing distance of tournament stands. All this made fulfilling the Hon’s request tricky indeed.

He almost asked Thurvishar for help, thinking a retreat to Shadrag Gor would give him the time he needed. But he decided he didn’t want Thurvishar to know.

When he found the right Black Knight, he almost missed him, skipping over the horse and rider. Then he recognized the horse.

Not a horse at all, but Arasgon, disguised and wearing black.

Brother Qown didn’t recognize the rider, but the Black Knight seemed far too large to be Ninavis.