“Come,” Binnesman said all too soon. “We have a few hours until Raj Ahten awakens. Let us make good use of them.” He urged them downhill, into the plains. Though the horses were hungry and the grass here grew high, it was also dry and without seed, worthless fodder.

They rode slowly along a dirt road for half an hour, and here at last they felt at ease enough to talk, to make plans.

“My horse will be the fastest over these roads,” Binnesman said. “If you do not mind, I will ride ahead. I will be needed at Longmot, and I hope to find my wylde there.”

“Do you think it is there?” Iome asked.

“I really can’t be sure,” Binnesman answered, and seemed to want to say no more.

The company soon reached a weathered farmhouse beside a winding stream. The farm had a small orchard behind it, and a sloping barn for a few pigs. It looked as if the peasant who lived here feared attack, for a lantern had been set in a plum tree out front, another out by the door to the pig shed.

The farmer should be afraid, Gaborn realized. This hut was isolated, without benefit of neighbors for a mile. And giants and nomen were prowling the fields tonight.

Iome’s father rode his steed up to the lantern, sat staring at it, mesmerized, as if he’d never seen one before.

Then Gaborn realized that the King probably never had seen one, at least not that he remembered. The whole world would seem new to him, like a vivid and fascinating dream, something he lived through but never comprehended.

Gaborn also rode up beneath the lantern, so his face could easily be seen, then called to the door. In a moment, an old turnip of a woman cracked the door enough to frown at him. She seemed frightened by so many riders.

“May we have some water and feed for the horses?” Gaborn asked. “And some food for ourselves?”

“At this time of night?” the old woman grumbled. “Not if you was the King!” She slammed the door.

Gaborn felt surprised at this, looked at Iome for a reaction. Binnesman smiled. Iome laughed softly, went up to the plum tree, then picked half a dozen of the large violet fruits. Gaborn saw movement inside the house as the woman tried to peer out the window, but she had no fine window of glass, only a piece of scraped hide, which let her see nothing but shadows.

“Leave them plums!” she shouted from inside.

“How about if we take all the plums we can carry, and leave a gold coin instead?” Gaborn called out.

Quick as a flash, the old woman was at the door again. “You have money?”