They left Kadach at dawn the following morning and rode eastward towards the city of Motera under skies that continued grey and cloudy. The murky sky, coupled with their conversation of the previous evening, made them all gloomy and downcast, and they rode mostly in silence. About noon, Sephrenia suggested a halt. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said quite firmly, ‘this isn’t a funeral procession, you know.’

‘You could be wrong there, little mother,’ Kalten said to her. ‘I didn’t find much to lift my spirits in last night’s discussion.’

‘I think we’d all better start looking for cheerful things to think about,’ she told them. ‘We’re riding into some fairly serious danger. Let’s not make it worse by piling gloom and depression on top of it. People who think they’re going to lose usually do.’

‘There’s a lot of truth there,’ Ulath agreed. ‘One of my brother knights at Heid is absolutely convinced that every set of dice in the world hates him. I’ve never seen him win – not even once.’

‘If he’s been playing with your dice, I can see why,’ Kalten accused.

‘I’m hurt,’ Ulath said plaintively.

‘Enough to throw those dice away?’

‘Well, no, not quite that much. We really ought to come up with something cheerful to talk about, though.’

‘We could find some wayside tavern and get drunk, I suppose,’ Kalten said hopefully.

‘No,’ Ulath shook his head. ‘I’ve found that ale just makes a bad mood worse. After four or five hours of drinking, we’d probably all be crying into our tankards.’

‘We could sing hymns,’ Bevier suggested brightly.

Kalten and Tynian exchanged a long look, and then they both sighed.

‘Did I ever tell you about the time when I was down in Cammoria and this lady of high station became enamoured of me?’ Tynian began.

‘Not that I recall,’ Kalten replied rather quickly.

‘Well, as I remember it –’ Tynian began, and then told them a long, amusing and just slightly off-colour account of what was probably an entirely fictitious amorous adventure. Ulath followed by telling them the story of the unfortunate Genidian Knight who had aroused a passion in the heart of an Ogress. His description of the singing of the love-stricken female reduced them all to helpless laughter. The stories, richly embellished with detail and humour, lightened their mood, and they all felt much better by sunset when they halted for the day.

Even with frequent changes of horses, it took them twelve days to reach Motera, an unlovely town lying on a flat, marshy plain extending out from the west fork of the River Geros. They reached the city about midday. Sparhawk and Kurik once again sought out information while the rest of the party rested their horses in preparation for the ride northward towards Paler. Since they still had a number of hours of daylight left, they saw no reason to spend the night in Motera.