Karn soon found out why they had been so eager to leave. As soon as his troops were in place, the harassment began, by unknown persons who emerged from the ruins in the night like so many cockroaches. Like cockroaches, they came and went through the army encampments at will. Food, weapons, and other supplies disappeared as if by magic.

Even worse, soldiers themselves disappeared, their dead bodies surfacing days later, bound with briars and dangling from the walls of heathenish temples, or piled in back alleys. Before long, the soldiers of the army of Arden envied the stripers outside the walls, bivouacked in relative safety.

Karn did what he could. Having recently participated in the sacking of Tamron Court, he ordered his soldiers to show no mercy to the streetrats and thieves they managed to catch. As for destroying their hideouts, well, there wasn’t much left to do in that regard.

The spires of Fellsmarch Castle poked up against the eastern sky, lightly garrisoned yet so far impregnable. Montaigne’s spies had reported that most of the surviving northern mages were assembled in their stronghold on Gray Lady or hiding in their country houses. But the walls of the hold shimmered under a gossamer web of magic, so the northern queen must have at least one mage on hand.

Meanwhile, the mages under Karn’s command could do little in the way of conjury, having few magical tools at their disposal. Some developed mysterious illnesses and took to their beds, unable to cast a single spell.

Karn demanded a meeting with the queen, but was told she was unavailable. They’d met once before, on the border between Tamron and Arden, in the midst of a skirmish. She’d been dressed as a servant, and he’d overlooked her until his king picked her out. She was small and finely made, with skin the color of Bruinswallow ale, startling green eyes, and a stubborn chin.

Fossnacht called her a witch, and favored burning her. He’d gotten in some practice with the mages who’d refused to take the collar and sign on with Montaigne. Truth be told, the fanatical priest made Karn edgy. He liked the flame too much.

Karn’s orders were to carry the queen back to Gerard, alive. Karn disagreed. Much cleaner to wring the girl’s neck and be done with it. A corpse can’t organize a rebellion.

Karn had argued the point, but not for very long. Gerard seemed obsessed with the northern witch. She’d wounded his pride—and the king of Arden meant to make her pay.