Han could hope that Rebecca’s party had passed through unmolested; that the reports that put Rebecca in the way of Gerard’s invading army were wrong.

It was possible she’d turned aside and taken refuge in the capital of Tamron Court, now under siege by Gerard Montaigne’s army. Han considered detouring west, toward the capital, but there was no way to tell if she was there or not. And nothing to be done if she were.

Han took a deep breath, released it, forcing himself to relax his neck and shoulders, to unclench his fists.

Anyway, Corporal Byrne and his Gray Wolves were headed that way. Han had his own path to follow.

If not for his worries about Rebecca, Han would have been in no hurry to reach the Fells. Why should he be eager to take his place as the magical sell-sword of the upland clans who’d misled and betrayed him? Why should he rush to confront the Wizard Council? Did he really want to play champion to Marianna—the queen responsible for so many of his losses? The queen who likely still had a price on his head.

Even when he reached the Fells, Han couldn’t trust the clans to have his back. The Demonai warriors despised him because he was gifted. He was their throwaway piece, intended to buy them a little time.

If not for Rebecca, he could have run the other way. As long as he stayed out of the mountains, he might avoid those he’d pledged to for months or years. He could always find a flatland hidey-hole and lose himself.

He snorted. As if that would ever happen. Han had loved Oden’s Ford, but he didn’t like the flatlands. Though a city boy, he’d been raised in a mountain town, and it made him uneasy to have vacancy all around him. He wanted to wrap himself in the mountains again.

Anyway, he’d never had much luck lying low. Sooner or later, he’d have a crew, a gang to support, and people depending on him. People who’d pay the price for his failures.

So he hadn’t seriously considered breaking his agreement with the clans. Not by running, anyway. It wasn’t enough to be on the winning side. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure he, Han Alister, came out on top.

Han and the clans had a common enemy. Lord Gavan Bayar, the High Wizard of the Fells, had engineered the deaths of Han’s mother and sister. He’d tortured and killed Han’s friends in an effort to find Han and retrieve the amulet he’d taken from the Bayars. The serpent flashpiece had once belonged to Han’s ancestor, Alger Waterlow, the notorious Demon King. Han now wore it against his skin.