They crawled back out, Xilsi rubbing her cheeks where the prickly scrape of the spruce had reddened her skin. Elen could feel Kem’s unasked questions like a weight, his accusing gaze on her back, but he followed orders and said nothing. They walked at speed, descended the stone steps at a jog, and turned aside by the ruins of the oven. Beyond lay a silted-in depression marking a circular ditch around the collapsed remains of a livestock shed, a longhouse, and a pile of stones that marked a well. Inside the ditch no new growth had sprouted except for a single white-needle pine that towered like an angry ghost. It was a haunted place, not because of ancient statues, as with the Spires, but because local legend said there had been a terrible murder here, driven by jealousy, and ending with a lover dumped into the well so the corpse permanently poisoned its waters.

The presence of the white pine suggested the hamlet had been overtaken by Spore, not by jealousy. Or maybe both, since both were poisonous. Regardless, the outbreak had taken place three or more generations in the past, although Elen sniffed the air and smelled nothing off.

Beyond the ruins lay a trail up to open, grassy ground where the hamlet’s sheep had once grazed and, beyond that, a steep climb up a ridge. If their pursuers turned this way, they would have to come around by a long trail, past a different herder’s hamlet, census sixteen, known as Fifen Ditch. There, the sentinels would question the locals and discover the prince and his wardens had never passed through.

At the top of the ridge, the blustering wind flung the promise of winter into their faces.

Elen had to raise her voice to be heard. “Luviara, can you manage climbing a cliff?”

“Are you calling me old?” said the interlocutor with an amused smile.

“I am,” agreed Elen cheerfully.

The theurgist chuckled. “I can scarcely argue, Deputy Courier, since I am old. But I think you’ll find I will not be the last to reach the top of the cliff. Lead on. This is a most illuminating detour. I shall delight in recording our adventures in my journal.”

“I’d rather you not reveal the presence of the rope bridge,” said Elen.

“It seems the archon and her people know of it. How secret can it be?”

“With respect, Your Worthiness, and since you have raised the subject, the intendant is concerned to discover who set it up and who is using it for smuggling. That’s best done quietly.”

“You have an exaggerated idea of how many people read my journal.”

“How many?” Elen asked, suddenly curious.

“Just two. Besides myself, I mean. I assure you, the intendant need not worry that his investigation will be impeded by my record.”

The haunt said, “This is all very interesting, I am sure, but under the circumstances, we must move on.”