Even the haunt was but a passing traveler in her life. There was Kem, standing side by side with Ipis. Kem, who wouldn’t talk to her now. But she had to be patient. She’d find a way to speak to him, out of earshot of the others. She had to. She couldn’t bear to let him go on with the others while he was so angry with her, nothing resolved, just his sense of betrayal. She couldn’t bear it.

“Yes, we will be rid of you soon enough,” agreed Simo with a grimace of satisfaction.

How on this earth had she offended the captain so greatly? She’d only done her job. But she knew better than to beat her head bloody against this kind of rock.

“If it please you, Captain, may I settle at the fire? My feet hurt. It’s been a long day, with quite a bit more excitement than I am used to. And by excitement I mean to say a skirmish. It has exhausted me.”

Unexpectedly, his expression softened. “Ah. Yes. I was stationed for years on the eastern frontier. I remember my first battle. It wasn’t even a battle, just an encounter in an abandoned village that surprised everyone involved, the enemy as much as us. Your service is noted. I give you leave to be free of duties until dawn.” He stepped out of her way.

As she approached the fire, Kem looked over and saw her. Because he stood inside the circle of fires, she could see the disapproving press of his mouth, succeeded by the defensive hunch of his shoulders and a flare in his eyes as he made a decision. He turned back to Ipis, and ignored Elen as she entered the circle. The gesture stung, as he meant it to. Nevertheless, she spread out her ground cloth and sat, relieved to be off her feet.

The haunt hadn’t moved from beside Jirvy. The warden had his eyes closed; Elen thought the man was awake but quiescent. Enchanted? Bespelled? An almost indiscernible golden mist still played about the haunt’s hand, like captured light oozing into the wounded man’s body. The light seemed to be moving sluggishly, hypnotically, circling, calming …

Her head nodded forward.

She startled up when Fulmo appeared before her with a pot. His movements by now were grindingly slow and yet, somehow, he was determined to feed her before night paralyzed him. She hastily got bowl and spoon from her pack and accepted a ladleful of chewy turnip and goat cheese stew, spiced with humble fennel. He creaked back toward the fire, tilted his head up, and went still.