The haunt appeared out of the darkness. “I pray you, wardens, let go of this dispute, however entertaining you may find it, for I assure you, it is not so entertaining to the rest of us.”

The two wardens stiffened as if turned to salt.

“What is it you have there, Fulmo? Ah, more bread. So shall it be, bread yesterday, bread today, bread tomorrow.” He sighed wearily as he accepted flatbread rolled up into a tube and took a bite, paused with a startled expression, and took a second bite. “But what is this? There’s something soft smeared inside.”

“I believe it is liver paste, Your Highness,” said Jirvy. “Goat’s liver, if I don’t mistake the flavor.”

“Delightful.” His gaze flicked toward Elen as if to make sure she was still present.

Alongside the others, she ate, after which they broke camp, doused the embers, and headed out in a neat file.

Elen led the way, using a compass and her general knowledge of the land to set a route to the west-northwest. The plateau country here was lightly wooded, with grassy stretches. They were now in Farledder Intendancy, the most sparsely populated intendancy of Ilvewind Province. If they walked far enough, they would intercept the road.

Jirvy limped only slightly as they walked.

“How are your wounds?” the captain asked. “I thought they’d cause you more trouble today, given you passed out. His Exalted Highness learned field medicine at the palace school, so I must suppose he was able to clean and bind them most effectively.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I went right out,” Jirvy answered, gingerly testing the movement of his shoulder. “Odd how well-rested I feel, despite everything.”

“The gashes weren’t too deep,” said the haunt. “They’ll heal soon enough if you get enough rest, they’re kept clean, and not too much stress is placed on them.”

“That’s good news,” Simo agreed.

The wardens said no more. They were eager to keep moving. But Elen thought Luviara skeptical, even suspicious. As a theurgist, had she been able to see the golden glow? Yet a prince could not be questioned.

As for herself, Elen was sure the haunt had used a targeted version of sleep magic to cast Jirvy into such a deep slumber. But that wasn’t all. Magic was the only explanation she could find for the skirmish she’d caught glimpses of atop the south rim of Grinder’s Cut. That hadn’t been sorcery, had it? Sorcery sucked the life force out of its victims; that’s why it was wicked. The soldiers had been very much alive when they’d fallen flailing and terrified to their deaths.