In the end, they found no more carriage horses but were able to commandeer two more decent riding horses. They had to leave one of the Sun Chasers behind. Jirvy declared himself fit to ride. Elen took the other horse because she sensed the haunt did not want to ride. The closest he ever came to any of the horses was while seated on the driver’s bench. Any time he got too close otherwise, the beasts flicked their ears nervously.

As for her, horses did not love her, but they didn’t hate her either. They seemed to sense the existence of the viper but, because they could not see any slithering movement, they did not associate it with Elen, not as dogs often did, which was why dogs avoided her. She asked to ride a phlegmatic older mare who seemed unlikely to balk and, on this sturdy mount, rode directly behind the carriage. Fulmo and Jirvy took the rearguard, with Ipis and Xilsi in the vanguard. They pushed on as the sun sank into the west.

The countryside got flatter. Oxbow lakes suggested a great river had once wound westward through this region. Perhaps it now flowed beneath Far Boundary Pall.

As the sun set, Fulmo’s steps slowed. He fell behind as the light faded.

“Your Highness, shouldn’t we halt?” Xilsi asked.

The haunt glanced back. Fulmo had come to a stop in the middle of the road, stiff as a statue, head upturned toward the night sky, frozen by the stars.

“No. He will follow once the sun rises. Nothing physical can harm him, so he is in no danger.”

They left the gagast behind, his motionless figure vanishing in the gloom.

Darkness descended but for the delicate witchery of the road itself, barely more than a will-o’-the-wisp glow and usually only visible on moonless nights. In the nameless land, there had been a road that gleamed like this at night. As a child, she’d been told the road was a holy avenue, reserved for masters, they who were anointed by the white-haired god to stand above all other people.

Riding along the witch road now, she was grateful for its magic. It was dangerous to walk abroad at night because one could not see Spore growing out of plants, could not spot hollows where fresh Pall had gathered as tendrils of deadly mist—not until it was too late. The road’s glamor reminded her of moonlight, comforting and gentle, offering a helping hand in darkness. This evening, a waxing crescent moon accompanied them like a pale lantern held on high. The bite of coming winter numbed her lips. The landscape slumbered to either side, awaiting its spring flowering months hence.

Crammed into the carriage’s back bench, next to Luviara, Kem raised an arm. “Look!” he cried, his voice a crack in the night’s shell of silence. “Is that the Vigil?”