She approached him cautiously. There was no movement. She toed him gingerly, ready for him to spring up and attack anew. But he failed to respond. Still using her boot, she rolled him over. His head was bent awkwardly to one side, loose and unhinged.

His neck was broken.

Shades, she thought, appalled at what she had done.

She picked up the knife he had been carrying, which was lying to one side. It was a Southland weapon, forged in one of the Borderland Cities, probably in Varfleet where they did such skilled work with blades. She knelt next to him, still watchful, ready to respond if he moved. But when she pulled back the black hood that concealed his features, his eyes were fixed and staring. She studied his features, trying to place him.

She had never seen him before.

A search of his clothing turned up nothing that revealed who he was or where he had come from. He was a Man, not an Elf, and she felt a small ripple of gratitude for that. She did not want to think that there were Elves this anxious to see her dead.

Was killing her the dead man’s idea, or did he serve another?

She remembered there had been two of them last night …

She turned to look for the backpack, scanning the ground where she had dropped it, but it was gone. So, she thought: one man to attack her and one to steal the bag. A small variation on last night’s attack, and this time they’d had better success.

She glanced out into the darkness and down the pathway, but there was nothing to see. The second attacker would be far away by now. He would not stop until he was safe and could examine the contents of her bag at his leisure. She wished she could be there to see his face when he opened it and found it stuffed with old maps and a couple of books on the care and feeding of hogs.

She smiled in spite of herself. She knew a trick or two. She had been expecting the attack and had left nothing to chance. The diary was back at the palace, down in one of the storerooms, safely tucked away where only she could find it. After last night’s assault, she wasn’t about to take foolish chances.

What she could not decide was how her attackers knew about the diary in the first place. How could anyone have found out about it in so short a time?

Whatever the answer to her question, it was clear that someone wanted it as badly as she did and would kill to get it. Using an assassin as skilled as the dead man was a clear indication of their determination. It changed her thinking measurably. She was no longer equivocating about what she must do.