“Lord, I was obsessed with your half-sister Mayenne before we left Itaskia.” He cringed, anticipating a blow.

“Well. You can surprise me. I expected something darker. She’s a little young, though, isn’t she?”

“She’s almost fourteen.” Too old for the sorcerer’s taste, now, but so delectable…

Mayenne was one of a dozen children the previous Duke had fathered on the far side of the blanket. He had been fond enough of this one’s mother to acknowledge her and her sisters.

The Duke was amused. “Babeltausque, I’m glad you spoke up. This can be arranged.” Sudden cruelty edged his voice. “The little bitch needs to learn her place.” She had resisted his own advances more than once. She deserved to be thrown to a beast like Babeltausque.

The sorcerer continued to look amazed.

How his fortunes had turned!

Nathan Wolf, on crutches, made the rounds of the Duke’s soldiers, telling them what Inger wanted them to hear—with the Duke’s blessing. A band of three were allowed to slip away. Two days later an eight-man group moved out. Both groups consisted of genuine deserters.

A third band, twenty-six strong, were not the real thing. They included the Duke disguised as an archer and the sorcerer as a muleteer. The archer’s guise suited the Duke. He was skilled with the longbow.

Six miles east of Breitbarth an outrider discovered human remains as vultures and ravens made a getaway. Flies were dense despite the season. There had been several days of warm weather. Maggots were at work. The ravens did not go far. They clustered in nearby trees and cursed.

The remains could still be recognized. They were the men who had deserted first. They had been attacked by archers.

“Bandits?” Greyfells asked the air.

“Hard to tell, Your Grace,” a soldier replied. “The broken arrows are the Marena Dimura type.”

Babeltausque, unhappy about being in the field, said, “It hardly matters now.”

“True enough,” the Duke admitted. “Sorcerer, here is where you earn your sweet cunny. Make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”

Babeltausque soon had his chance. “We’re being stalked. Four men. In the woods to our left. A dozen more are hiding up ahead, in the brush around that lone chestnut.”

Greyfells had been looking forward to this. His troops were all afoot. Each carried a strung bow with an arrow laid across. “The finer you determine where they are the happier I’ll be.”

“Keep moving like you’re ready for trouble but don’t really expect it. I’ll give you my best.” He would. He had a reason to live.

Greyfells halted at the extreme range of the short bow favored by the Marena Dimura. He laid flights of arrows into the ambush area. Shrieks and curses responded.

The frustrated ambushers rose to loose their own shafts. That made the Itaskians’ work easier.

Those ambushers still able to do so ran.

The Itaskians found eight wounded men. They recovered their arrows, left seven dead to their more fortunate brothers. They took one youth along for questioning. His wound was not life-threatening. He was not nearly as tough as he imagined.