"I heard a stream about five minutes ago. It was to the east of the trail, I think." Nabber tried his best to sound nonchalant.

"You two wait here," Tawl said, jumping down from the rock. "I'll be back as soon-"

"No," said Nabber quickly. "Don't go. I wanted you to look at my throat. It feels sore."

Tawl glanced quickly at Nabber.

"I'll go, then," Jack said, looking from Nabber to Tawl. He dismounted his horse and started back up the trail. "Be sure to save some of the cheese and drybread for me."

Tawl waited until Jack was out of sight and then came and stood next to Nabber. "Now that we're alone, what's really the matter?" he said. "I heard you draining the water from your skin."

Even in the dark, the knight's eyes looked very blue. He didn't look angry or amused like other men might in similar situations. He simply looked concerned. Suddenly Nabber wasn't sure he had done the right thing. It was the guilt, of course. It always made him do things that were... well ... just plain strange.

"Nabber," said Tawl speaking softly, "you can tell me anything. Anything at all."

The gentleness in Tawl's voice made everything worse as far as Nabber was concerned. How was he supposed to tell such a trusting and caring man that the one person he revered above all others was rotten to the core?

Nabber sighed. He was going to have to do it all the same. The shooting had changed things, made it harder for him to keep the truth to himself. The instant Jack came rushing through the trees, shouting out that Tawl had been shot at, Nabber knew he'd been wrong to conceal the truth. What if the arrow hadn't missed? What if Tawl had died here, far away from home and the woman he loved, without ever learning the truth? Nabber didn't like to think of things like that. Didn't like to think of Tawl dying-ever. Tawl was his friend, his traveling companion, his partner. He trusted Tawl, and Tawl trusted him.

Only ever since the night when he'd stumbled upon Baralis and Tyren meeting in the south side of Bren, he had kept something from him. Something Nabber was certain that Tawl would want to know.

For weeks now, Nabber had kept the truth in, saying to himself that he just had to find the right time and the right place. Tonight had shown him how tenuous life was. Wait too long and the chance might never come again. Nabber looked up at Tawl. He took a quick breath and said, "You know the night when I nearly got caught by Skaythe?" Tawl nodded and he continued. "Well, I didn't run straight back to the townhouse like I said. I hung around the south side of the city making sure I wasn't being followed. That's when I sort of ran into Baralis again."

Tawl was immediately tense. "Did he harm you?" Nabber shook his head. Somehow nothing he said turned out the way he meant it. "No, he didn't see me. You see, I was in this yard, and there was a horse whose bridle was black. Only it wasn't black, not all the way. Someone had rubbed soot on it to hide the yellow stripes."

"Yellow stripes?" Tawl's voice sounded strained.

"Yes, yellow and black." Nabber knew he had to continue fast and get the whole story over with before Tawl had a chance to say another word. He dashed ahead. "It was Tyren's horse, Tawl. He and Baralis came out into the yard. They'd been having a meeting in the building, and they came out so Tyren could collect his horse. They were talking about Helch, about converting its people, and keeping them on their knees until Kylock had dealt with Highwall." Nabber couldn't look Tawl in the eye. He stared at the knight's boots. "Tyren's a bad man, Tawl. He's gonna kill anyone who spreads rumors against him--I heard him say it He wants to get his hands on any other territories Kylock conquers, including the south. He's after breaking up the Church."

Nabber wanted to continue talking, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He risked glancing up at the knight's face. Tawl's gaze was focused on a distant point. A muscle pumped in his cheek.

Without looking at Nabber he said, "It's no secret that Tyren wants to change the face of the Church. Everyone in the knighthood has known that for years. Tyren has always believed that Silbur has had too much influence on the north, and that its priests were becoming soft, forgetting the true word of G.o.d."

Nabber didn't like the look on Tawl's face one little bit. He looked dazed, like a sleepwalker or a drunk. "Tawl, I was there. I heard Tyren talking. He didn't sound like a man concerned with the well-being of Helch's people. He sounded . . . " Nabber struggled for the right word ". . . greedy. "

Tawl's expression hardened. He looked Nabber straight in the eye. "Tyren wouldn't make an agreement with Baralis without good reason. We don't know his true motives. He could be luring Baralis into a trap, fooling him into giving Helch over to the knighthood, trying to catch him out Anything. He could have said all the things he did because he knew they were exactly the sort of things that Baralis wanted to hear."

"But, Tawl"

"No, Nabber. You're wrong." Tawl went to touch Nabber's arm, but Nabber pulled away. "I know Tyren. He helped me during a very bad time; saved my soul and my life. He isn't the sort of man to become involved in ... in such an agreement without due cause."

Nabber opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Tawl's eyes were shining and his brow was creased into many lines. He looked worried and upset Someone had tried to shoot him earlier and would probably try again. Nabber suddenly felt very tired and about as old as he'd ever felt in his life. Tawl was everything to him, everything, yet here he was upsetting him, telling him that the one man he respected above all others was a rogue. It wasn't the night for it. He'd been wrong to bring it up now, whilst Tawl was still shaken from the shooting, hurting from patting with Melli, and nervous about the journey ahead. He had enough on his mind without having to deal with the problem of an old friend turning bad.

Tawl looked at Nabber, waiting for a response. Slowly Nabber nodded his head. "Come to think of it, Tawl," he said. "You're right. Tyren could have been up to anything in that yard. It was a dark might, I could hardly see a thing, both men were whispering, and I only caught the final minutes of the meeting. Who knows what went on before?"

Tawl looked at Nabber closely while he was speaking. After a moment he reached out his hand again. Nabber didn't pull away this time, instead letting the knight draw him close to his chest. The knight smelled of good honest things, like sweat, bay leaves, and horses. Unlike Tyren, there was no scented hair oil or slick foreign fragrances to conceal the true smell of the man. Nabber hugged Tawl hard. Although he would never, ever say it, he loved his friend very much.

A minute pa.s.sed, and them Tawl gently pulled away. "Come on," he said. "Let's go and meet up with Jack. I'm not happy about him being on the path by himself."

Sad, tired, but not in the least bit doubtful that he'd dome the right thing, Nabber followed Tawl down the trail.

The wood can only warm where it touches, so much of her body is chilled. She closes her eyes to shut out their dark and to replace it with some dark of her own. Now she only wishes that she could stop her body from shaking with fear and make it shake with cold, instead.

Even though she knows tomorrow will be just the same, she tries very hard to go to sleep. Her dreams scare her more than her surroundings, and she awakens in the middle of the might. Sitting up, she draws her knees under her chin and pushes her lips together very tightly. She will not cry. She is approaching her fourth month of pregnancy, and she doesn't want the sound of her crying to be the first thing her baby ever hears.

High atop the palace, high above the lake, a woman stands alone in a room that has no angles, only curves: a tower room with a door that is locked and bolted from the outside.

There is no window, but there is am arrow loop that is shaped like a cross. If she stands upon her toes and presses her body to the stone, she can s.n.a.t.c.h a view of the stars from the might. The stone is cold against her belly, though--cold and hard and damp. And her legs and feet ache if she stands too long.

She doesn't spend much time looking out.

They do not give her candles at might, so she feels her way to the bench in the dark. Strange, but she has never noticed before just how warm wood cam be. Compared to stone it is a living, breathing thing. The wood of the bench is her only comfort, and she wraps her arms around it as if it were a friend.

There are no blankets, so she curls herself up into a ball.

Fourteen.

Jack urged Barley up to the top of the rise. It was a severe slope and the horse took its time, choosing its steps carefully, like a young boy at his first dance.

The air changed on the way up. It became cooler, faster, fresher, and it began to taste of salt. Barley took the last stretch with growing confidence and Jack eased up on the reins. He even sat back a little on the saddle.

Nothing prepared him for what he saw at the top. Barley scrambled onto the flat ground and Jack looked out at something he'd never seen before in his life: the ocean.

Dark and sparkling, impossibly wide, it stretched out into the territory where the earth met the sky. Above Jack's head seagulls turned and circled, calling and diving, white specks amidst the blue. The air smelled of so many things that were new and unfamiliar. So salty he could taste it, so complex he could never hope to name the parts. Jack's breath was literally taken away and replaced with tidings from the ocean. Caught up in a tangle of emotions and sensations, Jack felt like he'd come home.

They had been traveling for several weeks now. Southeast at first and later just south. They'd skirted around the sh.o.r.es of Lake Herry and crossed the northeastern plains. Meeting up with the mountains in the east, they had followed them down as far as Ness. Two days they spent in the busy farming city. Nabber had enough money in his pack to exchange their horses for better ones, and Tawl had gone missing for the day. Later, when he joined up with them he had a beautifully crafted longbow strapped to his back and a red-haired girl waving him good-bye from the crowd.

Tawl refused to speak about his absence, but later Nabber told Jack that the girl in the crowd had once tried to seduce Tawl, and that Tawl had felt bad about it since. Tawl's mood certainly seemed better after that day, and Nabber wisely concluded that Tawl must have stopped by to apologize. Either that, or he had seduced her this time.

They spent the next weeks following the mountains farther south, and just today they crossed over to the coast. Tawl said they would be in Toolay by this time tomorrow.

The weather had been with them all the way. Late summer curved into autumn and trees changed their wares from green to gold. The rain, when it fell, was light and warm, and the wind only blew after dark. They made good time up until Nabber was shot in the arm.

It was a shock to all of them. In a way they had grown used to the shadowy presence who was constantly at their backs. Over the past three weeks other arrows had been shot. Expertly aimed, they skimmed breath-close but never hit. Jack had gradually begun to relax-even Tawl had let down his guard. And then five days back an arrow was aimed straight at Nabber's chest. No one had got much sleep since then. Nabber's bone had been chipped and his arm was now resting in a sling. The boy didn't seem too upset by the incident, saying that at least it wasn't his pocketing arm.

Even though things had been quiet since the shooting, Jack suspected they wouldn't remain so for long. Someone was playing a game with them, and if Nabber hadn't suddenly swiveled around to catch an escaping frog, it would have been a deadly one. The arrow had been meant to kill him. It hit the exact spot where, less than a tenth of a second earlier, Nabber's heart had been beating.

Tawl was on his guard day and night. They all were. The problem was that the archer never showed himself. He had a longbow and could fire from the sort of distances that were impossible to spot him over. And he had a definite preference for waiting till dark. Ever since Nabber was wounded, they hadn't had a fire. They couldn't risk one. The flames glowed through the night like a target.

Sometimes they would catch a glimpse of him. When they crossed the plains they had spotted him twice. He was on horseback, that much was clear, but further details were hard to make out. At the time, Tawl had only a shortbow, and the shots he had taken were hardly worth the nocking. Not now, though; he had a beautiful yew-wood longbow. Curving more wickedly than a tavern-maid's hips, it promised that the next time the archer was spotted would be his last.

"Hey! Jack! What you doing mooning over the ocean? Come over here and have some blackberries."

Jack spun around. Tawl and Nabber had reached the top of the bluff ahead of him and were already off their horses and settling down to eat Jack felt a little disorientated. He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed between him cresting the rise and Nabber calling out Just how long had he been sitting here, staring at the sea?

Tawl stood up and came over to him. He patted Barley's neck and offered Jack a hand down. "Are you all right?" he said quietly.

"I'm fine. The ocean just" --Jack jumped from his horse--"caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting it."

Tawl took Barley's reins and began leading the horse toward the makeshift camp. "You've never seen the ocean before, have you?"

"No. Harvell is a long, long way from the sea."

"You know that Larn lies out there in that ocean?" Jack drew in a quick breath. "Whereabouts?"

Tawl's face looked grim. He turned to the south and then a fraction to the east. "It's a couple of hundred leagues over there."

Jack followed his pointing finger. The horizon was darkening and the sea turned from blue to black. It was about four hours past midday, but the mountains to the west were already taking in the sun for the night. Jack suddenly felt cold. His gaze rested far on the horizon, and it took Tawl's words to pull him back to sh.o.r.e: "Jack, come on. You need to rest."

Jack turned to face him. The knight's eyes were clear and blue. "Do you feel it, too?" he said.

Tawl looked down. "There's not been a day since I went there that I haven't felt its presence."

The two men stood side by side and watched the ocean glisten like a jewel. The seagulls were quiet now.

Barley broke the spell by pulling against his reins as he sniffed out an especially fragrant clump of gra.s.s.

Tawl surprised Jack by calling out to Nabber: "Go and collect all the wood you can find. This looks like a good night for a fire."

Nabber scurried off. Jack waited for Tawl's explanation. The knight refused to meet his eyes, and Jack guessed that he was not the only one who felt chilled to the bone.

An hour later the fire was crackling and bright. Smoked sausages wrapped in dock leaves were warming in the embers, and a jug full of holk sat in the flames. In addition to Tawl's longbow, Ness had provided them with an abundant variety of food. True, all the meat was lamb's meat and the cheese was made from ewe's milk, but up until they reached the city they had been surviving on Nabber's highly subjective ideas of traveling fair, and anything that wasn't sticky with honey or snow-drifted in cinnamon was more than a welcome change.

"Blackberries, anyone?" Nabber held out a handful of berries. When no one came forward to take them, he rubbed his injured arm. "Last time I go collecting fresh fruit for you lot. Risked my neck, I did. And what do I get for it?" Nabber answered his own question. "I'll tell you what I get. Two men looking at me as if I'm offering them poison."

Jack smiled. Nabber was very astute when it came to sensing mood changes. He saw that he and Tawl were quiet, counted this as unacceptable behavior, and decided to lighten the atmosphere with a spirited burst of self-pity.

"Here. Give me the berries," Jack said. "I'll eat them."

"What, all of them?"

"Yes. Even the ones with the slug trails on them."

"Slug trails! There's no slugs been on these beauties. Why, slugs couldn't even fit on 'em."

The look of wild indignation on Nabber's face made Jack laugh. After a moment Tawl joined in. It was easy to feel protective toward Nabber. Even with his brusque, I-can-look-after-myself manner, the boy could not conceal his vulnerability or his youth. The night he was shot he hadn't cried once. And although he had fainted, he held that it wasn't a girlish sick sort of faint, but rather a manly, pain-blocking, strength-saving sort of faint.

There had been a lot of blood. The arrowhead was wide and soft. Nabber's bone bent the metal as it broke. As always the fletchings were crafted from red silk and human hair. Jack didn't know what it meant, but he suspected that both Tawl and Nabber did.

Jack glanced quickly at Tawl. The knight was measuring the length of his arrows against his chest More than a thumb-length past his fingers, and he cut the arrow short. "Why the fire, Tawl?"

Tawl dropped the arrow he was shortening, then brushed his hair from his face. "Look around, Jack. Why do you think I brought us here?"

Jack did as he was asked. They had camped upon a small rocky cliffside. Directly ahead of them lay the ocean, below them lay more rocks, and behind them lay the hills that they had spent the best part of the day crossing. In all directions the view was unhindered. The world was laid out below them, and the full moon illuminated every bush and strand of gra.s.s.

"You're laying a trap."

"You could say that. if our mysterious friend tries anything tonight, I'm counting on spotting him first."

"He's not so mysterious, though, is he?"

Tawl sucked in his breath. "I think I know who he is."

"A man whose brother I killed."

"You didn't kill him, Tawl. You beat him fair and square." It was Nabber, stepping forward to defend his friend. "That Skaythe's just a mad devil. That's all."

"How do you know it's him?" Jack felt annoyed for some reason.

"The red silk on the arrows," said Nabber. "Same color as they use in the pits."

"And the hair?"

"Well, I couldn't testify to it myself, but it looks about the same color as Blayze's. Doesn't it, Tawl?"

"Why only tell me this now?" Jack was looking at Tawl and his voice held an accusation.

"Because he's not interested in you, Jack. He wants me."

"Didn't stop him from shooting Nabber, though, did it?"

Tawl whipped around. "What is your point?"

"My point is that you should have told me. The danger here concerns all of us, and at the very least you owe me the truth. I will not be treated like a child who needs protecting. If there's trouble coming, I want to know exactly what to expect." By the time Jack had finished speaking he was shaking.

A minute pa.s.sed. The wind picked up a little, blowing sparks from the fire toward the sea.

Tawl took a deep breath and then spoke. "You're right, Jack. I'm sorry, I should have told you everything the minute I guessed what was happening." He looked Jack straight in the eye. He didn't lessen his apology by making excuses. After a few seconds, he said, "So, how are you with a bow?"

Jack smiled, recognizing Tawl's attempt to include him in his plan. "Not good," he said.

Tawl had moved over to the horses. He untied the shortbow from the back of the gelding and handed it to Jack. "How about me giving you a few lessons while we wait."

"Do you think we'll have to wait Iong?"

"As long as it takes." Tawl looked over at the hills. Nothing moved that the wind wasn't blowing. "All night, perhaps."

Jack tested the string on the bow. "Then you just might have time to teach me a thing or two."

Tavalisk was in his chamber enjoying a fine meal of slow-roasted dove, whilst he and his aide discussed various details concerning the siege at Bren. There was nothing like eating a bird of peace when one's tongue was busy wagging about the war. The birds themselves were a little scrawny, of course. But the archbishop found that nothing savored a dish better than a healthy sprinkling of whimsy. Besides, the doves were only the start. The fatted calf was next.

"Gamil, you slice it from shoulder to flank. Not the other way round." Tavalisk was having his aide do the duties of his cook. "Not so thin, either, Gamil. I want to be able to chew on the slices, not wear them as an undergarment."