Faila The Dromin Road, in the Lescari Dukedom of Carluse, 24th of For-Autumn of For-Autumn

"Come on, horse." She stroked the reluctant animal's neck before urging it on with ruthless boot heels.

It had been easy enough to find the waymark stones on the high road. Now she was on the lesser byways, she had to search the leafy shadows for their pale gleam. Each one marked a league closer to Carluse, but she couldn't worry about that. She couldn't fret about beggars or footpads or worry that some scum from Wynald's Warband might stumble across her. This was her only chance. She had to take it.

Sooner than she expected, she saw the stone marking twenty-eight leagues from Carluse Town on this road. Weak with relief, she urged the horse down a track branching north. Finally, she turned down a narrow rutted lane. The horse snorted and baulked. Despite her frustration, Failla let the weary beast pick its own path in the half-light. She'd be hard put to explain to Nath how the animal had lamed itself overnight in a stable. The last thing she needed was him challenging the ostler and learning she'd ridden out alone.

As the lane cut across a shallow crest, she could see the little farm nestling in the side of the valley. There was no sign of light, nor any smoke rising from the chimney at one end of the long, low roof.

Her frustration gave way to apprehension. What welcome could she expect? Dismounting at the gate, she led the horse past the byre and the pigsties where the fattening weanlings were safely penned up for the night. The scent of cows and swine hung heavy in the air and her mount snorted loudly. The farm's own plough horse responded with a curious whicker. A single goose cackled briefly in the darkness.

"Hush." Failla stroked her mount's nose before it could whinny. She unbolted the top half of the stable door and tied her reins to it. She knew the plough horse of old. It would raise more racket than Poldrion's demons if its curiosity went unsatisfied.

A window under the edge of the thatch rattled. "Who's there?"

"Failla." She felt her palms sweating inside her gloves.

There was a moment's startled silence. "Failla?"

A second voice murmured in the bedroom, impossible to make out.

"Wait there." The window snapped shut.

Failla hurried past the well and the dairy to the farmhouse door.

Bolts scraped and a white-gowned figure stood in the darkness. "What do you want?"

"I need to see her," Failla pleaded.

"In the middle of the night?" The figure made no move to let her in. "Where have you been?"

"I can't tell you. But Uncle Ernout knows. Please, let me see her," begged Failla.

"Have you brought any coin for her keep?"

"No, I couldn't." Failla was miserably conscious of her empty purse. "But there's something you need to know. Can I come in?" She held out beseeching hands.

The figure in the doorway stepped back. "I suppose so."

As Failla entered, the nightgowned woman went over to the hearth and stirred the banked fire to a sullen glow. "You're pregnant again? That's why Duke Garnot's sent you away?"

"No." Failla knew she should have expected that. "I'm carrying messages for Uncle Ernout."

"Saedrin send his schemes are prospering," the woman said grudgingly. "But don't tell me what they are," she warned.

Unable to contain her anxiety, Failla paced back and forth on the far side of the well-scrubbed table. "There's going to be fighting, Lathi."

"With Marlier or Sharlac?" As the woman tossed a handful of kindling onto the fire, the light illuminated her frightened face. She was much the same age as Failla, her features in the same mould.

"Neither." Failla bit her lip. "You mustn't say anything, not even to Uncle Ernout. He knows it's coming but I shouldn't be telling you. But I want you to be ready, so you're prepared."

"For what?" The woman gripped the poker like a weapon.

"Fighting will start in the north, any day now." Failla clenched her fists. "Not Sharlac invading but an army coming down from the hills to overthrow Jackal Moncan, and then Duke Garnot and all the rest. To bring us real peace, once and for all."

Lathi was aghast. "When did armies ever bring peace?"

"Uncle Ernout thinks this one will. Please, Lathi," Failla begged desperately, "let me see her. I can't stay long and I don't know when I'll be close by again."

The white-gowned woman bent to light a spill and then an oil lamp. "You mustn't wake her."

"I won't." Failla swallowed salty tears, her heart twisting inside her.

She followed Lathi up the narrow curving stair. At the top, she looked fearfully through the narrow door to the canopied bed. Lathi's husband was a silent heap beneath the blankets. Failla couldn't blame him. Far safer for him not to be involved.

Lathi eased the latch and opened the door to the loft over the stable.

Failla heard a sleepy protest and her heart leaped. It couldn't be helped if the children woke of their own accord.

"Hush, hush," Lathi soothed and the murmur subsided.

Now all Failla could hear was peaceful breathing. She swallowed fresh tears.

"You wanted to see her." Lathi moved aside.

Hesitating on the threshold, Failla looked at the four little girls in the rumpled bed, their brothers curled up like puppies on a pallet beneath the low window.

"Which one is she?" Failla thought her heart would break. All were so alike in their creased chemises, dark hair strewn across the lumpy bolster.

For a long moment, Lathi didn't answer. She cleared her throat. "If you don't recognise your own daughter, I'm not going to tell you."

"Lathi!" Failla choked on a sob.

"No." Lathi forced her out of the room, shutting the door. "You gave her to me to raise as my own. We all agreed that was safest." She pushed Failla towards the stairs.

Failla couldn't speak for silent weeping, stumbling on the edge of her cloak and nearly falling.

Lathi followed her down to the kitchen with the merciless truth. "As far as anyone knows, they're sisters, not cousins. If no one knows different, not even you, no one can betray her to Duke Garnot. You don't think they'd use her against you, against Uncle Ernout? What life would she have if Duke Garnot and his bitch of a wife took her from us? What happens to her if Wynald's bastards catch up with you? Once they've beaten the truth of whatever it is you're doing out of you? They'll come here and burn the roof over our heads. You know they will." For all her hard words, firelight shone on tears trickling down Lathi's face. "I'm sorry, Failla, you have to go. I'm grateful for the warning, but you have to go. Please!"

"I'm going." Failla tried to wipe her tears away. They wouldn't be stemmed.

"How far must you ride?" Lathi asked with belated solicitude.

"If you don't know, you can't betray me," Failla said harshly.

Fleeing into the yard, an aching realisation prompted fresh, uncontrollable tears. She didn't even know her daughter's name.

As the farmhouse door bolted behind her, she hurried to the stable, untied her horse's reins and dragged the bemused beast to the mounting block. Pausing only to scrape more tears from her face with her cloak's harsh wool, she set off, hands and heels more brutal than the innocent animal deserved.

By the time she was approaching the inn, her tears were exhausted. She locked the night's sorrow in that same remote corner of her heart where the memory of giving up her baby girl lived. She hadn't even let the infant suckle. Lathi had said that was best, if she were to carry the fewest marks of motherhood on her body.

The fire-baskets on either side of the archway still burned bright. Failla pulled up her hood to hide her wretched face. The courtyard was quiet, the clock striking eight chimes on its muted bell. A sleepy youth emerged at the sound of her horse's hooves and Failla handed him her reins without a word.

What must she do now? Beyond washing her face and hoping her eyes weren't too red and swollen in the morning. As she drew her cloak around her, she felt the letters in her pocket. She could make sure they were all read and answered before morning. There was no way she could sleep, after all.

She hurried up the stairs as quietly as her boots allowed. Opening her bedroom door, she was startled to see the candle was alight.

"Come in."

Failla looked nonplussed at the old woman sitting on her untouched bed. Nath's writing case was open on the floor before her and she was leafing through the newly copied maps.

"Robbing us?" Failla gasped. "I'll have you turned out on the road for this!"

"Ah, now there's your first mistake." The old woman looked up with a pleasant smile. "I'm no servant here, no more than that lad's your brother."

"What?" Failla stared at her.

"Duke Garnot's doxy had no brothers, nor sisters neither. She'd never have had to trade her virtue for his bed if she had. So, where have you been?" The old woman put down the maps. "Not sneaking away to some lover, that's for certain. You made your bargain and you stuck honestly by it. Whatever Duchess Tadira might say, you're no whore. You're hard to follow, though, I'll give you that."

Failla noticed an unfamiliar cloak on the floor and fresh dirt on the old woman's boots. She clenched her fists and took a pace into the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Raise your hand to me and you'll be sorry, my girl." The old woman drew a thin-bladed knife from a scabbard hidden among her skirts. She shook her head with a chuckle. "Don't worry. I don't work for Duke Garnot of Carluse, or his duchess. I shan't give you up to either of them. Not if you tell me why you fled Garnot's protection. Not pregnant again, I see." She nodded at Failla's slender waist. "Not like the year before last. My compliments, my lady, on managing to keep such a thing secret."

"What do you know about that?" Failla wondered if she could cross the room fast enough to turn the old woman's knife against her without being too badly cut herself. This vile hag might be bold but Failla was certain she was stronger. But what then? How could she explain away a bloody murder? Could she commit such a crime? She quailed inwardly at the thought.

"I don't know as much as I'd like," the old woman admitted, "nor as much as I could have discovered, given time. My master has me searching out more urgent secrets now."

"Your master?"

"Master Hamare." The woman looked at Failla. "Who will want to know what's in those letters you're carrying. So hand them over, there's a good girl. You can have them back when I've read them and your friend need be none the wiser."

It took Failla a moment to recognise the name. "Duke Iruvain's intelligencer? You expect me to betray Carluse to Triolle?"

"Whatever you're doing, it's not for Carluse, or at least not for Duke Garnot." The old woman tucked her knife away. "I'm not your enemy, you silly girl. It's all one to Triolle if Duke Garnot finds his militia's no more a defence than some worm-eaten pikestaff thanks to your guildmasters and their plotting." She looked down at the maps. "So tell me, why are you and that Tormalin-born lad tracing out every highway and byway running through Carluse and Sharlac? What were you doing in Vanam? I know there's more to this than disaffected priests and craftsmen hatching some scheme. Don't try telling me different," she warned.

Failla thought fast. "The guildmasters are recalling all the apprentices they've sent away these past years."

"Why?" The old woman frowned.

Failla feigned reluctance before answering. "To defend Carluse against Sharlac."

"Sharlac?" Now the old woman was genuinely puzzled. "Duke Moncan's barely set foot outside his castle since his son was killed."

"That doesn't mean he's not plotting," Failla spat with all the loathing she felt for Sharlac and his dead heir. "What better cover for the Jackal's schemes than having everyone think he's crippled by grief? You don't think I'm doing this for Carluse? I'm doing it for Lord Veblen!"

Failla saw mention of Duke Garnot's baseborn son instantly catch the old woman's attention.

"The doxy and the bastard? That's long been one of Duchess Tadira's tales."

"He was my friend," Failla said tightly. Why was the truth harder to tell than lies?

"Nothing more?" The old woman raised her thin brows.

"Nothing more." Failla kept her face impassive as she searched her recollections for whatever half-truths and misdirection she might use to make these lies more convincing.

"The letters," the old woman demanded. "Let's see what they say."

Turning to reach inside her cloak, happy to hide her face lest she betray some relief, Failla threw the letters, sealed and unsealed, at her tormenter.

The old woman let them fall to the floor and across the bed without comment. Picking up the nearest, she slit it open with her knife and leaned close to the candle to read it.

Failla could only thank Saedrin that Uncle Ernout had been so adamant that the guildmasters' plotting and the Vanam conspiracy remain separate. Only the fact that war was to come from the north had been shared among his people. None of these letters could betray the full truth of the assault. All the same, she stood, tense and fearful, until the vile old woman had finished reading every letter.

"This glover wastes a good deal of ink saying nothing much to the point." She looked up, dissatisfied. "So where is this map-maker you're travelling with? What took him off in the middle of the night? Don't tell me he has some lover or bastard child tucked away. He's not laid a finger on another woman since he wed, that one."

"He went to meet someone bringing news from Vanam." Failla let her shoulders sag, defeated.

"What news?" the old woman demanded.

"How should I know?" Failla protested.

"You'll see me again soon." The old woman stood up. "You can tell me then."

"No," Failla objected. "It'll do you no good to dog my footsteps. If I'm seen associating with strangers, I'll be cut out of everything."

If she was being followed, she had no hope of retrieving her gold from Uncle Ernout or stealing her daughter away from her cousin Lathi.

"Then don't be seen." The old woman was implacable. "You've had plenty of practice at that. When we next meet, I want to know everything you and your people think you know about Sharlac's plans."

"No." Failla shook her head, pressing herself back against the door. She couldn't do it. She couldn't betray everyone like this. "I won't help you."

"No?" The old woman queried. "When your daughter's safety depends on it?"

Failla's blood ran cold. "My daughter?"

"I know that much, even if I don't know where you've stowed her." The old woman shrugged. "Not yet anyway. Of course, if I'm busy sending word to Master Hamare about these schemes of your Guilds and Jackal Moncan's deceits, I'll hardly have time to go searching for the precious mite, will I?"

How hard could it be to strangle someone? Nath would help dispose of the body, surely? He'd have to, once she explained how the duke had sent someone to exact his revenge upon her. Failla felt her fists clench once again.

"You won't find her at all if I kill you here and now."

"Do that and my master will just send someone else to dog your footsteps." The old woman was unconcerned. "Someone far less sympathetic to your plight, you can be sure of that. I've left letters to be sent to my master if I turn up dead, or even if I don't turn up at all. They'll tell him everything I've learned so far. As it stands, Master Hamare knows nothing of your child. Kill me and he will. She'll be a new piece thrown right into the middle of this game board. Help me, and no one else need know she was ever born."

"This is your price?" Failla set her jaw. "For your silence?"

"It is." The thin blade shone in the old woman's hand. "So stand aside and I'll bid you goodnight before your so-called brother comes back."