"No mind," I said. "Can you take us to Kinadius?"

He hiccoughed. "Aye, my lord."

Before we left, I settled his account with the innkeeper, a business conducted largely in pantomime. I spoke some Skaldic; bits and pieces Phedre had taught me during the learning-games we'd played when I was younger, and some gleaned from Brigitta, when we'd played similar games on the journey to Alba. Still, it was far from my mother tongue, and I had a hard time making out the innkeeper's dialect. In the end, he wrote down the tally on a slate tablet with a piece of chalk. I withdrew a few D'Angeline coins from my purse, and we pushed them around the counter together until we'd come to an agreement.

"So," the innkeeper said cheerfully. "Pelgrim?"

I frowned. "Pelgrim?"

He pointed northeast. "Yeshua?"

I shook my head. "Jager. Hunter. We're hunting ..." I didn't know the word for murderer, or witch, or even bear. I spread my hands helplessly. The innkeeper blinked at me, good-natured and uncomprehending, blunt-cut blond hair falling over his broad, sweating brow. I sighed and thanked him, and we took our leave.

Selwin led us, weaving slightly, to a site a few hundred yards beyond the outskirts of Zoellen, where Kinadius had made camp. I brooded as we rode the short distance. I'd not put a great deal of thought into the difficulties posed by a lack of a common tongue until now.

Save for a few bedrolls and items of little value strewn about, the encampment was empty. Selwin assured us that Kinadius and the others would return well before nightfall to report, so we set about picketing the horses and making ourselves comfortable. While we worked, Selwin grew sober enough to relate the tale of their journey to date, how they'd ridden from the border to Zoellen, crisscrossing the land and asking questions, following the rumor of Berlik's passage.

"How are you managing to communicate?" I asked.

He fished in his pack and withdrew a piece of birch-bark. "Like this."

I studied the images on it, incised with the point of a hot knife. A crude bear, its eyes white and staring. A man's face, staring eyes bracketed by claw-marks. "Clever."

Selwin stowed the bark. "We ask, they point. No bears, but there were sightings of the magician, all right. At least until we got here."

Within the hour, the others began returning in groups of two and three. Their faces lit upon seeing us, but our arrival was the only good news the day brought. Berlik's trail remained cold.

Before the sun set, Kinadius gathered his men around a patch of hard-packed dirt where a crude map had been sketched, depicting a swathe of land south of the Voorwijk River. Comparing tales, they extended the map's boundaries, adding the territory covered that day. I was impressed by their innovation and thoroughness.

"It's no good, though." Kinadius shook his head. "We've gone over every inch of country within a day's ride."

"So what do we do?" I asked. "Backtrack to the last sighting?"

He sighed. "Or forge ahead and hope to get lucky. Betimes it works."

"But if it doesn't, we lose days," one of his men added. "It's happened."

Urist peered at the map. "Where was he last seen?"

Kinadius pointed to a spot in the dirt to the southwest of his crude map. "It was around here, I reckon. A little more than a day's ride. Some lad herding cattle saw him crossing a field near sunset. Thought he was going this way." He traced a line that angled more or less northeast in the direction of Zoellen town. "So we reckoned this was a good place to make camp and cast a net. No luck, though."

"You've not crossed the river to the north?" Urist asked.

"No." Kinadius tapped his drawing-stick on the map. "There are bridges here and here, and here to the west of the Issel. No bridgekeepers, but lots of people around on foot and in boats. We spent the whole first day covering those. No one saw him cross."

"Lots of people coming and going, aye," Urist observed. "Not staying in one place. How far ahead of us is he? Weeks? Months?"

"Hard to say." Kinadius shrugged. "At a guess, two or three weeks."

"And more if we backtrack." Urist scowled in thought. "I'm for trying our luck across the river." He glanced over at me. "Unless you disagree."

I shook my head. "You're the tracker."

Kinadius grinned. "It's good to have you back, Urist."

With our course decided, we turned our attention to dinner, which consisted of cold biscuits purchased in Zoellen, and peas and salt pork simmered over the fire in a large kettle. I swabbed the inside of my wooden trencher with a hunk of biscuit, sopping up the last bit of stew, listening with regret and amusement as Deordivus described the meal he'd eaten at the Shahrizai hunting manor to the envy of Kinadius and his companions.

"What passed there in the City, my lord?" Kinadius asked me curiously. "I know Urist made Dorelei a promise to see you home, but I never understood why." His voice softened when he spoke Dorelei's name. Still, despite his feelings for her, he'd never shown any jealousy or animosity toward me. I glanced at him. He was a handsome young man, with a direct gaze and clean, bold features beneath his warrior's markings. And clever, too. They would have made a good pair, I thought, and guilt stopped my tongue.

"By the Boar!" Deordivus said. "I'll tell you, it was a hell of a scene I walked-"

"That's enough, boy!" Urist raised his voice. "Politics are a hard business," he continued in a quieter tone. "For Alba's sake, Lady Dorelei wed a man she barely knew, a stranger. And although he loved another, Prince Imriel did the same for Terre d'Ange. The lass wanted him to be happy, that's all."

"Oh." Kinadius blinked. "I see."

"I'm sorry," I said to him. "Truly sorry."

"Don't suppose you could help it." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Funny, I thought you'd come to care for Dorelei. Lug knows, she thought the world of you."

I held his gaze. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"I suppose so," Kinadius said slowly. "So who is she?"

"Hah!" Urist gave a fierce, mirthless grin. "That's where it gets interesting. Would you rather I tell it?" he asked me, and I nodded.

It was better coming from Urist. He was one of them, Cruithne. He put it to Kinadius and his men the way he'd put it to me the night he'd given me the mannekin charm to destroy and cut my bindings. I was in love with the Cruarch's eldest daughter, the heir to Terre d'Ange. And Queen Ysandre reckoned I was good enough for Dorelei mab Breidaia, good enough to breed an heir for Alba, but not good enough for her own daughter. It stung their pride; and well it should. When all was said and done, Urist was right. I sat and listened, staring into the campfire.

When Urist had finished, the mood had eased. With Urist's indulgence, Deordivus told the tale of the scene he'd witnessed upon his arrival at the manor house, relating it with relish. There were more than a few chuckles. Kinadius came over to sit beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. For a time, neither of us spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said presently. "I didn't mean to judge you."

"My thanks." I fiddled with a dry branch, breaking off bits and tossing them into the campfire. "You were right. I did come to love Dorelei. A great deal."

"We all did." Kinadius propped an elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist, gazing into the crackling flames. "Remember the Day of Misrule? I've known Dorelei since we were children, and I don't think I'd ever seen her happier. I was, too. Gods and goddesses, I nearly pissed myself laughing at the sight of you wearing her kirtle."

I smiled. "I remember."

"I didn't expect that from a D'Angeline," he mused. "Didn't expect you to be willing to make a fool of yourself. Didn't expect you to care for Clunderry's honor."

"Didn't expect much," I said wryly.

"I do now," Kinadius said. "We are going to catch this bastard, aren't we?"

I lifted my head and looked toward the northeast. Somewhere in the darkness beyond our campsite, Berlik's trail awaited us. Urist's decision was right. I could feel it, a stirring in my heart. The sound of bronze wings, rustling. North. The Maghuin Dhonn had come from the northeast, so long ago the Straits were covered with ice. "Yes," I said. "Oh, yes."

Kinadius laid a firm hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I," I said.

Chapter Forty-Five.

We broke camp on the morrow and rode east along the bank of the Voorwijk River.I'd thought Urist would want to cross at the first opportunity, but I was wrong. He frowned at the busy, well-travelled stone bridge and shook his head. We passed it and rode onward. The second bridge was smaller, wrought of timber and not brick. Here we paused. Urist cocked his head, watching a heavily laden wagon cross the wooden bridge. His tattooed nostrils flared. "What's that stink?"

Kinadius pointed downriver. "A tannery."

"Huh." Urist shaded his eyes and stared. There were figures working on the far side of the river, turning hides with large wooden paddles. "Promising."

"Why would the bear-witch visit a tannery?" someone asked.

"He wouldn't," Kinadius said. "But I'll wager those fellows working are there every day. That's your thinking, isn't it?"

Urist shrugged. "Worth a try."

We crossed the bridge and made our way to the tannery. The stink of half-cured hides grew stronger the closer we got. It seemed to be a thriving little business. As we approached, a tall man came out to meet us in the yard, wiping his hands on an apron and eyeing us with open curiosity. He greeted us in the Flatlander dialect, sounding pleased and quite incomprehensible.

All the Cruithne looked at me.

"Gud morgen," I said awkwardly. "Wir jager sind...wir sind jag ein mann. A man, we're hunting a man." I beckoned to Kinadius. "Lend me your drawing, will you?"

I dismounted and showed it to the tanner, who nodded vigorously. "Ja, ja!" he said. "Der Bar-Mann!" then added a swift burst I couldn't understand. The tanner laughed and laid his hands on my shoulders. "D'Angeline, ja ? "

"Ja," I said. "D'Angeline."

He turned and shouted toward the complex of buildings that made up the tannery. A woman emerged, hurrying toward us. Like the tanner, she was of middle years, with a face that must have been pretty before work and care took their toll. The tanner said somewhat about her- his wife, he called her-in a proud voice. She beamed at me, clapping her hands together in obvious pleasure.

"A D'Angeline!" She bobbed a curtsy. "How we may help you, my lord? Fine leather? Maybe for boots? Or very fine, maybe for gloves?"

Her accent was thick, but her D'Angeline was more than passable. I smiled at her in relief. "Not today, my lady. We're searching for a man...or mayhap a bear." I showed her the drawing. "Have you seen him?"

Her eyes widened. "That one! Yes, he was here."

My heart lifted. "Here?"

"Yes, yes." She nodded. "A pelgrim, with the others."

I shook my head. "No, not a pilgrim. This man."

"This man, the bear-man." She took the drawing from me, tracing the incised claw-marks. "Yes, he was here." She turned to her husband and they exchanged a quick flurry of words. "Come," she said to me. "I show."

Urist and Kinadius dismounted to join me. The tanner and his wife led us into a warehouse filled with piles of cured hides in varying levels of quality. He rummaged in one and brought forth a luxuriant armload of fur, presenting it to me with a smile.

A bearskin robe.

I caught my breath, lightheaded and sick. Beneath the pervasive stench of the tannery, I could smell rank musk and sour berries, the scent of the Maghuin Dhonn. Urist and Kinadius exclaimed in Cruithne, the words suddenly as alien to my ear as Skaldic. My healing wounds burned. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and my knees nearly gave way beneath me.

It was Urist who led me out of the warehouse. In the yard, I sat beneath a linden tree and lowered my head, taking deep breaths until the worst of the dizziness passed. The tanner's wife pressed a cup of cool water into my unsteady hand, her face worried. I drank it and thanked her.

"I am sorry," she said. "He is your friend, this man?"

"Friend!" I laughed bitterly. "Elua, no!"

The tanner's wife frowned. "But he is Pict, like them."

"He killed my wife," I said shortly.

Her mouth hung open in shock. She turned to her husband. Another exchange, low and murmured. The tanner, the bearskin robe draped over one shoulder, looked troubled. "I do not think it is the same man," his wife said at length, a stubborn reluctance settling into her voice.

I leaned my head against the trunk of the tree. With careful hands, I undid the buttons on my shirt. Kinadius knelt beside me, grave as an acolyte, and undid the knots on my bandages, helped me unwind them and lay bare the gouges that angled across my torso, raking furrows of pink flesh and a patchwork of lingering scabs.

"His work," I said. "The bear-man's." The tanner's wife pressed the back of her hand to her lips. I held her shocked gaze. "Please, my lady. Will you help us find him?"

She nodded. "All right, yes."

While Kinadius rewound my bandages, the tanner's wife told us that Berlik had arrived at the tannery some days ago-three weeks, she thought, or mayhap a little more-in the company of a group of Yeshuite pilgrims. There had been a good many of them in recent years, seeking passage to the distant north; beyond Skaldia, where it was rumored they were building a kingdom. There had been ten or twelve of them, she thought. Two families, and Berlik. They had an ox-drawn wagon and two horses. They had stopped at the tannery to purchase leather and twine to repair a broken harness. Berlik had offered to trade his bearskin robe in exchange for this and other supplies. It was a good bargain.

"He seemed ...sad and kind," the tanner's wife said, wondering. "So big, but gentle. There was a child with them-" She glanced at my face and fell silent.

"Did they say where they were bound?" I asked.

She shook her head. "They went east, along the Voorwijk. They didn't say where. But if they follow the pilgrims' route, they go to Maarten's Crossing to ask Adelmar of the Frisii for passage across Skaldia."

"Adelmar?" I asked.

Urist cleared his throat. Although he had difficulty with her accent, he recognized the name. "He's the one petitioned the Cruarch for trade rights," he said in his clumsy D'Angeline. "Holds the western border, I believe."

"Yes." The tanner's wife nodded. "A good man, a man of peace. A friend to pilgrims."

"I see." I felt slow and stupid. We were little more than three days' ride from the northern border of Terre d'Ange, and yet I knew less of my surroundings than Urist, who was a good deal farther from home. As always, I had a lot to learn. I rubbed my face. "Thank you, my lady. You've been a great help."

"I wish you well." The tanner's wife wrung her hands, restless. Strong hands, work-worn and thick-knuckled, yellowish from a lifetime of handling oak-tanned hides. I wondered at her fluent D'Angeline, at the pride in the tanner's voice when he spoke of her. There was a story there I'd never know. She gazed at me with deep concern. "But I think...I think this man, the bear-man you hunt... if he has truly done such a thing, I think he is sorry for it. There is great sorrow in him."

"There always was," I murmured. "But he did it anyway."

"That is a great pity," she said.

"Yes." I pushed myself to my feet, eyeing the bearskin robe her husband yet held. The sight of it no longer sickened me, but I detested its existence. "My lady, I wish to purchase that robe. I mistrust its magic, and you would be better off without it."

Urist nodded approvingly.

At least it was familiar ground for everyone. We haggled. In the end, I made them a good bargain; more than fair. They deserved it, the tanner and his wife. We rode away from the tannery, following a course eastward along the bank of the Voorwijk River, with Berlik's bearskin robe stowed in our baggage, carried by an unnerved pack-horse.

I didn't blame the horse. The scent made me uneasy, too.