"Emmy," Alenda said, turning to her maid. "Run back and pack our things."

"Of course, my lady." Emily curtsied and headed toward their tent.

"What was that sound?" Alenda asked Lenare, who only shrugged, her face frightened.

Lenare Pickering was lovely, as always. Despite the horrors, the flight, and the primitive condition of the camp, she was radiant. Even disheveled in a hastily grabbed cloak, with her blonde hair spilling out of her hood, she remained stunning, just as a sleeping baby is always precious. She had gotten this blessing from her mother. Just as the Pickering men were renowned for their swordsmanship, so too were the Pickering women celebrated for their beauty. Lenare's mother, Belinda, was famous for it.

All that was over now. What had been constants only the day before were now lost beyond a gulf too wide to clearly see across, although at times it appeared that Lenare tried. Alenda often had seen her staring north at the horizon with a look somewhere between desperation and remorse, searching for ghosts.

In her arms, Lenare still held her father's legendary sword. The count had handed it to her, begging that she deliver it safely to her brother Mauvin. Then he had kissed each member of his family before returning to the line where Alenda's own father and brothers waited with the rest of the army. Since then, Lenare had never set the burden down. She had wrapped it in a dark wool blanket and bound it with a silk ribbon. Throughout the harrowing escape, she had hugged the long bundle to her breast, at times using it to wipe away tears.

"If we push hard today, we might make Colnora by sunset," Lord Valin told them. "a.s.suming the weather improves." The old knight glared up at the sky as if it alone were their adversary.

"Lord Julian," Belinda said. "The relics... the scepter and seal-"

"They are all safe, my lady," the ancient chamberlain replied. "Loaded in the wagons. The kingdom is intact, save for the land itself." The old man looked back in the direction of the strange sound, toward the banks of the Galewyr River and the bridge they had crossed the night before.

"Will they help us in Colnora?" Belinda asked. "We haven't much food."

"If news has reached them of King Alric's part in freeing the empress, they should be willing," Lord Valin said. "Even if it has not, Colnora is a merchant city, and merchants thrive on profit, not chivalry."

"I have some jewelry," Belinda informed him. "If needs be, you can sell what I have for..." The countess paused as she noticed Julian still staring back at the bridge.

Others soon lifted their gazes, and finally Alenda looked up to see the approach of a rider.

"Is it...?" Lenare began.

"It's a child," Belinda said.

Alenda quickly realized she was right. A little girl raced at them, clutching to the back of the sweat-soaked horse. Her hood had blown back, revealing long dark hair and rosy cheeks. She was about six years old, and just as she clutched the horse, a racc.o.o.n held fast to her. They were an odd pair to be alone on the road, but Alenda reminded herself that "normal" no longer existed. If she should see a bear in a feather cap riding a chicken, that too might be normal now.

The horse entered the camp and Lord Valin grabbed the bit, forcing the animal and rider to a stop.

"Are you all right, honey?" Belinda asked.

"There's blood on the saddle," Lord Valin noted.

"Are you hurt?" the countess asked the child. "Where are your parents?"

The girl shivered and blinked but said nothing. Her little fists still clutched the horse's reins.

"She's cold as ice," Belinda said, touching the child's cheek. "Help me get her down."

"What's your name?" Alenda asked.

The girl remained mute. Deprived of her horse, she turned to hugging the racc.o.o.n.

"Another rider," Lord Valin announced.

Alenda looked up to see a man crossing the bridge and wheeling toward them.

The rider charged into the camp and threw back his hood, revealing long black hair, pale skin, and intense eyes. He bore a narrow mustache and a short beard trimmed to a fine point. He glared at them until he spotted the girl.

"There!" he said, pointing. "Give her to me at once."

The child cried out in fear, shaking her head.

"No!" Belinda shouted, and pressed the girl into Alenda's hands.

"My lady," Lord Valin said. "If the child is his-"

"This child does not belong to him," the countess declared, her tone hateful.

"I am a Sentinel of Nyphron," the man shouted so all could hear. "This child is claimed for the church. You will hand her over now. Any who oppose me will die."

"I know very well who you are, Luis Guy," Belinda said, seething. "I will not provide you with any more children to murder."

The sentinel peered at her. "Countess Pickering?" He studied the camp with renewed interest. "Where is your husband? Where is your fugitive son?"

"I am no fugitive," Denek said as he came forward. Belinda's youngest had recently turned thirteen and was growing tall and lanky. He was well on his way to imitating his older brothers.

"He means Mauvin," Belinda explained. "This is the man who murdered Fanen."

"Again I ask you," Guy pressed. "Where is your husband?"

"He is dead and Mauvin is well beyond your reach."

The sentinel looked out over the crowd and then down at Lord Valin. "And he has left you poor protection. Now, hand over the child."

"I will not," Belinda said.

Guy dismounted and stepped forward to face Lord Valin. "Hand over the child or I will be forced to take her."

The old knight looked to Belinda, whose face remained hateful. "My lady does not wish it, and I shall defend her decision." The old man drew his sword. "You will leave now."

Alenda jumped at the sound of steel as Guy drew his own sword and lunged. In less than an instant, Lord Valin was clutching his bleeding side, his sword arm wavering. With a shake of his head, the sentinel slapped the old man's blade away and stabbed him through the neck.

Guy advanced toward the girl with a terrifying fire in his eyes. Before he could cross the distance, Belinda stepped between them.

"I do not make a habit of killing women," Guy told her. "But nothing will keep me from this prize."

"What do you want her for?"

"As you said, to kill her. I will take the child to the Patriarch and then she must die, by my hands."

"Never."

"You cannot stop me. Look around. You have only women and children. You have no one to fight for you. Give me the child!"

"Mother?" Lenare said softly. "He is right. There is no one else. Please."

"Mother, let me," Denek pleaded.

"No. You are still too young. Your sister is right. There is no one else." The countess nodded toward her daughter.

"I am pleased to see someone who-" Guy stopped as Lenare stepped forward. She slipped off her cloak and untied the bundle, revealing the sword of her father, which she drew forth and held before her. The blade caught the hazy winter light, pulling it in and casting it back in a sharp brilliance.

Puzzled, Guy looked at her for a moment. "What is this?"

"You killed my brother," Lenare said.

Guy looked to Belinda. "You're not serious."

"Just this once, Lenare," Belinda told her daughter.

"You would have your daughter die for this child? If I must kill all your children, I will."

Alenda watched, terrified, as everyone backed away, leaving a circle around Sentinel Guy and Lenare. A ripping wind shuddered the canvas of the tents and threw Lenare's golden hair back. Standing alone in the snow, dressed in her white traveling clothes and holding the rapier, she appeared as a mythical creature, a fairy queen or G.o.ddess-beautiful in her elegance.

With a scowl, Luis Guy lunged, and with surprising speed and grace, Lenare slapped the attack away. Her father's sword sang with the contact.

"You've handled a blade before," Guy said, surprised.

"I am a Pickering."

He swung at her. She blocked. He swiped. She parried. Then Lenare slashed and cut Guy across the cheek.

"Lenare," her mother said with a stern tone. "Don't play games."

Guy paused, holding a hand to his bleeding face.

"He killed Fanen, Mother," Lenare said coldly. "He should be made to suffer. He should be made an example."

"No," Belinda said. "It's not our way. Your father wouldn't approve. You know that. Just finish it."

"What is this?" Guy demanded, but there was a hesitation in his voice. "You're a woman."

"I told you-I am a Pickering and you killed my brother."

Guy began to raise his sword.

Lenare stepped and lunged. The thin rapier pierced the man's heart and was withdrawn before he finished his stroke.

Luis Guy fell dead, facedown in the blood-soaked snow.

CHAPTER 2.

NIGHTMARES.

Arista woke up screaming. Her body trembled; her stomach suffered from a sinking sensation-the remaining residue of a dream she could not remember. She sat up, her left hand crawling to her chest, where she felt the thundering of her heart. It was pounding so hard, so fast, beating against her ribs as if needing to escape. She tried to remember. She could only recall brief snippets, tiny bits that appeared to be disjointed and unrelated. The one constant was Esrahaddon, his voice so distant and weak she could never hear what he said.

Her thin linen nightgown clung to her skin, soaked with sweat. Her bedsheets, stripped from the mattress, spilled to the floor. The quilt, embroidered with designs of spring flowers, lay waded up nearly on the other side of the room. Esrahaddon's robe, however, rested neatly next to her, giving off a faint blue radiance. The garment appeared as if a maid had prepared it for her morning dressing. Arista's hand was touching it.

How is it on the bed? Arista looked at the wardrobe. The door she remembered closing hung open, and a chill ran through her. She was alone.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

"Arista?" Alric's voice came from the other side.

She threw the robe around her shoulders and immediately felt warmer, safer. "Come in," she called.

Her brother opened the door and peered in, holding a candle a bit above his head. Dressed in a burgundy robe, he had a thick baldric buckled around his waist, the Sword of Essendon hanging at his side. The weapon was huge, and as he entered, Alric used one hand to tilt it up to keep the tip from dragging on the floor. The sight reminded her of the night their father was murdered-the night Alric became king.

"I heard you cry out. Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes searching the room and settling on the glowing robe.

"I'm fine-just a nightmare."

"Another one?" He sighed. "You know, it might help if you didn't sleep in that thing." He gestured toward the robe. "Sleeping in a dead man's clothes... it's creepy-sort of sick, really. Don't forget he was a wizard. That thing could be-well, I'll just say it-it is enchanted. I'm sure it is responsible. Do you want to talk about your dream?"

"I don't remember much. Like all the others, I just... I don't know. It's hard to describe. There's this sense of urgency that's overwhelming. I feel this need to find something-that if I don't, I'll die. I always wake up terrified, like I am walking off a cliff and don't see it."

"Can I get you something?" he asked. "Water? Tea? Soup?"

"Soup? Where will you get soup in the middle of the night?"

He shrugged. "I just thought I'd ask. You don't have to beat me up for it. I hear you scream, I jump out of bed and rush to your door, I offer to play servant for you, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I'm sorry." She frowned playfully but meant what she said. Having him there did chase the shadows away and took her mind off the wardrobe. She patted her bed. "Sit down."

Alric hesitated, then set the candle on her nightstand and took a seat beside her. "What happened to the sheets and quilt? Looks like you were wrestling."

"Maybe I was. I can't remember."

"You look terrible," he said.

"Thanks."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But you're still my little brother and this new protective side of yours is hard to get used to. Remember when I fell off Tamarisk and broke my ankle? It hurt so bad that I couldn't see straight. When I asked you to get help, you just stood there laughing and pointing."