"Winna?" Aspar said. "Winna?" His heart tripped, but she still had a pulse, and a strong one. He touched her cheek, and she stirred.

"Eh?" she said.

"Stay still," Aspar said. "You fell, I don't know how far. Do you have any pain?"

"Yes," she said. "Every part of me hurts. I feel like I've been put in a bag and kicked by six mules." She suddenly gasped and jerked up to a sitting position. "The utin-!"

"It's dead. Still, now, until we're sure nothing's broken. How far did you fall?"

"I don't know. After it hit me, everything is cloudy."

He began inspecting her legs, feeling for breaks.

"Aspar White. Do you always get so romantic after killing an utin?" she asked.

"Always," he said. "Every single time." He kissed her then, from sheer relief. As he did it, he realized that in the past few moments he had known the greatest terror of his life. It was elevated so far above any fear he had ever known before, he hadn't recognized it.

"Winna-," he began, but a faint noise made him look up, and in the thicket behind the dead utin, he had a brief glimpse of a cowled figure, half hidden by a tree, face as white as bone, and one green eye- "Fend!" he snarled, and reached for the bow.

When he turned, the figure was gone. He set the arrow and waited.

"Can you walk?" he asked softly.

"Yah." She stood. "Was it really him?"

"It was a Sefry, for certain. I didn't get a better look."

"There's someone coming behind us," she said.

"Yah. That's Stephen and Ehawk. I recognize their gaits."

The two younger men arrived a moment later.

Stephen gasped when he saw the dead creature. "Saints!"

Aspar didn't take his gaze from the woods. "There's a Sefry out there," he said.

"The tracks we saw earlier?" Ehawk asked.

"Most likely. Are you okay?" Aspar asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks," Stephen said. "A little bruised, that's all."

"The boy?" Winna asked.

Stephen's voice sobered. "He died."

No one said anything at that. There wasn't much to say.

The forest was still, its normal sounds returning.

"You two stay with her," Aspar said. "I'm going to see what became of our friend's companion."

"Aspar, wait," Winna said. "What if it is Fend? What if he's leading you into another trap?"

He touched her hand. "I think the one trap was all he had planned. If we hadn't had the praifec's arrow, it would have worked well enough."

"You used the arrow?" Stephen said.

"It had Winna," Aspar said. "It was in the trees. There was nothing else I could do."

Stephen frowned, but then nodded. He walked over to the utin, knelt near the corpse, and gingerly removed the dart.

"I see what you mean," he said. "The other arrows didn't even penetrate a fingerbreadth." He shot them a wry grin. "At least we know it works."

"Yah. On utins," Aspar allowed. "I'll be back." He squeezed Winna's hand. "And I'll be careful."

He followed the tracks for a few hundred yards, which was as far as he dared alone. He'd told Winna the truth-he didn't fear a trap-but he did fear that the Sefry was working his way back to Stephen and Winna, to catch them while he was away. Fend would like nothing more than to kill someone else Aspar loved, and he'd just come as close to losing Winna as he ever wanted to.

"It still looks like he's alone," Aspar said.

They had been following the Sefry trail for the better part of a day.

"Traveling fast," Ehawk said. "But he wants to be followed."

"Yah, I reckon that, too," Aspar said.

"What do you mean?" Stephen asked.

"The trail is obvious-sloppy even. He's making no effort to lose us."

"Ehawk just said he seems to be in a hurry."

"That's not enough to account for it. He hasn't even tried the simplest tricks to throw us off. He crossed three broohs, and never even waded up or down the stream. Werlic, Ehawk is right-he wants us to follow him for some reason."

"If its Fend, he's likely leading us somewhere unpleasant," Winna said.

Aspar scratched the stubble on his chin. "I'm not sure it is is Fend. I didn't get a very clear look, but I didn't see an eye patch. And the prints look too small." Fend. I didn't get a very clear look, but I didn't see an eye patch. And the prints look too small."

"But whoever it was, he was traveling with the utin, just as Fend and Brother Desmond traveled with the greffyn. So it's probably one of Fend's bunch, right?"

"Well, so far as I know, Fend's outlaws are the only Sefry left in the forest," Aspar agreed. "The rest left months ago."

The trail had pulled them deep into the forest. Here there was no sign of the black thorns. Huge chestnut trees rose around them, and the ground was littered with their stickery issue. Somewhere near, a woodpecker drummed away, and now and then they heard the honking of geese, far overhead.

"What could they be up to?" Winna wondered aloud.

"I reckon we'll find out," Aspar said.

Evening came, and they made camp. Winna and Stephen rubbed down the horses while Ehawk started a fire. Aspar scouted, memorizing the land so he might know it in the dark.

They decamped at the first light of dawn and continued on. The tracks were fresher now-their quarry wasn't mounted, while they were. Despite his speed, they were catching up.

Midday, Aspar noticed something through the trees ahead and waved the others to a halt. He glanced at Stephen.

"I don't hear anything unusual," Stephen said. "But the smell-it reeks of death."

"Keep ready," Aspar said.

"Holy saints," Stephen breathed as they got near enough to see.

A small stone building sat on a rounded tumulus of earth. Around the base of the mound lay a perimeter of human corpses, reduced mostly to bone. Stephen was right, though-the stink was still there. To his saint-blessed senses it had to be overwhelming, Aspar supposed.

Stephen confirmed that by doubling over and retching. Aspar waited until he was done, then moved closer.

"It's like before," Aspar said. "Like the sacrifices your renegade monks were making. This is a sedos, yah?"

"It's a sedos," Stephen confirmed. "But this isn't like before. They're doing it correctly, this time."

"What do you mean?" Winna asked.

Stephen sagged against a tree, looking pale and weak.

"Do you understand about the sedoi?" he asked her.

"You mentioned something about them to the queen's interrogators, but at the time I wasn't paying much attention. Aspar was hurt, and since then-"

"Yes, we haven't discussed it much since then." He sighed. "You know how priests receive the blessing of the saints?"

"A little. They visit fanes and pray."

"Yes. But not just any fanes." He waved at the mound. "That's a sedos. It's a place where a saint once stood and left some bit of his presence. Visiting one sedos doesn't confer a blessing, though, or at least not usually. You have to find a trail of them, a series of places visited by the same saint, or by aspects of that saint. The fanes-like that building there-have no power themselves. The power comes from the sedos-the fane is just a reminder, a place to help us focus our attention in the saint's presence.

"I walked the faneway of Saint Decmanis, and he gifted me with the heightened senses I have now. I can remember things a month after as clearly as if they just happened. Decmanis is a saint of knowledge; monks who walk other faneways receive other blessings. The faneway of Mamres, for instance, conveys martial gifts on those who travel it. Great strength, alacrity, an instinct for killing, those sorts of things."

"Like Desmond Spendlove."

"Yes. He followed the faneway of Mamres."

"So this is part of a faneway?" Winna asked. "But the bodies . . ."

"It's new," Stephen said. "Look at the stone. There's no moss or lichen, no weather stains. This might have been built yesterday. The renegade monks and Sefry who were following the greffyn were using the creature to find old sedoi in the forest. I think it had the power to scent them out, and made a circuit of those which still had some latent power. Then Desmond and his bunch performed sacrifices, I think to try to find out what saint the sedoi belonged to. I don't think they were doing it right, though-they lacked certain information. Whoever did this did it correctly."

He passed his palm over his eyes. "And it's my fault. When I was at d'Ef, I translated ancient, forbidden scrifts concerning these things. I gave them the information they needed to do what you see here." He shook, looking paler than ever. "They're building a faneway, you see?"

"Who?" Aspar said. "Spendlove and his renegades are dead."

"Not all of them, it would seem," Stephen said. "This was built after we killed Spendlove."

"But what saint left his mark here?" Winna whispered.

Stephen retched again, rubbed his forehead, and stood straight. "It's my place to find that out," he said. "All of you, wait here-please."

Stephen nearly vomited again when he reached the circle of corpses. Not from the smell this time, but from the horror of details. Bits of clothing, the ribbon in the hair of one of the smaller ones, juxtaposed with her lopsided, not-quite-fleshless grin. A stained green cloak with a brass broach worked in the shape of a swan. Little signs that these had once been human beings. Where had the little girl got the ribbon? She was probably the daughter of a woodcutter-it might have been the grandest present she'd ever recieved in her life. Her father had brought it when he drove the hogs to market in Tulhaem, and she'd kissed him on the cheek. He'd called her "my little duckling," and he'd had to watch her be eviscerated, before he himself felt the knife, just below where a swan brooch pinned his cloak . . .

Stephen shuddered, closed his eyes to step over her, and felt- -a hum, a soft tickling in his belly, a sort of crackling in his head. He turned to look back at Aspar and the rest, and they seemed far away, tiny. Their mouths were moving, but he could not hear them speak. For a moment, he forgot what he was about, just stood there, wondering who they were.

At the same time, he felt wonderful. His aches and pains were all gone, and he felt as if he could run ten leagues without stopping. He frowned at the bones and rotting flesh around the mound, vaguely remembering that the sight of them had bothered him for some reason, though he wondered why they should upset him any more than the branches and leaves that also littered the ground.

Musing at that, he turned slowly to regard the building behind him. It was built as many Church fanes were-a simple stone cube with a roof of slate and a perpetually open doorway. The lintel was carved with a single word, and with interest he noticed it wasn't Vitellian, the usual language of the Church-but rather old Vadhiian, the language of the Warlock Kingdoms. MARHIRHEBEN MARHIRHEBEN, it said.

Inside, a small, slender statue carved of bone overlooked a stone altar. It depicted a beautiful woman with an unsettling smile. On either side of her stood a greffyn, and her hands dropped down as if to stroke their manes.

He looked around, but saw nothing else of note. Shrugging, he left the fane.

As he stepped across the line of corpses again, something terrible tore loose and leapt from his throat. The world shattered like glass, and he fell into the night before the world was born.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE H HOUNDS OF A ARTUMO.

WHILE THE ARROW WAS still quivering, two men stepped into the road, and Neil guessed there were at least four in the bushes by the side. A faint scuff told him there was one behind him. still quivering, two men stepped into the road, and Neil guessed there were at least four in the bushes by the side. A faint scuff told him there was one behind him.

The two in front were dressed in faded leathers, and each bore a long-hafted spear. They also had kerchiefs pulled up to conceal their faces.

"Bandits?" Neil asked.

"No, clergymen," Vaseto responded sarcastically.

One of the men called something out.

"Of what saint?" Neil asked.

"Lord Turmo, I would think, patron of thieves. They've just asked you to dismount and strip off your armor."

"Did they?" Neil asked. "What do you advise?"

"Depends on whether you want to keep your things or not."