"Gavriel told me that one of his father's creeds was that we must never make judgments only on what we see. Looks are deceiving. I judged you, Freath."

"I lay no blame. You had nothing else to go on, your majesty, except what your eyes told you." He frowned. "And now that you mention him, where is de Vis?"

Leo's expression clouded and he sighed. "One of the great mysteries. I have no idea."

"Weren't you traveling together?" Freath was aware of activity around him from the outlaws, who were clearly preparing to move. Jewd had joined an anxious Faris, talking between themselves out of earshot. "He's not dead, surely?"

Leo shrugged. "We don't know; that's the problem. He disappeared one evening and we've never seen him again. The last sighting we have is of him being pursued by three barbarian warriors. We know they captured him, beat him and were probably preparing to drag his battered body back to Penraven. We don't believe they knew who he was, only that he resisted them and that gave them cause for the attack. It seems they never got to take him back. The barbarians were all killed that same night, felled by arrows. I've kept one; it's distinctive, fletched by someone not of the Set. I keep hoping I'll find another arrow like it that might point me in the right direction. I never give up hope of finding him-or his grave. I don't suppose Corbel ever...?" Leo didn't finish because Freath was already shaking his head.

"No, highness. I haven't seen Corbel de Vis since the day of the raid on Penraven by the barbarian horde."

Leo nodded. "Another name to add to the body count, no doubt. But I hold hope for Gavriel. His disappearance never made any sense." He cleared his throat. "Master Freath, I'm finding it hard switching you in my mind from villain to hero. Although Regor de Vis told us never to make judgments until we knew all the facts, it was my father who implanted a notion that has become my creed for life. He told me that if I make a solemn promise, whether it be to myself or another, to break it is to be damned by Lo himself."

Freath gave the young man a look of understanding. "King Brennus never broke a single promise in all the time I worked with him. He was a man of his word and you would be doing yourself no disservice to follow in his footsteps."

"What I hadn't realized is just how ruthless my father was capable of being."

Freath wasn't sure he understood what the young king was getting at but he nodded. "The history books in the royal library attest to the ruthlessness of the Valisar sovereigns, your highness. Ruthlessness, though, has connotations of cruelty and although I could cite many an occasion when your forebears were capable of cruelty, I do prefer to think of their ruthlessness as a single-mindedness of purpose; a means to an end, you could say."

"Indeed. So knowing my father as well as you did, I'm presuming you could never imagine he would go back on an oath?"

"Never," Freath confirmed.

"What if he had learned new information?"

Freath's gaze narrowed. He wondered what the king was reaching for here. Giving a very small shake of his head, he replied, "Your highness, your father was a confident, decisive man. He would not make a decision-or a promise-unless he felt secure in the information he had. All I can tell you is that, based on what I knew about King Brennus, if he had told someone he would do something, no matter what occurred to try and change his mind, he would not go back on his word."

"Thank you, Freath," Leo said, his voice sounding suddenly deeper.

No one could have anticipated it and when it occurred, it seemed to happen in its own space and time. Freath even had time to think that the sword seemed to take forever to lift from the scabbard and make its arc of death before it found its home.

Eleven.

They'd arrived at a town called Woodingdene. It was a pretty place, from what they could tell, nestling within a small fertile valley, with the mountains still a distant frame and its splendid cobblestoned market square cradled by pastel colored buildings, almost all devoted to the government of the empire. It was here at Woodingdene that Loethar had established much of his administration-his mint, for instance, required a large workforce and the town was clearly thriving on the gold imperials and silver compasses in particular that were struck. The old copper trents from sovereign days had been retained, minted using dies.

Despite Kirin's escalating worry of being here rather than on the road to finding Clovis-and, more importantly, Piven, if the boy in question was indeed the adopted son of the Valisars-he was intrigued to learn more about the famous mint that had once struck coins for three of the other realms from the old Set. Now it was responsible for a simple trio of coins that served all compasses. The individuality that had made the Set realms so interesting was beginning to be lost through imperial rule, he realized.

Everyone was tired, having journeyed through the night and once the soldiers felt satisfied that Kirin and his companion were not planning to make any trouble for them, the pair had been largely left alone. They could speak freely enough.

"Now would be a very good time to tell me who you really are," Kirin murmured. "There is nothing to be gained from the secrecy."

The woman at his side sighed. "My name is Lilyan. I was sent to keep an eye on you."

"I see. So Freath really doesn't trust me."

"I don't know Freath-only of him-so I can't answer that."

He glanced at her, seeking out guile, resisting the urge to use his magic. He couldn't face the sickness, not when he'd spent most of the journey recovering from the last bout. He couldn't see her clearly in the pre-dawn light. They were of similar age and over the course of the night he'd decided she was prettier than he'd originally thought. He stared at her, relying on his own instincts and what she reflected from those green eyes to tell him what he needed to know. "Not Freath," he echoed. "So who? Who is your master, Lily?"

"I have none. No one makes me do anything I don't want to."

He sighed inwardly. Why were women so complicated? Everything a man said could be taken wrongly. Little wonder he had not pursued a long-term relationship with anyone. "Let me say it a different way. Who are your accomplices in this venture to keep an eye on me?"

She lowered her voice still further. "Kilt Faris."

"Fa-!"

She glared at him to stop him repeating the name too loudly, nodding once to confirm it. "He didn't understand why you were splitting up from Freath. Asked me to find out."

"You're a spy?"

"Of sorts. Now I'm a prisoner of sorts."

Kirin sighed. "Not if we're careful. I am attached loosely to the palace and they will find nothing to hold me for. But you, that was a stupid claim to make."

"I had to think of a way to remain alongside you. How was I to know what they were going to spring on us?"

"Well, now you're a liability of sorts."

She bristled. "I'll tell them I just didn't want to be separated from my husband."

"Oh yes? Inspired. And what do you think will occur when they discover that Kirin Felt is not married, has been living alone at Brighthelm for the past decade?" He could see Lily didn't have an answer to this. "Why is your friend interested in me anyway?" he demanded. "Surely his interest is with Master Freath, whom he was meeting last night."

Lily looked surprised. "My friend doesn't explain everything. I've told you what I know. I had anticipated traveling to Brighthelm, ensuring this journey was not connected with any guile on your part and then returning to the north."

Kirin ground his jaw. "Perhaps we still can."

"Hardly," Lily said, her mouth twisting with worry. "You're not married and I'm not Vested." Before he could reply, she added: "Another thing, take a look at our companions. They don't seem so cheery now, do they?"

Kirin had ignored the other Vested during the journey. The last thing he wanted was to be lumped in with them. But Lily was right. "They look morose," Kirin said.

Kirin glanced at her as she studied them. Her gaze had narrowed. "You know, I could be wrong but even by lamplight and from this distance I think those people have been drugged."

"What makes you say that?"

She gave a small shrug. "Years of understanding how herbals and soporifics work. Look at that woman," she said, jutting her chin slightly toward a middle-aged woman. "Look at her pallor, those droopy lids. And they're all weary, we know that-they're tired from traveling but there's something else. Look at how restless they seem in spite of that fatigue."

She was definitely right. Kirin could see it now. "He lied to us?" he wondered quietly.

"I don't know why but yes, I think either our friendly barbarian soldier lied to us or he genuinely didn't know they were drugged."

Kirin gave a sound of disgust. "Now I want to know why."

"Are you really Vested?" Her voice was grave.

He nodded. "Unfortunately, I am."

"How unfortunate?"

Could he trust her? He had to risk it. He trickled his magic, just for a moment or two, knowing the price for this alone would be enough. Lily was so open a flood of information crashed into his mind, overwhelming him.

"Kirin?"

Familiar nausea rose. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it. Suddenly you look like that woman we were just talking about."

"You asked me a question."

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Yes, I have the misfortune of being heavily Vested. But only two people, and now you, know it."

They both realized the caravan of people, horses and carts had stopped. "Looks as though we're here," Lily commented, "wherever here is." She looked over at Kirin. "So you trust me?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I know a thing or two about keeping secrets. I don't think that was easy for you to share...but you did. So you must trust me. Kirin, you don't look fine at all."

"No, but I'll survive."

"This happened earlier. What is it?"

"I lied about indulging in too much Rough. I get headaches. I've had one all night. I thought I'd rid myself of it," he lied. "Now it's back," he added truthfully.

"I can help with that."

He looked at her as steadily as he could given his plunging stomach.

She gave a small, sheepish smile. "When I'm not playing at spy, or prisoner...or liability, I'm adept with herbs." She dug into a pouch slung around her body. "Try these."

He stared at the tiny black seeds.

"Trust me," she urged. "Just suck on a few of them. Once the shell breaks, allow the juice to slide slowly down your throat. You'll be tempted to chew them but don't. Keep them in your mouth as long as you can. The longer you can suck them, the more potent their effect."

"What are these?"

"Seeds," she said evasively. "Put them in your mouth, Kirin, and tell me you aren't feeling brighter in a very short while."

He knew they couldn't help him. "And if you're wrong?"

She gave a flick of her dark hair. "You can have your wicked way with me. That's how confident I am!"

Kirin blushed and Lily looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

The soldier they had spoken to earlier in the journey approached slowly on his horse. "As you can gather, we're stopping here."

"Why are the Vested so...depressed?" Lily asked. Kirin glared at her.

The soldier fortunately didn't notice the look between them. He shrugged. "Tired, I imagine. They've traveled without stopping twice as far as you have. Anyway, we plan that you will both be seen first."

Kirin returned the man's gaze, forcing an innocent, quizzical expression. "Why the hurry?"

The man appeared equally innocent. "I know you're here because we insisted you accompany us. It's only fair we deal with you quickly and get you on your way."

"And my wife," Kirin stressed.

"Yes, of course, both of you," the soldier replied. "It's tiring, I know, but I am happy to escort you immediately to the authorities."

"Authorities?"

"A single person," the soldier qualified. "His name is Master Vulpan."

Kirin had expected this but even so the mention of the man's name made his belly clench. Vulpan was the reason Freath and he had rushed north. He wondered if Freath had found Faris. He hadn't even asked Lily whether Leonel lived. He almost laughed at his own apathy. He'd been so furious at being entrapped by these men that he'd forgotten what this whole struggle was about.

"Fine," he said, finding a tight smile. "If he's up at this time of the morning, then lead the way. Come, my love. Let's get this all cleared up, shall we?"

Lily grasped his mood, it seemed. She returned the adoring glance and nodded to the two men who permitted her to move ahead of them.

"We're aiming for that pale building over on the right," their companion said.

Kirin sucked on his seeds, hardly daring to believe the nausea might be disappearing, and feeling a fresh thrill of fear at what Vulpan was going to make of him and his Vested "wife" of no magic.

Pandemonium raged in the village of Green Herbery. A barn filled with bales of hay and stores for the winter had gone up in flames, threatening various houses and Herbery's only inn. Even from this distance Piven could see it would be impossible to get the fire under control. People would have to watch their livelihoods go up in smoke and their homes burned to the ground. As he drew closer he could see it was not just buildings and provisions at stake.

Women were screaming. Piven began to run.

Dawn was waking to an unpleasantness; the orange of the flames and their dirty gray smoke were a blot on the otherwise picturesque setting. Now he could hear the ferocity of the fire as new flames erupted and a shower of sparks exploded from somewhere in the barn. Villagers stood by helplessly holding dripping buckets and vessels, contents long ago exhausted and useless against such a force. New flames began to lick around the sides of the barn, the older flames already arching further afield for fresh tinder.

"Help them!" screamed one of the women.

Piven ran headlong into the crowd, which was suddenly still, no doubt feeling the dread of the situation. He pushed his way forward to where a sobbing woman sat by an unconscious man. In the man's arms was a child, also unconscious it seemed, possibly even dead. It was a boy, Piven thought. People tried to loosen the man's grip on the child but to no avail and the woman, lost in her despair, screamed at them to leave him alone, while still beseeching someone for help.

Both man and boy were badly injured. Clothes were partly burned off, skin was scorched and the smell of cooked flesh permeated the otherwise crisp early morning air. People had begun to retch and the injured man, still holding the child, had begun trembling as the initial shock wore off and was replaced by pain. It was a tremble that would accompany him to his death, Piven believed; death was not so far away now.

"He ran in to save young Roddy," a bystander said. "Now they're both dying."

"Don't say that!" the mother screeched, looking around wildly. "Don't you dare!" she repeated before dissolving into helpless sobs as she bent over her son, her head resting on the child's small chest.

A friend stooped to hug her. A man, presumably the inn-keeper, arrived with a cask of liquor.