Terinor cursed his luck at finding the fleeing pair—and in such danger. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon them to the watch patrol. Whatever was happening in Wildejun, it was connected to the gods, and thus to the king. The presence of the king’s guard attested to that.

  Instead, he’d gotten them away from the Watch, figuring that entity, at least, had to be connected to the king.

  Or dupes, he reminded himself. They could always be that. If the king hasn’t revealed his hand…

  Anger surged briefly through him as he remembered other reports detailing how Toramar had turned offers of aid into conquests, and the terrible deeds that followed in its armies’ wakes.

  There has to be a reason, he mused, knowing Okreidor’s king wasn’t going to endanger close friends and valuable diplomats in finding out. In addition to the reports of armed aid turning into conquering forces, there had been stories of assassins, mysterious illnesses, and unexplained hordes.

  Silently approaching the source of the noise that had halted their flight, Terinor tried to push the thought away. It seemed Toramar was no longer the reliable source of mercenaries it had once been.

  Forcing his attention to the task at hand, he crept forward, refocusing his eyes so he had night vision to rival any cat’s. Ahead of him, the group had stopped.

  Ducking into a crouch and weaving quietly through the bushes, he moved forward until he could see the group. The faint brush of leaves against his clothes made him wince, and he worried that the pungent smell of the herbs he’d crushed beneath his boots might reach them.

  It can’t be helped, he thought, settling into a crouch and taking a long, careful look at them.

  What he saw made his blood run cold, and he dropped his hand to his dagger.

  Kevarag! he thought, taking a long slow breath and forcing himself to study the beast-elf’s companions.

  A human…half-elven…child clung close to the kevarag’s side. Every now and then, she’d glance anxiously up at him, and then scan their surroundings.

  Sharp, he thought, studying her. And half-kevarag herself given the color of her skin and eyes. I wonder if she knows…

  He stifled the urge to snort at that. Of course, the child knew. She’d have little choice, given how people reacted to the kevarag.

  Is he her father? he wondered, then forced himself to move his attention to the person hovering protectively behind the pair. A Northlander? Well, isn’t that interesting.

  He relaxed slightly. The Northmen didn’t give either their allegiance of protection lightly, and never to one without honor.

  Which explains why he is so far from his homeland, Terinor mused, returning to briefly regard the kevarag again. And given he’s priest to a human deity, I can understand why.

  The kevarag shifted, his gaze sweeping the forest and passing over Terinor’s hiding place.

  At least I did not come to them openly, he thought, not at all sure his hiding place had saved him from detection.

  The rest of the group consisted of a small human male, standing in wary defiance as he followed the kevarag’s gaze. He seemed blissfully ignorant of the two young women flanking him.

  Like mothers with their cub, Terinor thought. Though that wouldn’t save him, if I’d meant him harm, or their mistress, either.

  His gaze shifted to the red-headed wizardess, and he frowned.

  The woman was plucking at the threads of magic surrounding her, and weaving and releasing each set of strands into a pattern of readiness that she unraveled before it could come to fruition. As he studied her movements and their results, he saw the boy casually reach out and pluck a thread from her current pattern.

  The child’s gaze was still on the forest, and he didn’t look like he was paying attention to what he was doing. The sight sent a tremor of unease through him, even as he marveled at the sheer talent on display.

  A wizardess with an apprentice of frightening ability, he noted. I must seek them out when my mission is over.

  “So you don’t mean us any harm, then?” The voice slid unbidden into his mind, and he froze.

  Apprehension ran through him, and the dark-haired girl in the clearing lifted her chin, turning her gaze toward him. Knowing he was screened by leaves gave him no comfort as she flexed her fingers.

  She’d cast on me? he thought, mildly alarmed, but also amused. But she doesn’t know—

  “Answer me!” she ordered, mind-to-mind, “Or I will tell them where you are hiding.”

  As if the direction of her gaze isn’t enough, he thought with chagrin, not daring to move.

  “And where is that?” he challenged, and she winced.

  Her answer came in the slightest movement of her hand, which he was relieved to see she kept at her side, and out of the kevarag’s notice.

  Out of most of their notice, he amended, relieved.

  “Beneath that bush,” her mind-voice replied.

  Terinor forced himself to remain still, and not heave a sigh of defeat. He also made sure he kept his eyes on the girl and not bow his head.

  “I mean you no harm,” he sent, and saw her wince again.

  “You needn’t shout,” she protested. “I could hear you quite clearly as you were before.”

  When I wasn’t projecting, Terinor thought, And when I was trying to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Exactly,” she told him, not bothering to hide the depth of her intrusion.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, letting himself think it clearly but not trying to project it. Mental magic wasn’t something he’d ever thought to make his own.

  “That’s better,” she replied. “So, if you mean us no harm, why are hiding and spying on us?”

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  “I was making sure you posed no threat to those under my protection,” he told her, deciding honesty was the best policy.

  As he mind-spoke, an image of Linna and Tarquin rose to memory, and he wondered if he should hide it. Deciding it would do him no good, if he did, he let it hang there, well aware she was studying it.

  The image, however, reminded him of his situation.

  “And, now, I must return to them,” he said. “We must put more distance between ourselves and the town.”

  “As must we,” the girl told him, and turned to her companions.

  Terinor tensed, preparing to either fight or flee as needed.

  “There is no danger,” the girl stated, her voice low and clear, but still enough to startle her companions.

  She did not flinch when the kevarag pivoted abruptly to face her.

  “How do you know?” he demanded.

  “Because I have just been speaking with him. He stopped to make sure we posed no threat to Skarsht’s new priest and her guardian, since he has only just rescued them from the Watch.”

  Terinor stared at her in horror, well aware she could not see his expression.

  How much more did you take from my mind? he wondered, and she smiled. No!

  If she heard his denial, or the plea within it, she gave no sign, but added, “His name is Terinor.”

  Terinor tensed, bowing his head and hunching in on himself as he anticipated the worst. To his relief, she stopped, hesitating as though she sensed his heartfelt fear she would reveal his true identity.

  “He will seek us out, later, when he has made sure the priestess and her companion are safely on their way.”

  She turned as though to urge the group to continue their journey, but was interrupted by a new voice.

  This one was young and female, and came from someone Terinor couldn’t see.

  “Terinor?” the woman asked, emerging from the other side of the clearing. “Did he give you more of his name?”

  Again, the woman hesitated, and he was sure he felt her mind brush over his, uncovering his desire that she let him remain anonymous.

  “No,” she replied, after a moment, but the hesitation had been enough.

  “Tell me,” the newcomer insisted, and he raised his head, taking note of her half-elven features, and feeling the sudden stab of regret.

  “I cannot tell you,” the mind mage replied, “Because he did not give me his name to start with. I took it without his permission.”

  This roused the red-haired wizardess.

  “You what?” she demanded.

  The young mind mage opened her mouth to answer, but the kevarag interrupted her before she could speak a word.

  “Enough. We don’t have the time,” he instructed. “It is enough to know he intends us no harm, and has business of his own to attend to.”

  He scanned the undergrowth in which Terinor hid, and smiled.

  “We must go,” he added, and Terinor wasn’t sure if that was meant for the newly arrived half elf or him until he continued, “I look forward to meeting you, Terinor Thorn.”

  The mind mage winced.

  “I didn’t…” she whispered, and Terinor brushed her apology away.

  “I know.” He took the kevarag’s words as a signal that he should leave, and eased himself back, until he was sure he was out of range of their sight. As he did, he heard the half-elf’s voice raised in question.

  “Thorn, Master? Are you sure?”

  It hurt to hear the excitement and hope that edged her words, but Terinor didn’t turn back.

  “I’m sorry, child,” he murmured. “Again.”

  The kevarag’s reply gave him no comfort, either. “No, Brianda. It was just a guess.”

  “But…”

  “You will be able to ask him yourself when he returns.”

  Terinor halted beside the solid trunk of a tree he didn’t recognize, and listened as the group behind him began to move. He thought he heard the kevarag’s soft steps moving away, followed by the heavier tread of the Northman.

  The child will move with them, he thought, remembering the half-kevarag girl and not surprised he couldn’t hear her. And she will move like a ghost.

  “But, Master…” There was pain in the half-elf woman’s voice, and it tore at Terinor’s heart.

  He swallowed hard, hearing tones of steel in the kevarag’s reply.

  “Enough! We haven’t time to wait, and his path takes a different direction to our own. He will come for you.”

  So he knows, Terinor thought, creeping a little closer as he failed to resist the need to look on his daughter one more time.

  Rather than brave the intervening bushes once more, he took to the nearest tree, securing a vantage point on the rough-barked surface of its lowest branch. As he moved along it to get a better look at the girl, the kevarag spoke again.

  “Grunwol. We’ll need your stone,” he instructed, then raised his voice. “Assassin. Wizard light.”

  Terinor closed his eyes, glad of the warning as a magical brilliance of a quickly shielded light flared beyond the protection of his quickly bowed head.

  That would have hurt, he mused, cautiously opening his eyes and seeking out the slender form of the half-elven woman. Brianda.

  He sighed.

  To be so close and…

  Clenching his jaw, Terinor stayed in his tree, watching the small group as they wound their way deeper into the forest.

  They’re heading west, he noted, storing the information for future reference. And so will I once this is done.

  * * *

  The king’s assassin was not the only one to be following the kevarag and his group, and his intrusion had only made them all the more alert. There were things afoot that could see their downfall, and the beast-elf priest was determined to avoid them all.

  As Terinor and his charges fled further south, Raomar Filameth, newly made priest to Staravan and member of a race reviled, sensed something following. Rather than stop, he dropped his hand to the flap covering the small crossbow he carried concealed in a pouch on his belt.

  As subtle as it was, the movement didn’t go unnoticed, and the mind mage sidled over.

  “Let me see if I can sense them,” she whispered, and he gave her a small nod.

  Taking it as permission, she let her magic drift away, seeking another mind to touch. When she found it, her heart lifted with unceremonious joy, and she slapped her hand over the kevarag’s.

  “Don’t,” she instructed. “He means us no harm.”

  The feel of the Northman looming behind her was not enough to get her to remove her hand, and nor was the kevarag twitching his trapped hand in an attempt to dislodge her grip.

  “Then get him to show himself,” he said, in a low-voiced snarl, “Or I will shoot the first unusual thing I see.”

  “Ruranith,” the mind mage sent. “This is Sindra. Master Raomar is on edge and asks you show yourself quickly if you don’t want any arrows in your hide.”

  She almost sobbed with relief when the mage replied.

  “Tell him I am coming out of the tree to his left, and give him my apologies. It was the way his hand dropped to that pouch that made me hesitate.”

  “You are not the first we’ve encountered, tonight,” Sindra told him. “Now, show yourself. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

  “You remember Ruranith, don’t you?” she asked, indicating the area the mage had said he’d appear. “He’s coming out of a tree to your left. Please, don’t shoot him.”

  “Very well,” Raomar agreed, and slid his hand out from under hers, before lifting it away from the pouch.

  No sooner had he done so than there was a rustle of branches, a snap of twigs, and a brush of leaves, and the young mage dropped out of a tree to land beside the trail. His feet had barely hit the ground before the Northman had him by the throat and was lifting him from it.

  “Identity yourself,” growled softly onto the evening air, as the barbarian flexed his fingers.

  The wizard wrapped his hands around the Northman’s wrist, trying to reply.

  When only choking sounds emerged, the barbarian loosened his hold.

  “Ruranith,” he stuttered. “You know me. We met. Back at the temple. Remember?”

  The Northman held him a moment longer, studying his face intently. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he gently let the man go.

  “What brings you here?” Raomar demanded.

  “You do,” Ruranith shot back. “That and High Priest Ardor sent me to guide you. I came upon him as he was leaving the temple and he said you would need a guide.”

  His eyes flicked to Zarine, and he blushed.

  “And… And here I am.”

  “He instructed us to move upstream,” Raomar said shortly.

  “Yes, yes he did,” Ruranith agreed, “And I will take you that way until the gods say otherwise.”

  Raomar held his gaze, reading the truth there, before gesturing him forward. Ruranith inclined his head in acknowledgement, shot the barbarian a worried glance, then move to take the lead.

  Sindra dropped back to walk beside Alessia, worried by her mistress’s pale-faced silence, and concerned for the casual way Varan collected magic from the air and released it, again. She was surprised when Zarine, brushed past her and then the guildmaster and his guard to take her place beside the newly arrived wizard.

  She wouldn’t, she thought, watching her fellow-apprentice settle into stride beside the man. She really didn’t…

  Glancing at Alessia to see if their mistress had noticed, Sindra’s worry grew.

  Alessia’s expression was unreadable, and Sindra had to resist the urge to send her mind gliding beneath the surface of the mistress’s thoughts. Her newly-awakened gift was not for that.

  Surely not…

  * * *

  Behind them in Wildejun, the king’s men reached the temple gates.