The next morning, the two fugitives turned north and west, away from the Rassor, and toward the center of the forest. Almost immediately, they encountered a large group of soldiers on foot, and only barely managed to evade them. Once again, however, they were forced to turn southward, at least until Grinsa convinced himself that they had put some distance between themselves and the Solkarans.

Two nights later, trudging among the trees by the dim light of the moons, they caught a glimpse of a fire burning a short distance ahead. It was too small to warm more than one man, so Grinsa and Tavis approached, feeling sure that they were not putting themselves in danger. As they drew nearer, Grinsa heard a horse snort, and saw a small trader’s cart. A moment later, he saw the trader himself, a diminutive white-haired Eandi with a long nose and sullen face.

“A peddler,” he said to Tavis, keeping his voice low. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to buy a warm meal and a night’s sleep beside a fire.”

The gleaner began to sing an old Sanbiri melody his father had taught him as a child. He had a poor singing voice, but he hoped to alert the peddler to their presence in the wood so that their appearance wouldn’t startle him.

As it happened, the sound of his voice had the opposite effect on the man. Instantly, he was on his feet, dagger held before him as he stared into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Friends,” Grinsa answered, smiling as he and Tavis stepped into the firelight.

The old man shook his head and took a step back, fear in his dark eyes. “You’re not friends of mine, Qirsi. I know who you are.” He waved the blade at Tavis. “He’s the Eibitharian who tried to kill the queen.”

“I did not!” Tavis said.

Grinsa glared at him. “Be quiet!”

“You’d rather he thought that I tried to kill her?”

The gleaner shook his head and faced the man again. “Who told you this?” he asked.

“That’s not your concern, Qirsi! Now leave me, or I’ll be forced to use this blade!”

His hand was shaking so violently that Grinsa half expected him to drop the dagger and run. Certainly, he posed no threat to either the gleaner or the boy. Grinsa was more afraid that he would cry out for help, bringing any soldiers who might be nearby.

The Qirsi held up his hands to show that he had no weapon, and took another step toward the fire. “Come now, friend. We both know that you’re not going to hurt us with that blade. We mean you no harm. My companion doesn’t always know when to keep silent, but he spoke truly when he told you that we made no attempt on your queen, nor do we intend to.”

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes flicked to Tavis and he backed away again.

“You see the scars on the boy’s face?” Grinsa asked, beginning to circle the fire slowly. “We’re looking for the man who did that. Our search took us to Solkara. He is from Eibithar, but we’re not assassins, and we’re not your enemies.”

“Stay where you are!” the man said in a quavering voice.

But by now, Grinsa was close enough.

“Tell me where you heard that we tried to kill the queen,” he commanded again. This time, however, as he spoke the words, he reached out with his magic and touched the man’s mind lightly. He didn’t like to use mind-bending power. It was by far the most intrusive of all Qirsi powers and in many ways the most dangerous. If he used too heavy a hand, he could impair the man forever. But in this case he felt that he had little choice.

Immediately, the peddler lowered his blade. “It’s all over the wood,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “Everyone’s speaking of it.”

“You mean the soldiers?”

“The soldiers, village folk, everyone. Riders came from the castle to tell us. There isn’t a town between here and Kett that will welcome you.”

“Is there a bounty as well?”

“None that I’ve heard.”

Grinsa glanced at Tavis. “They probably feel that they don’t need one, that hatred of Eibithar will be incentive enough.”

“We need to get out of the wood,” Tavis said. “We’re not safe here.”

“We may not be safe anywhere in the kingdom.”

“What about Bistari?”

Grinsa weighed this briefly. It was possible that the people of Bistari hated the Solkarans even more than they did Aneira’s northern neighbor, but he wasn’t certain enough of this to chance turning back to the west.

He looked at the peddler again. He still held the man with his mind, though he was tiring quickly. Magic so precise demanded a good deal of effort.

“What should we do with him?”

“We’re not going to harm him,” Grinsa said quickly.

Tavis frowned. “I know that. You really think that’s what I meant?”

The Qirsi took a breath. “No. Forgive me.” He rubbed his brow. “I don’t know what we should do with him, but we need to decide quickly. I’m getting weary.”

“Can your magic make him forget all of this?”

“Not all of it, no. He’ll remember he met someone. I can alter the memory some, though if I try to change it too much I’ll… I’ll injure him.”

Tavis appeared to flinch, as if the very idea of it made his head hurt.

“What do you sell?” Grinsa asked the merchant.

“Lots of things. Mostly pipeweed and spices this time of year.”

“We’ll take some pipeweed and any food you have to spare.”

“I need my food.”

Grinsa touched his mind again, harder this time, though he hated to do so.

“I can spare a bit of food. Dried meat, maybe some cheese.”

“That will be fine.” It was nothing short of theft, and it made Grinsa sick to his stomach. But they needed something other than roots and berries if they were to keep ahead of Solkara’s soldiers.

The peddler pulled several pouches of dried meat from his cart, along with a small sack of Caerissan pipeweed and two large rounds of hard cheese.

“One will be enough,” Gnnsa said.

Tavis started to object, but the Qirsi silenced him with a stony look.

He gave the peddler ten qinde-far more than the food and pipeweed were worth, though that did little to assuage his guilt.

“Did the soldiers say where they thought we were going?” he asked the man.

“They said you were headed south, but that they expected you to turn north eventually, to return to Eibithar.”

Damn you, Shuri! “Very well,” he said, stepping closer to the trader and staring into his eyes. “I’m going to make you sleep now. When you awake, you’ll remember nothing of the boy. You sold food and pipeweed to a Qirsi man and woman. They paid you five qinde. Do you understand?”

The old man nodded.

Grinsa led him to a blanket that lay on the ground beside his fire. “Lie down.”

The man lowered himself to the ground and Grinsa found a second blanket to cover him.

“Sleep now,” the gleaner said.

Immediately the man’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

“It seems Aneira’s new leaders are eager to find us,” Tavis said, watching the man sleep.

“Yes. We might be better off heading east to the steppe.”

“The steppe? That will take us a hundred leagues out of our way. We won’t reach Mertesse for another turn.”

Grinsa knew he was right. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave Aneira either. Now that Tavis had finally agreed to go after Shurik, the Qirsi was anxious to reach Mertesse and question the traitorous minister. He wasn’t certain what he would do with Shurik after that-perhaps kill him, perhaps return him to Aindreas as a gesture of goodwill. That decision could wait-for now, he was consumed with merely finding the man. Already Tavis was beginning to talk once more of the need to search for the assassin, to avenge Brienne’s murder and clear his name. It wouldn’t be long before he began to chafe at the idea of going to Mertesse. Grinsa needed to get them there as quickly as possible. Every delay gnawed at him.

He also realized, however, that if they remained in Aneira, they would be taking a grave risk. Tavis needed to understand that. “At least in Caensse, we can travel without constantly fearing for our lives,” he said, eyeing the boy. “I don’t know if we can avoid Solkara’s soldiers forever.”