“Who hurt you? Tell me!”

“Gods!” He breathed raggedly, then stopped. His head dropped against the tree.

A moment later it rose again.

“Help me,” he said. “I’m hurt.”

Colin felt a sudden surge of anger at the pitiful thing.

“You’re dead,” he snapped. “Have some dignity about it.”

Almost shaking with fury, he went over to the other spirit.

“What about you?” he asked. “Anything left of you?”

“What you see,” the woman murmured. “Your accent—you’re Colovian, like me.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Where are you from?”

“I was born near Mortal, down on the river.”

“That’s a nice place,” he said, feeling his anger leave him. “Peaceful, with all of those willows.”

“There were willows all around my house,” she replied. “I won’t see them again.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, you won’t.”

She nodded.

“Listen,” Colin said, “I need your help.”

“If I can.”

“Do you remember what happened here? Who attacked you? Anything?”

She closed her eyes. “I do,” she said. “We were with the prince, off following some half-cocked scheme of his. Headed for Black Marsh, of all places. We were ambushed.” She sighed. “Attrebus. I knew he would get me killed someday. Is he dead, too?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”

“I didn’t see. First there was fire, and then something hit me, hard. I didn’t even get to fight.”

“Why were you going to Black Marsh?”

“Something about a flying city and an army of undead. I didn’t listen that closely. His quests were usually pretty safe, well in hand before we even arrived, if you know what I mean.”

“The Emperor forbade him to go. He disobeyed.”

“We weren’t sure what to believe,” she said. “Might’ve been part of the game. There were other times like that.” She shook her head. “I wish I could help you more.”

“I think you’ve helped me quite a lot,” Colin said. He looked around at the carnage. “Are you staying here, do you think?”

“I don’t know much about being dead,” she said, “but it doesn’t feel that way. I feel something tugging at me, and it’s stronger all the time.” She smiled. “Maybe I only stayed to talk to you.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t feel bad.” She cocked her head. “You, though—something wrong with you, countryman.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine,” she said. “You take care of yourself. Maybe next time you see a willow, think of me.”

“I will.”

She smiled again.

He pulled back into himself and the sun returned. They were all just broken dolls again. He thought his head was ringing, but then he understood that it was just birds singing.

He was starving. Unsteadily, he went to find something to eat, and to hear the reports.

SIX

“Draeg’s late,” Tsani told Radhasa, her golden tail twitching in agitation. “Really late.”

Attrebus, nearly asleep in the saddle, tried to appear actually asleep, in hopes they might let something useful drop if they thought he couldn’t hear them.

It had taken him two days to figure out there were eight of them, because no more than four were riding guard on him at any given time. The others, he guessed, were scouts—one in front, one in back, one on each flank, and probably pretty far out. Radhasa was a constant, but he was just too out of it at first to realize the other faces were rotating. Now, after a week, he knew all of their names. Tsani, one of four Khajiit in the group, the others being Ma-fwath, J’yas, and Sharwa. Besides Radhasa, there was a flaxen-haired Breton woman named Amelia, a one-handed orc named—not too surprisingly—Urmuk One Hand. He’d had an iron ball fixed to his stump. The missing Draeg was the Bosmer he’d seen earlier, on awakening.

Radhasa didn’t say anything, just tugged at her mount’s reins to guide him down the steep path through increasingly more arid country. In the last few days the land had risen, and the thick forest and lush meadows of the West Weald had devolved into scrubby oaks and tall grass. Now, on the southern side of the hills, trees were more like big bushes, except when they came to a stream or pool, and tall grass prevailed in clearings.

His spirits had been sinking with the altitude, because he was certain they were already in Elsweyr. It would be more difficult for his friends to find him here; few of them had ever been south of the border, and the cats were less than friendly with the Empire they had once been a part of. Any force that tried to retrieve him might be seen as an invasion.

But then he saw a glimmer of hope in the situation.

By the time they were camping for the night, it was clear to everyone Draeg was probably more than delayed. The glimmer brightened.

“Trolls, probably,” Radhasa opined. “The hills stink with them.”

“I can’t imagine Draeg having trouble with a troll—or much else for that matter,” Sharwa said. “More likely he just decided this deal was too dangerous.”

“We were supposed to kill him,” Tsani said. “That’s what we were paid to do. Now we potentially have two powerful enemies—the Emperor and our employer.”

“He will be thought dead,” Radhasa replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not—at least not enough to scratch at the money. But Draeg—he’s a worrier.”

“Well, more for us, then,” Radhasa said. “Tsani, you go back and take his position.”

“Fine. Are we going into Riverhold?”

“Are you crazy? It’s swarming with Imperial agents. We’d have to keep his highness gagged, and that might attract attention. No, there’s a little market town a few miles west of there, Sheeraln. Ma-fwath and J’yas will go in and trade our horses for slarjei and water.”

They came to the crest of the last of the hills before sundown, and the plains of Anequina stretched out to the horizon. He’d always imagined Elsweyr as an unrelieved desert, but here it was green. The tall grass of the upland prairies had been replaced by a short stubble, but that still seemed a far cry from the naked sand he’d been expecting. Streams were visible by the swaying palms, light-skinned cottonwood, and delicate tamarisk that lined them. A herd of red cattle grazed in the near distance.

Riverhold was visible a bit east, sprung up at the convergence of three dusty-looking roads. The walls were saffron, irregular, and not particularly high. Behind them, domes and towers of faded azure and cream, vermilion and chocolate, gold and jet, crowded together like a gaggle of overdressed courtiers waiting in the foyer of the throne room. It was a city that seemed at once tired and exuberant.

He wished they were going there.

But instead they did as Radhasa planned—they followed a goat trail into a copse of trees along a meandering stream, where he was forced to dismount. Then Ma-fwath and J’yas took the horses.

“Bathe,” Radhasa told him. “You’re starting to smell.”

“Hard to do with these bands on.”

“You promise to be good?”

His heart sped a bit. “Yes,” he said.

“Swear it on your honor that you won’t try to run.”

“On my honor,” he replied.

She shrugged, came up behind him, and untied the ropes.

“There,” she said. “Go, then, bathe.”

He stripped off his stinking clothes, feeling watched and somehow ashamed. Radhasa had seen him undressed before—had helped undress him, in fact. He hadn’t felt in the least uncomfortable then. Now he hurried into the water and submerged himself as quickly as possible.

The water was cool, and felt unbelievably good. He let it wash over him, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate only on the sensation.

It might have been a half an hour before he opened them. When he did, he saw that Radhasa was the only one besides himself in the camp. She was sitting with her back to a tree, not quite facing him. She seemed deep in thought.