"The soldiers made their choice when they swore allegiance to a murdering pretender. They obeyed Jared's orders to kill their own people. Jared's not worthy of that flag. And the troops that do his bidding aren't worthy of your pity."

"I want to drive the bastard out," Soterius said. "I want to go home."

"So do I. But not until a king I trust sits on the throne. We have to put Tris there, Ban."

Soterius looked across the plain at the burning camp. "I know. I know."

"Come on. Give the villagers a hero to celebrate. Lady knows they've had little enough cause for happiness lately. And afterwards, Fallon's got a bottle of Cartelesian brandy waiting for you in your room. Seems our good Sisters partake," he said with a grin. "Then to bed with you. We've got a ride ahead of us tomorrow night."

Soterius took a deep breath, knowing Mikhail was right; the villagers needed a symbol and a hero more than he needed the luxury of quiet grief. The men wound their way down the stairs toward the bailey, where the sound of revelry and music echoed throughout the ancient fortress.

Soterius attempted his best show of lighthearted gaiety, obliging the village girls who waited for a dance with the evening's hero, embarrassedly accepting the heaping trenchers of food brought to him by village matrons, and washing them down with tankards of ale that the farmers and townsmen kept filled. It was well past mid-morning before the celebration began to wind down, and the sun hung in the afternoon sky before Soterius was free to find his bed. The morrow would come too quickly, Soterius knew. And while it would not be the first time he rode with a throbbing head; it was just as 'well that he would have something to take his mind off his memory of the night's work, and what it truly meant to raise steel against his own flag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The LAST of the spring rains ended late in the fourth month, the Lover's Moon. When the roads were dry enough to ride without bogging down, Tris and his companions prepared for the final campaign into Margolan.

Their departure was unheralded, with only Staden, Taru, Berry, and Royster on hand to bid them farewell. Staden made sure they were provisioned with excellent horses and supplies. Berry, as close to tears as Tris had ever seen the feisty young princess, hugged them all and promised prayers to the Lady for their success. Royster mentioned vague plans to return to the Library at Westmarch, although Tris privately wondered if the librarian would give up his newfound freedom easily. Gabriel had left the night before their departure to meet with his "family" in Margolan and arrange for safe houses and vayash moru escorts along their way.

He had promised to meet up with Tris and the others once they reached Margolan.

The group would make the best time on the journey south traveling the river Nu, whose deep, swift course would save them a dangerous overland passage. Staden sent them with a letter to his friend Sakwi, the land mage who had helped Kiara on her journey north. The letter asked for Sakwi's assistance and his help in securing a boat for both them and their horses. That letter waited safe in the breast pocket of Tris's tunic.

Though both Staden and Kiara attested to Sakwi's trustworthiness, Tris was worried about the river journey itself. The river was the best way to avoid a dangerous passage through Margolan's northern mountains, but it would be wild and swift from the melted snows. The only other land route ran through Dhasson, but Tris had no reason to believe that Arontala's spell to call the magicked beasts had lost its potency. They would stay close to the Margolan banks when they passed along the Dhasson stretch. The river would let them bypass the mountains to reach the southern plains and Shekerishet more quickly. Once they left the banks of Principality, they would be back in hostile territory, and closer than ever to Jared and Arontala.

"I hope the weather holds," Kiara said. She lifted her face to the wind, and let it rustle back through her thick hair. She looked up, scanning the clouds. "It can change without warning on the river."

"Here's hoping the Lady's with us all the way," Tris said. "I was thinking the same thing."

They reached the village where Staden had said they would find Sakwi near dusk. It smelled of fish and wood smoke. It was just far enough from the banks of the river that the yearly floods would not sweep it away. The village housed only a handful of families. Nets were hung from the trees to dry and skiffs were pulled up on the banks. The streets were deserted as Tris and his friends rode up, but once they passed the first small house, Tris could feel that they were being watched.

"We seem to be leading a parade," Carroway said from behind them, as their horses splashed down the muddy road. Tris glimpsed a silent congregation of ill-clad villagers slip from their homes to keep a watchful eye on the strangers.

When they reached the center of the small town, Vahanian stopped, and turned in his saddle to look back at the villagers who followed them. "We're looking for a traveling mage," he called to the group. "A land mage named Sakwi."

A bearded man stepped forward. "What do you want?"

"We were told this mage could help us navigate the river on our journey south," Vahanian replied. "We have a letter of introduction from a friend."

"I'm Sakwi." They turned to see a thin, slightly stooped mage whose racking cough silenced him for a moment after he spoke.

"Sakwi!" Kiara called in greeting. She slid from her horse and ran to the mage.

"Please, come inside," Sakwi said, gesturing for them to tether their horses and follow him into a small house. "If I'm to be of help, I must understand your journey. You'll be safe here," he said, with a nod to the villager who first intercepted them. The fisherman nodded in return. In the dim light, Tris caught the glint of a dagger in the man's hand. Tris looked around at the group of villagers, noting that each was well-armed by common standards. This might be the last safe haven they would have for quite some time, he thought. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

"Sakwi gave me the key to Westmarch, and introduced me to Grayfoot the fox," Kiara explained once the door was closed. Briefly, she told Sakwi of her trek northward, and of the magicked beast she encountered and Grayfoot's sacrifice.

"I believe Grayfoot had some idea of what might befall him," Sakwi said. "He was a bit of a mystic."

"The fox?" Vahanian asked incredulously. Kiara glared at him.

"I'm not sure what he was, but he wasn't your average fox," Kiara reproved.

"Actually," Sakwi said, "he was quite average. The fox are very intelligent... for those who know how to speak with them." Sakwi turned his attention to Tris. "I doubt you've come to reminisce. How can I help you?"

Tris pulled Staden's note from his pocket, and waited as Sakwi read it over.

"We need safe passage for ourselves and our horses down the river. I'm Martris Drayke, son of Bricen of Margolan. My friends and I go to unseat Jared the Usurper and his mage." He paused. "And we would like to travel as quietly as possible."

Sakwi looked from Tris to Kiara and back again. "King Staden is a good friend. I'll do as he requests. I've seen what is going on in Margolan, and I've tried to bring some relief to the refugees. Speaking of which, there is someone I'd like you to meet," Sakwi said. He leaned outside the door and spoke a word to a boy waiting there. After a while, a bent, haggard man appeared.

"Come in, my friend," Sakwi greeted him, ushering him toward a seat. The newcomer regarded Tris and the others suspiciously. "These travelers will have a great interest in your story," Sakwi said, "I know it's difficult for you to speak of it, but I ask you to tell your tale once more."