“We help Livak get inside D’Olbriot’s favor, he’ll convince Draximal to call off his hounds.” Sorgrad fixed his brother with a stern eye.

“You don’t want to spend the next five years of your life rusticating in Solura, do you?” I hoped a noble refusal wouldn’t make a liar out of me. Ryshad would be best placed to broach such a topic, I decided. He could speak to Esquire Camarl, who was definitely edging ahead of the pack nosing around for favor with the Head of their House.

’Gren pretended to consider it. “No, I prefer my towns bigger and closer together and my women smaller and more open-minded.”

“You can look into attitudes hereabouts, with a few tokens of your esteem to offer,” Sorgrad pointed out.

’Gren laughed. “So how are we splitting this? A few bits for the lass and the rest three ways? I take it our mage doesn’t bother with trifles like this?”

“I don’t think he needs to be worried with such things,” I agreed.

Sorgrad rapidly sorted the spoils into three piles evenly matched for value and content. He set aside a gold necklace, the leaf-pattern ring and a copper bangle set with polished amber. “Zenela can have those.”

“That’s probably crediting her with more experience than she can boast,” I commented.

“Miaow.” Sorgrad grinned at me.

I scooped up my own portion and shoved it hastily in a pocket as steps outside brought a shadow to the threshold.

Usara lifted the door drape. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Did you have a good meal?” I adjusted my shirt casually to conceal the new fullness to my jerkin.

“Yes, very pleasant.” Usara was looking at us all with faint suspicion.

“Can you cook?” demanded Sorgrad, effectively quelling any question. “Does your magic extend to mundane tasks?”

“It can do, but my talents aren’t primarily with fire and its associated skills,” Usara replied cautiously.

“Are you saying fire mages are good cooks?” I interrupted, intrigued.

“As a rule,” Usara nodded.

“Then you’re in charge when we come to pay these folk back for the meals they’ve given us,” said Sorgrad firmly.

’Gren got up. “I’ll go and call on Zenela,” he said with a predatory smile and left.

“It’s her own fault for playing the unattainable fair maiden,” observed Sorgrad. “Tell ’Gren he can’t have something and that only makes him want it the more. He’s just been waiting for a chance to get her off guard.”

“True enough,” I admitted.

“So, what were you talking about just now?” Usara looked from me to Sorgrad.

“Did you know that Forest girls expect jewelry in return for their favors?” I asked him.

“Oh, no, I didn’t know that.” A blush was visible on Usara’s high cheekbones even in the firelight. He’d never have made a living from gambling, with that coloring to give him away so easily.

Sorgrad saw something I didn’t. “Have you been getting the eye from one?”

“A couple of the younger women have expressed interest in my magic.” Usara tried and failed to look unconcerned.

“Your magic?” repeated Sorgrad with delicate skepticism.

“That’s right.” Usara cleared his throat. “They seem quite intrigued by it, not like those mistrusting peasants.” That clearly still rankled with the mage.

Sorgrad tossed over a necklace of silver interlaced with diamond-shaped links, which the mage caught with a surprised reflex. “Something to brighten a girl’s eyes with, when you’ve given her a taste of your talents.” His meaning was as obvious as a pig in a priest’s robe.

“I don’t make a habit of casual conquests, thanks all the same,” replied Usara frostily.

“Do you have someone back in Hadrumal or—” I hesitated, “—are your tastes the same as Shiv’s?”

“I beg your pardon?” Usara looked startled. “No, no, my—tastes—are for women, when I choose to indulge them. And no, I have no particular understanding with anyone, not that I see that is any of your business.”

I raised a hand. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“The disciplines of study in Hadrumal leave little time for indulging other appetites.” Usara tried to look forbidding but just sounded prissy.

“And it’s a small town so you don’t foul your own doorstep?” Sorgrad hazarded with a grin. “Why not enjoy yourself here while you’ve got the chance. Some girl might share what she knows, if you show her—your wizardry.” He got up and brushed at a stain on the front of his doublet. “If I can make myself presentable, I’ll go and see if these Folk are as handy with the runes as rumor claims.”

I looked at Usara as Sorgrad left. “Where did you get to this afternoon?”

“I was talking with Ravin, among others.” The mage sighed. “We’ve got Folk here from a handful or more distinct lineages, did you know that? This isn’t family in the usual sense of the word. These people might settle for the winter somewhere, different groups deciding to work together for a season or so. Come the spring, they split up, make new alliances, and move on. Some stay with their blood kin, others join troops traveling any amount of distance. None of them have any notion of a permanent home. Some of these Folk have been with Ravin for years, others joined him last autumn, this spring, even within the last few days.”

“Life is growth and change; bud, blossom and fruit.” Some long-ago words of my father came to me and before I realized I had spoken them aloud. “Sorry. Your point?”

“I really don’t see how you can expect to learn anything of value here,” he said dubiously. “There’s no continuity, of kinship or custom or history from what I can make out. I sat with Ravin and three others for most of the afternoon, discussing floods and such hereabouts. Even where they agreed on some particular incident, they all had a different version of events. How are we to tell what are additions or omissions, even completely false elements in such a story?”

“We’re not here to write a new chapter for the Annals of Col,” I reminded him. “We’re looking for any lore hidden in the songs.” I hid my own doubts firmly beneath an optimistic face.

“Have you found anyone to translate the pieces Frue failed with?” He sighed again. “From what I am seeing, these Folk travel so widely the current generation barely even speak their own tongue.”

“The older ones have been helpful,” I countered. “I’m not about to give up just yet.”

“There are precious few here beyond their second generation,” commented Usara with a shake of his head. “Dwelling in the wildwood means short measure in the cup of life from Misaen. If there are any wise ancients sitting over mysteries of lost magic in hidden glades, I’ll eat that song book.”

“Not all wisdom and learning has to be set down with ink and shut up in libraries,” I told him firmly. “If you make up your mind you’re going to find nothing, that’s just what you’ll do. You never know; the only certainties in this life are sunrise, sunset and Saedrin’s door at the end of it.”

The more defeated the mage sounded, the more determined I became to prove him wrong. “I’m going to see if Sorgrad’s found a game worth a gamble.”

Leaving the sura, I looked around the campground. Small children were being rounded up for bed, and some adults already sat by fires handily placed to rebuke small faces peering around door curtains with hopeful requests. A group of tired women relaxed over drink and conversation, needlework laid aside now that the light had failed. A knot of men with heads more white than copper were sitting by a rack of spears, expansive gestures doubtless recounting some notable escapade of youth.

It was a cozy scene and I felt utterly out of place. Fleeing stifling domesticity in Vanam and more recently in Zyoutessela, I’d hardly expected to find it in the wildwood. What of the songs my father taught me, of high adventure, untamed spirits, mischief and merriment pursued in equal measure? What of the ancient Artifice I’d been so certain would be at the root of such tales? Had I talked the others into chasing shades in the fog?