“A feud lasts three years for theft,” ’Gren supplied. “Nine for violence or twenty-seven if a death’s involved.”

“That must keep everyone busy,” I commented.

“Sheltya mostly keep the sokes from outright bloodshed. They’re healers as well, for when they can’t stop the fighting.” Sorgrad grinned. “They are teachers, philosophers. They hold the old sagas and, by custom, should be consulted about any proposed match, in case two sokes are breeding too close. That’s the theory anyway. I don’t recall seeing one more than a handful of times as a child before some strange old man turned up at the mines and announced I had to leave.”

“What gave him that authority?” Usara wrapped his arms around skinny knees, intent on this new puzzle.

Sorgrad ignored him. “Once he had spoken, that was that. Even my father wasn’t going to gainsay him and I’d seen him stand up to a bear spring-roused from winter sleep without flinching. I was packed off before sunset.”

“And I went as well,” ’Gren chipped in. “This old fool kept going on about my birth omens.”

“So their word is law?” I saw Usara’s impatience out of the corner of my eye but dared not look away from Sorgrad.

He shook his head. “Sheltya were losing their influence in the Middle Ranges even then. My father couldn’t gainsay the banishment but he forbade my death, which is what the old bastard first called for. My uncles all agreed that custom was the only thing they were going to throw off a mountaintop. My grandmother insisted on Sheltya being summoned if a match was proposed, but after she died my mother and the other women usually debated marriages between themselves.”

“But you think they will still be around these mountains?” I asked Sorgrad.

“If they are anywhere.” He nodded. “And if any Anyatimm know any aetheric magic, I’d say it’ll be Sheltya. They’re certainly the ones you need to talk to about that book of yours.”

“If they exiled you for magebirth, what do they reckon to wizards?” I wondered aloud. “Will they be able to tell what Usara is?”

“I can’t say.” He shot Usara a piercing glance. “Don’t do anything to give yourself away.”

I retrieved the calico bag from ’Gren and shook out the few remaining crumbs. “We’d best move if we’re to make that fess before sundown.”

Usara rose wearily to his feet and looked at his pack with distaste. “We should have kept the donkey.”

“And fed it on what? Fresh air and sweet words?” Sorgrad’s composure was iron hard as ever.

“There’s plenty of grass,” objected the wizard.

“This is winter grazing for the goats of the soke.” Sorgrad shook a mocking head. “You don’t trespass your animals on someone else’s forage up here.”

Usara sniffed crossly as he shouldered his pack with a stagger and set off up the narrow path. ’Gren sauntered along behind him and I walked more slowly still with Sorgrad. “So that’s why you sold off your finery and trinkets along the way?”

He adjusted the strap of his single satchel where it was catching on the scrip at his belt. “That, and I wanted an impressive purse of coin to jingle in case anyone wonders why we’re traveling up here. I think I’ll be a younger son of good blood who’s made himself a fat patrimony in dealings with the lowlands and is looking to settle on a nicely schooled bride in a comfortable rekin.”

I laughed. “They’ll welcome you, will they? Good breeding stock?”

Sorgrad shrugged. “Perhaps. We all know the dangers of breeding too close up here but strangers bring their own dangers. It’s a fact that Mountain women marrying lowlanders suffer far more losses and dead births.”

I grimaced. “And what about ’Gren?”

“No one with any sense travels the uplands on their own,” said Sorgrad. “Even the best weather can turn to storm and fog inside less than a chime.”

“So I’m a balladeer, keen to learn more about my song book? What’s Usara doing? You’ve heard him sing; no one’s ever going to believe he’s a minstrel.”

“He’d best be a scholar of history again. Sheltya hold the sagas after all.” Sorgrad hissed slow breath between his teeth. “With luck we’ll be able to just rely on travel truce.”

“On what?” I shifted the tie of my own kit bag where it was digging into my shoulder.

“Travel truce; it’s good for three days and three nights. If you claim formal right of fire, food and shelter, no one can pursue a feud or demand any information you don’t wish to give, not even your name.”

“That’s worth knowing.” Looking up the path, I could see Usara slow his first obstinate pace. “You could have warned him you were going to sell the donkey.”

“I can’t help it if he’s unobservant,” Sorgrad grinned.

“He has his uses,” I protested. “Don’t forget the flood!”

“Living on some magical island is precious little schooling for country like this,” said Sorgrad bluntly. “I’ll shed no tears if his stupidity gets him killed but I’ll come back from the Otherworld to haunt you if I end up dead because of it.”

We walked on in companionable silence, a few birds rustling about in the grass and one soaring high above, the liquid delight of its song poured out in profligate ecstasy.

“Now I understand why you wanted to go to the Forest first of all,” I remarked some while later.

“If we’d found what we needed in the wildwood, there would have been no need to raise all this.” Sorgrad’s eyes were fixed on the still distant glen. “But I have it tamed, whatever our noble mage may think.”

“Is that hard?” I wondered how so close a friend could hide so huge a secret.

“Not these days.” He gave me a familiar wicked grin. “More so when I was younger. Remember that apothecary’s shop? I’m afraid that was me.”

“From what I heard, the foul-mouthed old skinflint deserved it.” The years of trust between us outweighed this one deception, now I was over the first shock. “It’s of no consequence to me.”

“But claiming a debt from this Messire is, isn’t it?” Sorgrad looked at me. “And if that’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“I don’t doubt it but you’ve more reasons for being here than that, haven’t you?” He still owed me some answers.

“I wasn’t that sad to leave, truth be told,” he said after a while. “Me and ’Gren were already talking about heading into Gidesta, where the Easterlings are more tolerant of marrying out and working with the lowlanders. As middle sons, our patrimony would have been thin enough, and anyway neither of us particularly relished marrying girls we’d known all our lives. I’d rather have left of my own choice but lowland life has suited us well enough, you know that.”

“So why go back, why now?” I pressed him.

“Why not now? This landed in front of me and I thought I’d play the runes as they fell.” We walked on a little farther. “It’s your man who’ll be doing the asking, after all, and he has magic of his own if they decide to take offense. I’d like to know what powers Sheltya hold, beyond the weight of fear and custom,” he admitted. “I’d like to know why some trick of birth brought their hatred down on me. When I was a youth, I just accepted that it was so. Now I’ll see some justification, if they can offer it.”

“Curiosity got Amit hanged,” I reminded him.

“Not in that song book,” he countered with a mischievous smile. “I’ll take the risk.”

I felt uncomfortably responsible now that the stakes were so much higher. “Whatever deal I make with D’Olbriot, getting Draximal to call off his hounds will be non-negotiable. Fair recompense?”

’Gren was getting bored, casting off to either side of the path, looking for entertainment. He scrambled down a rocky crag in front of us. “I saw bear tracks up there,” he announced, bright-eyed.

“Let’s have a look.” Sorgrad climbed after his brother and I picked up my pace to join Usara.

A dew of sweat beaded the wizard’s forehead, sticking the sparse tendrils of his hair to his sun-reddened scalp. “You need to be wearing a hat,” I said.