"Close to the water, this side of that large embedded rock," he said.

At first Magiere wasn't certain what to look for. Then she spotted a scattered handful of cattle by the water. They were so still.

"Didn't even jump when I came out of the trees," Leesil said. "Not surprising, from the look of them."

Magiere let her night sight open up.

The cattle were thin. Even from this distance, their ribs stood out against sagging skin. Their large eyes were half-closed, nether asleep or fully awake. What were they doing wandering loose in the woods, as if no one cared what happened to them?

"These are the worst," Leesil said. "The goats in the town were similar, and so are the people."

"I don't understand. " Magiere sighed, and Leesil shook his head in agreement, but his handsome face looked tired, like everything and everyone else here. She reached out and touched his cheek, letting her finger run down to his chin. "And I'm worried about you. I don't like this."

"Me neither, but we should find out what's going on."

She led the way back to the others, and they headed inland once more. Their destination appeared after only two more curves in the road.

While it wasn't a proper keep, the square building was two stories of fortified stone. Perhaps this deep into the country, away from the borderlands, there was no need for more. Other wooden buildings were set off to its sides, one tall enough to be a barn but with a peaked shake roof. A low stone wall encircled the grounds, and the road curved by a side path up to its large iron gate. Geza was waiting there.

"You came," was all he said, and he waved them through. The captain led them on to the doors of the large stone manor. Once they passed inside its entryway, there was a change.

Magiere felt jarred, as if in one step she'd crossed a distance to another place far away, separated from the world right outside. The interior was suitable for a fief noble or vassal lord, but it wasn't the luxury of their surroundings that brought this strange sensation. Something else had just happened, and she peered suspiciously back as Geza shut the doors.

"This is much better," Wynn commented, rolling her shoulders.

Braziers hung from the walls at the entryway's sides, and there were lanterns down the hallway ahead. Geza had them kick off their muddy boots in a small side room before he led them down the hallway. Over the stone floor was a dark blue carpet with fringed ends and patterned borders of maple leaves.

"It feels different here. " Leesil sighed in relief. "Less oppressive."

Geza gave them a quick side glance but didn't comment. "This way."

Magiere noted her companions' reactions. Both Leesil and Wynn looked more awake. Not fully rested, but alert. The captain ushered them through an open archway and into a large chamber.

Tapestries of hunting scenes were illuminated by old-fashioned iron braziers mounted in the stone walls. A walnut table with stiff high-backed chairs ran end to end across the room. On its other side was a large, arched fireplace. Piled logs crackled therein, sending a wall of heat across the chamber to its entrance. There were no servants, and Magiere had seen no other guards on the grounds besides Geza.

One chair was pulled near the blaze. In it sat a tall man in his early thirties staring blankly at the flames. He wore simple breeches and soft clean boots. His shirt, what Magiere could see of it, was dull white and in need of a wash, and he clung to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and covering his arms.

Magiere couldn't imagine anyone feeling a chill in this sweltering room, and she stripped off her cloak to drop it over a chair.

The man's hair was sandy, like Geza's, but longer and ill-kept. Thick stubble on his jaw didn't suggest a beard so much as many mornings of forgotten grooming. Elena hurried over to him, putting her hands protectively on the back of his chair.

"They're here, my lord," she said, but when he didn't respond, she added, "Stefan… the hunter is here."

Magiere winced at the word hunter. She watched Elena's hand settle on the lord's shoulder and gently slide up to his neck into the back of his hair. Leesil tapped Magiere's arm and raised his white-blond eyebrows.

Was Elena serving as mistress of this house?

"You asked for us?" Leesil said.

The man blinked and turned his head to look at them. The lost expression in his eyes faded, but he didn't stand up. Instead, Elena motioned to wooden benches placed near the fire.

"It's so warm in here," Wynn said, and the lord sat up straight at her words.

"You may call me Stefan. " He spoke in Belaskian. "We lost the need for decorum a while ago, as prisoners do not have titles."

Stefan's gaze wandered to Magiere's sword and to Leesil's blades as he tossed his cloak on top of Magiere's before circling to the hearth. Magiere followed, ushering Wynn and Chap before her. Stefan's eyes rested a moment on Chap, and his mouth formed the beginning of a smile.

"I see my Shade has found a friend. All the dogs but mine were the first to go."

He slipped his right hand out from under the blanket, the other still tucked away, and Shade walked stiffly over to lick his fingers.

Magiere remained standing, while Leesil straddled a bench, loosening his shirt collar. Wynn sat down with Chap beside her.

"What about the other dogs?" Leesil asked.

Stefan didn't answer, but his faint smile remained as he studied Wynn more closely. The hide of Elvish symbols was half-unrolled beside her upon the bench.

"Who are you?" he asked. "It's difficult to imagine such a bookish girl involved with these other two."

"I help as I can," Wynn answered.

Magiere folded her arms. A few moments in this lord's languid presence was enough to stir her dislike of the man. He was likely useless and found himself far too tragic.

"Why don't you get to the point… why you called for us," she said.

"It's a rather long tale, but if you can help, I will pay anything you ask."

"Just tell us what plagues these people."

"My replacement," he said.

And he began his story.

Lord Stefan Korbori's wife, Byanka, wasn't beautiful, accomplished, or overly rich. He was a soldier, son of a second-generation noble who'd died in military service to Prince Rodek's father. Distinguished by only a minor title, he possessed both the ambition and the ability to lead, but he considered himself most fortunate to have won Byanka's hand. She was blood kin of the Antes house, favored second cousin of Ivanova, half sister to Prince Rodek. And Rodek was reining Grand Prince of Droevinka.

In Byanka's company, Stefan surfaced from the ranks of lesser nobles to the attention of Baron Cezar Buscan, Prince Rodek's chief counsel and Protector of the City in the capital, Keonsk. After quelling a peasant uprising over grain tax, at the age of twenty-eight, Stefan was rewarded with the Pudurlatsat manor and its coveted fief, only two days' travel down the Vudrask River from Keonsk.

He took his new responsibility seriously, and Byanka served well as his lady without complaint at being taken from court. She shared his ambitions and knew the fiefdom was a stepping stone toward favor with the Grand Prince himself. After two years in the fief, Stefan celebrated the birth of a son. In that hour, he felt affection for his wife that had nothing to do with her royal blood.

Crops flourished, his son learned to walk, taxes were collected on time, and the fief's commerce grew. After excelling in arms of war, Stefan showed his worth in orderly governing. Life was good as he returned home on a quiet night from a neighboring village. Byanka sat in the main hall by the huge hearth, teaching their son to pet Shade more softly and not pull on the dog's fur.

Stefan smiled. "Any luck?"