graying at the temples. Shallan’s fur was also dark, but his mane and ear-tufts had a reddish tinge. All four wore deep green cloaks and tunics, and the belt and quiver of the Wyrd archers.
“Murn will also accompany you,” Grathwol finished, and waved them toward their horses.
Tamsin bowed deeply to Grathwol, Alethia curtsied, and with that formal farewell they mounted and departed. Soon they were out of sight of the living buildings of Glen Wilding.
Har reined in abruptly as he broke through a clump of bushes near the edge of a clearing. Even at the slow pace they were keeping, Maurin’s horse nearly ran on top of Har’s. Fighting back an impulse to object furiously to Har’s carelessness, Maurin leaned forward in search of the cause. He saw the firepit in the center of the clearing at the same moment Har’s whisper floated back to him: “Someone’s camp. Seems deserted.”
“I’ll swing left,” Maurin said in a voice pitched to carry only as far as Har’s ears. He waited until he saw Har nod, then moved out to check the camp, thinking, we shouldn’t have been so careless — if they were here, they must have heard us coming.
No Lithmern appeared, and after circling the perimeter of the camp, the two men tethered their horses to a nearby sapling and went to examine the clearing.
“They seem to have stopped here quite a while,” Maurin commented. “See, they tied their horses over there. Looks like there were a dozen or so.”
Har poked the dead ashes of the fire and looked up with an expression of chagrin on his face. “Maurin, we must have crossed another trail somewhere and followed the wrong one. These ashes are nearly a day old.”
“There can’t be two groups of horsemen traveling north and west through the Wyrwood,” Maurin said.
Har stood up and prowled impatiently about the clearing. “There must be. The Lithmern we’ve been chasing couldn’t have gotten this far in one night, no matter how hard they pushed their horses. We had better go back and see if we can pick up their trail before they get impossibly far ahead of us. We have no idea how much time we may have lost already.”
Maurin nodded reluctantly, and started back toward the horses. As he passed the edge of the clearing he detoured around a clump of bushes and stopped short. Behind him he heard Har exclaiming, “Maurin! Look here!”
“You come look here,” Maurin replied in a voice that sounded odd even to himself. Har came hurrying through the trees carrying an empty dagger sheath.
“I found this under that tree,” he said, gesturing vaguely back toward the clearing. “It’s Lithmern work, no doubt of it; maybe you weren’t far wrong after all.”
“I know I’m not wrong,” Maurin cut him off, and pointed. At his feet lay two pieces of cord and a woman’s spangled dancing slipper, the mate to the one they had found on the road the night of the kidnapping.
Har stared at it for a moment. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered under his breath.
“Neither do I, but there it is. We are on the right trail.” Maurin’s eyes flashed and he almost smiled.
With new energy, Har ducked back through the bushes toward the horses. Maurin meanwhile followed Alethia’s footprints for a short distance. He turned as Har came up behind him with their mounts.
“It’s a good clear track; we should make better time now,” he said briefly as he mounted his horse. Har nodded as they started off. They rode in silence, stopping now and then to examine the tracks more closely. They saw no traces of the Lithmern, which puzzled them greatly, but several times they found bits of lace or green net to assure them that they were still on Alethia’s trail.
They followed the trail for half an hour, moving as quickly as they could without risking a mistake. Then they were confronted by another clearing, the cold ashes of another fire, and more hoof prints. Maurin’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the scene. “This gets
“Murn will also accompany you,” Grathwol finished, and waved them toward their horses.
Tamsin bowed deeply to Grathwol, Alethia curtsied, and with that formal farewell they mounted and departed. Soon they were out of sight of the living buildings of Glen Wilding.
Har reined in abruptly as he broke through a clump of bushes near the edge of a clearing. Even at the slow pace they were keeping, Maurin’s horse nearly ran on top of Har’s. Fighting back an impulse to object furiously to Har’s carelessness, Maurin leaned forward in search of the cause. He saw the firepit in the center of the clearing at the same moment Har’s whisper floated back to him: “Someone’s camp. Seems deserted.”
“I’ll swing left,” Maurin said in a voice pitched to carry only as far as Har’s ears. He waited until he saw Har nod, then moved out to check the camp, thinking, we shouldn’t have been so careless — if they were here, they must have heard us coming.
No Lithmern appeared, and after circling the perimeter of the camp, the two men tethered their horses to a nearby sapling and went to examine the clearing.
“They seem to have stopped here quite a while,” Maurin commented. “See, they tied their horses over there. Looks like there were a dozen or so.”
Har poked the dead ashes of the fire and looked up with an expression of chagrin on his face. “Maurin, we must have crossed another trail somewhere and followed the wrong one. These ashes are nearly a day old.”
“There can’t be two groups of horsemen traveling north and west through the Wyrwood,” Maurin said.
Har stood up and prowled impatiently about the clearing. “There must be. The Lithmern we’ve been chasing couldn’t have gotten this far in one night, no matter how hard they pushed their horses. We had better go back and see if we can pick up their trail before they get impossibly far ahead of us. We have no idea how much time we may have lost already.”
Maurin nodded reluctantly, and started back toward the horses. As he passed the edge of the clearing he detoured around a clump of bushes and stopped short. Behind him he heard Har exclaiming, “Maurin! Look here!”
“You come look here,” Maurin replied in a voice that sounded odd even to himself. Har came hurrying through the trees carrying an empty dagger sheath.
“I found this under that tree,” he said, gesturing vaguely back toward the clearing. “It’s Lithmern work, no doubt of it; maybe you weren’t far wrong after all.”
“I know I’m not wrong,” Maurin cut him off, and pointed. At his feet lay two pieces of cord and a woman’s spangled dancing slipper, the mate to the one they had found on the road the night of the kidnapping.
Har stared at it for a moment. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered under his breath.
“Neither do I, but there it is. We are on the right trail.” Maurin’s eyes flashed and he almost smiled.
With new energy, Har ducked back through the bushes toward the horses. Maurin meanwhile followed Alethia’s footprints for a short distance. He turned as Har came up behind him with their mounts.
“It’s a good clear track; we should make better time now,” he said briefly as he mounted his horse. Har nodded as they started off. They rode in silence, stopping now and then to examine the tracks more closely. They saw no traces of the Lithmern, which puzzled them greatly, but several times they found bits of lace or green net to assure them that they were still on Alethia’s trail.
They followed the trail for half an hour, moving as quickly as they could without risking a mistake. Then they were confronted by another clearing, the cold ashes of another fire, and more hoof prints. Maurin’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the scene. “This gets
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