9: Leaving Aspera

Their last night at Nearshore was a strange combination of a dinner party set against preparations to escape the area by first light. It started with a closed meeting in the remains of Lady Calanth’s library: other than Mr. Brightstar and his party, only the Princess and Thaddius were present. Tad hadn’t exactly been invited: had trailed close behind Mr. Brightstar and then done his best not to attract any attention to himself. He positioned himself in the shade of a leaning bookshelf, and stayed as still and as quiet as he could manage.

The library had suffered grievously under Calanth’s geas, its two stories of books, scrolls, tomes, codexes, and curios disarranged into piles of various sizes. A pair of ancient-looking bronze chandeliers shined down on twelve-foot-high shelves, now mostly stripped of their contents, arranged around a central cluster of comfortable chairs and the occasional writing table. The second story was a gallery. It housed a great number of portraits, alternating with cabinets and bureaus that neatly organized a great many interesting objects. More than half of these had been rifled. One cabinet, an ornate piece blackened by age, was the only half-emptied thing in the entire library: it must have been where the Princess had found the Harapa crow figurine.

Tad had seen several private libraries in his brief months with Nolan Brightstar: most of them consisted of a few dozen tomes, each of which their owners counted as minor treasures. The Arcane Academy ran schools throughout Aspera, and indeed the entire world, but even the largest school might have only a few hundred books. The contents of Lady Calanth’s library was thousands of volumes that had taken nine hundred years to accumulate. Toppling it all over the floor was like spilling chests of jewels into the street and hammering them with rocks.

Pulling his mind off all the spilled books, Tad focused on Aidan, who was holding an unrolled missive bearing the seal of the Duke of Corak. She read aloud, “Whereas the treaty between the noble descendants of Harrell and the once-enobled Hemmets of Stamfield has been honored for seven hundred years; Whereas We are called upon to give aid to the former Duchy of Stamfield in the name of our common forbearers; Whereas Stamfield has held for us these many years a history that must not be forgotten; Whereas the Riders Aidan and Nadia, servants to the Throne, daughters of Magi Seraphina Baroness of Ardengard, daughter of Magi Issyren who was Baroness before her;“ and here Aidan sighed, her patience sorely tried, “Whereas the Throne and the Heirophant are in accord in the Right Course of Action; ... It goes on like this for another six inches,”

“Skip to the end, I think,” agreed the Princess, “the rest is all protocol.”

Aidan took a deep breath, “... we command the Riders Aidan and Nadia to act as our Agents and journey to Stamfield, once a Duchy under the Throne; As Our Agents they shall render such assistance as will satisfy the terms of the aforementioned Treaty; Lastly, our Agents will recover the Item which obliges Us to Stamfield, thus dispatching the Treaty altogether. To these ends, our Agents are to gather to themselves companions of such ability and courage as their own, who shall if they accept the Task swear to its completion as best as they are able.” She passed the scroll to Earkey, who began to examine the seal and read it for himself.

“There is also,” added Nadia, “a bit about us having salvage rights among the ‘former Duchy’, but the people who live there might have other ideas about our taking off with all their gold.” There was some laughter. At that moment Tad was hit with the notion that these were people who had carried off a fair amount of treasure in their time.

“Second order of business,” spoke Lady Calanth, very business-like, “is to determine who will go. The Sisters have royal orders and a powerful geas, in addition to their considerable honor. As for the rest of you, there is no requirement to join such an adventure. If you pursue this quest, you commit to it’s aims of your own free will. Only your honor and the duty of comrades binds you.” The Princess moved to a writing desk prepared with an ink pot, a quill, and a short length of parchment. “Sign, and pledge yourselves to the goals presented, that the Duke may know who has taken up the Task.” She eyed each person present with a merry eye, as if she were about to deliver a joke, “Or else abstain, and no word of dishonor will be spoken over it.”

Of course they all signed. All except the Princess herself who, in spite of her past trials, was not the sort to go on great adventures of her own accord. Tad was not of age yet to sign any contracts, but Mr. Brightstar signed for him as his legal master. It thrilled Tad, knowing his name was there, even if it was preceded by “Mr. Nolan Brightstar, Gentleman Adventurer, and his servant....”

----

Guests began arriving in the late afternoon, well before the packing was finished. They mostly drove up in carriages, but a few of Lady Calanth’s closest neighbors decided to simply walk the distance over the fields. Among the first to dismount at Nearshore’s front door was Father Quinn, the priest from Walter’s Bailey, and with him was none other than his eminently annoying acolyte, whom Tad had met earlier. The moment her was off the carriage, she started walking towards the stables.

Resolving to ignore her, Tad turned to his duty. It had fallen to him to gather all the common baggage and lay it out for Nadia, and then check it all off of a list. There was feed for horses and humans, a modest quantity of cooking gear, tents made of a very sturdy cloth, a few hundred feet of expensive silken rope, an impressive number of bolts and arrows, a sack of charcoal, and an assortment of other supplies. Nadia, with help from Horesemaster Lewis and his apprentice, divided it among the eight mounts and packed it all carefully. The largest share went to the single packhorse, but each mount received some portion of everything: this practice was to prevent disaster in case the packhorse was lost. Realizing that the girl was drawing close to him, Tad pronounced that all items were present, and that he was going to check on the horses.

Tad fled into the dark of the stables, found the tools he needed, and proceeded to examine each animal that would be going on the journey. He went from one stall to the next, checking their coats and manes for any debris, then checked their hooves. As they had already been through the hands of the blacksmith in town, Hank the stableboy, and then inspected by Lewis, there wasn’t much to do. Tad saved Nadia’s Nightbow for last, intending to hide in the warhorse’s stall until the bothersome girl was gone from the area.

The Arducian permitted Tad to approach the stable, which he did slowly, then the huge animal shook its head until Tad agreed to rub him above his eye ridges. Nightbow leaned his forehead against the boy’s chest and snorted a few times, then Tad began to rub his hands along the stallion’s neck in long firm strokes. Every animal liked to be touched a certain way, and this is what Nadia had taught Tad to do, so he could groom the horse for her.

The big animal blew into the boy’s chest a few times, then began to nicker softly. “Hi Nightbow,” said Tad in a soft voice. “Looks like Nadia was already here. I guess I don’t have to do anything.” For a moment, Nightbow seemed to relax completely in Tad’s hands, but suddenly he tensed, and gave Tad a firm shove in the chest. The boy took two steps back, lost his footing, and landed hard on his backside with big “whuff”. The great stallion stamped and chomped in his stall and shook his mane with pleasure. Thaddius couldn’t help but laugh along with big brute: the horse had played him a good trick.

Someone else was laughing, too. The acolyte girl was standing nearby, covering her mouth while she giggled. “I’m Valda,” she said, when she finally stopped laughing. She had exchanged her robes for a modest blue frock embroidered in black. The motif was, like everything around Walter’s Bailey, horses, done in tiny detail with the finest thread, galloping around her ankles. From his position on the ground, Tad could see she still wore the same boots as earlier. Her only jewelry was a thin bronze chain around her waist, from which hung a little medallion bearing the icon of Te, the Mother Goddess.

“Hi Valda,” he responded, his aching behind momentarily eclipsing his dislike of the girl, “I’m Thaddius. But people just call me Tad.” He got back onto his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. “And this big fellow is Nightbow. Don’t let his good looks fool you,” he glared at the animal in mock anger, “he’s a monster.”

“Oh, I know,” said Valda, performing a brief curtsey in Nightbow’s direction. “He bit Ernie Pick today. All afternoon, Ernie’s been telling everyone that he was almost killed by the savage Arducian. But I think Ernie should learn to keep his hands to himself.” Nightbow chomped twice more in reply, and then turned his attention to his hay, having had all the human conversation he wanted.

“Well,” said Tad into the growing silence, “I still have a lot of packing to do before the party.”

“Ok,” said Valda, with too much enthusiasm, “I’ll help. I’m good at packing.” And for the next hour, Tad could not get rid of her. She followed him into his quarters, which was far from proper, and promptly began refolding all his clothes. Once he made it clear she could not touch any of his or Mr. Brightstar’s things, she took control of the packing list. The items were checked off the list once as they were gathered together and organized on the floor, and then again as they went into the appropriate backpack or saddlebag.

Some of the items were of a questionable character, which caused Valda’s voice to drip with disapproval. “A crowbar?”

“It’s a lever, for moving heavy things,” explained Tad, placing it next to his lantern.

“Lockpicks?”, she read archly.

Tad unrolled a length of cloth to reveal a neat line of sewn pockets, each one occupied by a curiously bent length of metal. After verifying that each tool was present, he rolled it back up and tied it firmly closed. “In case someone loses a key,” he said. Tad shrugged: it could happen that way.

“I see. And you would never use them to open something without permission?”

“Don’t be silly,” he tried to reassure her, “it would be much easier to break the lock.”

“Next item on the list,” read Valda, “is a hammer. And ten spikes.” She waved the list around in exasperation, “Just what kind of ‘Gentleman Adventurer’ are you?”

“Legally, I’m an indentured servant,” said Tad, repeating his master’s words from the other day, “so I guess I’m not any kind of gentleman.” He put the heavy hammer and iron spikes in their own leather drawstring bag, and arranged the bag on the floor next to the crowbar. “We use the spikes for climbing,” he said in a reassuring voice. He didn’t tell her that the spikes were also very handy for breaking locks.

“Mmmm,” murmured the girl, “You’re not planning on using any of this in Walter’s Bailey, are you? My aunt is the Mayor, and she’d be really angry.”

“We only steal from ruins,” said Tad, which almost seemed to satisfy her.

Valda stayed until it was time for Tad to wash and dress for dinner. He had to remind her that such a task usually required removing one’s clothing, and she finally left him alone. Tad shook off the clothes he was wearing and put them aside for tomorrow, then gave his dress shoes a quick polish. After they were sufficiently cleaned and blackened to a low shine, he washed himself at the basin. He put on his white shirt, his good pants, his shoes, and finally his long jacket with the bone buttons. Looking very much the apprentice of a Gentleman Adventurer rather than a mere indentured servant, he went down to dinner.

----

There were thirty places set that night at the Princess’ table, enough for the Baroness, the Mayor, the Priest, the local Arcanist (who ran the town’s school), prominent breeders and tradesmen, wealthy farmers, and a few people whose main achievements in life seemed to be that they were in some way related to the hostess.

Typical of polite gatherings, most of the guests had brought a single attendant: either a trusted servant, an apprentice, or in some cases a young relative who badly wanted to attend. Mr. Brightstar sat almost directly across from Father Quinn, which similarly put Tad almost directly across from Valda. Their jobs were pretty simple: fetch and carry anything that was needed, most commonly plates of food, and keep the masters’ goblets filled. Do anything else one was asked. Speak only when spoken to. Other than all that, just stand behind their masters’ chairs and wait. Without much to do during the courses besides stand still, it was an opportunity for Tad to observe and memorize.

The appointments were, Tad thought, beautiful without being gaudy, rich without being showy, elegant rather than ornate. All in all, very much like the Princess herself. But the conversation was as polite and careful as any gathering at the most ornate houses in Corak.

There were toasts and speeches, including a brief but very fine one from the Bishop, and a stunning amount of gold was pledged for Saint Engel’s new basilica. Lady Calanth’s physician told a vaguely funny story about a man who thought he had a pox, but who had been victim of a practical joke: his friends had painted colored dots on him in his sleep. It was poorly told, but people near the doctor laughed anyway. Thaddius happened to glance to the other side of the room just then, and caught Valda looking at him just in time to see her turn red and look away.

“I was in Soubous for three months during my Grand Tour,” the dowager Woolom was saying, “in my day a young person of means saw all the great cities of the West, and one of our party was abducted by the Academy. It seemed young Timeas had gotten ahold of something he shouldn’t have -- probably from that dragon he killed near Vohanis.”

“As it happens, I am familiar with the case,” interjected Minzerec. “He had copies of a few pages from a very dangerous text.”

“Well, the wizards sure got him for it!” The old bird was comfortably into her cups. “They stormed the playhouse during Anamogea’s Iyeru and Tygea. In the third act! Put him into wizard cuffs and hauled him off, and we never saw him again. Common born, but quite talented. Very promising young man.” Woolom jabbed her dinner knife at Minzerec and the town’s resident Arcanist accusingly, “And his family never got a satisfactory explanation. Never!”

“Now see here, madam,” protested Arcanist Dassha, the general practitioner stationed here by the Academy. He was a thin, middle-aged man with cropped black hair and a little pointed beard that bordered on the absurd. His olive skin marked him as a native of the Principalities, probably Eboa. In his plain black wizard’s robes he looked like a villainous school teacher. “Everyone knows you don’t mess around with dark magic, especially if you aren’t even a wizard. The enforcers have to be stern with people, for everyone’s protection.”

“I bet you wouldn’t feel the same if our priests dragged off some of your apprentices for heresy and locked them in a dungeon somewhere.” Woolom’s face nearly lit up at the idea, “Serve you right to get a dose of your own brand of justice.”

“We fight heresy with fact and example.” said Father Quinn soothingly, “Faith can’t be coerced.”

“Not to mention the treaty,” rumbled the dwarf Minzerek. “Aspera leaves arcane matters to the Academy, and the Academy allows Aspera its religion.” At these words, all conversation at the table died. Most rational people would have been abashed at the sudden hostility in the room, but Minzerek merely looked around him as if nothing were the matter. The only person who seemed the least bit happy was Woolom.

The wizard was too smart not to know what he had done, which meant he was putting on the arcanist’s inscrutability. Tad watched the dwarf, with all limited skill he possessed, for some sign of discomfort. Arcanists were said to keep their emotions in an iron box, but not even dwarves were made of stone.

“I think you may want to reconsider the wording of that last statement,” said the Bishop with care, “in the interest of continued amity between the Arcane Academy and the Kingdom of Aspera.” There it was! A bit of beard on Minzerek’s left cheek pulsed once, twice, and then he moved his jaw a little to the right to relax the offending muscle. Something had definitely moved him.

To his credit, Minzerek recognized his error and strove to make amends. He stood formally, and apologized. “As always, Bishop Ambrose, you are wise. I misspoke, and badly. I should have said that we leave divine matters to those who understand them best, just as Aspera leaves arcane matters to the Academy.” Then he sat, as calm as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” said Lady Calanth, “for the clarification.” Indeed, nearly everyone seemed to relax, and conversation slowly returned to the table. Only the Sisters didn’t seem satisfied, in fact they had a moment of shared anger, yet they were willing to let the incident pass.

Over the pear tarts, Valda started acting positively strange. She would catch Tad’s eye, then smile at him, then look away and pretend he wasn’t there. Sometimes during these odd exchanges, she would bob up and down slightly as if wanting to dance. Or needing to pee. After several minutes of this, Mr. Brightstar turned towards Tad and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “what the heck are you doing”? Tad did his best to pass the very same look over the table to Valda, who obediently settled down with a barely suppressed smile.

“So what’s next,” asked a wealthy breeder, “for Bishop Ambrose and his companions?”

“We’ll be heading West, through Straight, then turning Northwest towards Ardengard,” came the ready answer from Mr. Brightstar. “Our Riders have family there.” Tad noticed that Mr. Brightstar did not say they were going to visit Ardengard, only that they were turning in that direction.

“Taking the faith to the outer baronies then?” said the doctor. “That’s some dedication. You’d get better collections for your Basillica in the larger cities, your Grace.”

“I think going farther afield is a great idea,” said Earkey. “The Basilica will be a symbol of faith to all Aspera, not just people in the cities. Why shouldn’t the frontier get to see a proof of faith?”

“Just so,” said the Bishop. “By the way, I see a lot of blue tile roofs in Walter’s Bailey. Have you been importing the clay from Ardengard, or do they make the tiles there and ship them down?” This launched the conversation in a new direction, towards trade and taxation, and away from the group’s travel plans.

Again, Valda caught Tad’s eye, but now they were watery as if she were about to cry. He couldn’t understand, for the life of him, what was wrong with that girl.

Nearly all the packing had been finished before dinner, but there were a few last-minute details. A scribe, in the employ of Lady Calanth, discretely handed a scroll tube to Mr. Brightstar, who in turn entrusted it to Tad, who took it upstairs to add to their baggage. On impulse, Thaddius switched the contents of the tube with that of another, which contained a partially completed manuscript. If someone should try to steal details of their planned journey (to an old city deep in the Southlands, Tad noted) all they would get was an incomplete treatise on “The Origins of Cave Dwellings Among the Hightable Cliffs”. Tad strapped the shiny new tube, which now contained the manuscript, onto the outside of Mr. Brightstar’s backpack. The old battered tube, containing a map and some other papers, he stuffed deep inside his own backpack.

After dinner there was dancing, to the tunes of a troubadour family from Tasep. To Tad’s disappointment, the dancing was of the politely choreographed sort rather than the wild elven kind. All were invited to dance but, as there were too few men present, Tad and two other boys were pressed into service against their will. Tad was partnered with the dowager Woolom, who seemed to like it when people called her “dowager” to her face, for an intricate and lengthly dance that involved numerous changes but always brought one back to his original partner.

“Ah, I get the young adventurer, Mr. Thaddius Poole,” said the garrulous woman. She was sixty-ish, swathed in several layers of ornate cloth, a great strand of pearls, gray hair piled two feet high, and yet still able to trod the polite dances. “I trust you’ve been taught the Pavadona. You won’t let me down, will you?”

“No ma’am,” said Tad with a bow, and he hoped not too awkward a one. Dowager Woolom favored him with the slightest of curtseys, and the dance began.

The Pavadona was a slow dance, but to be danced well it had to be done lightly and easily: and that was something Tad could do well. What was more difficult was the conversation, which the girls seemed to carry on without care but with which the boys had to struggle. “So boy,” began The Dowager, “where are you really going tomorrow?”

It was an easy question. People asked him this all the time, and the answer was always the same. “Wherever my master goes, madam.” She would have to try harder than that.

“That’s not an answer,” she said in a disapproving voice, but she didn’t seem genuinely upset.

“No ma’am,” responded Tad yet again, “but it’s the only answer you’re going to get. Ask something else.”

“That’s a rather saucy answer, young man. I’ve a mind to tell your master.”

“Go ahead. He’ll say the same thing.” Tad was warming to the rascally old lady, but before they got a chance to talk more it was time for the change, and the ladies all switched places, leaving the men with new partners.

Before him now was none other than the mayor of Walter’s Bailey, a thirty-ish woman who danced with the fingers of one hand twined in the hair at the back of Thaddius’ head. It was intimate to the point of being a little creepy, especially with the mayor’s husband dancing just a few feet away. “You’re in an awful hurry to leave our little town, Mr. Poole. Why not stay a little while?”

“I just go with Mr. Brightstar, Madam Mayor. You have to ask him and the Bishop about where we’re going.”

“A smart boy like you, I’ll bet you know exactly where you’re off to.” Tad thought of the map, hidden in his backpack, then cursed himself inwardly. She would know that he knew.

“I thought so. Is it Thrace? Did they offer the Bishop something to go preach there?” That was so far from the truth that, for a moment, Tad forgot to dance. “I thought so,” said the mayor, misreading his confusion. “The Count does this every time we get something really good.” She was evidently very angry, because her intimate caressing fingers had turned into claws. Just as he was in danger of losing some of his hair, Tad was able to hand her back to her husband in exchange for the Dowager.

They dallied for a few measures, just long enough for Dowager Woolom to ask Tad what he’d been learning lately (“fighting and history, mostly”), and then it was already time to exchange her for a new partner.

It was Valda, who fairly flew into his arms. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“For a woman her age, I guess” shrugged Tad, “but I think I like her.”

Her voice dropped a note. “What do you like about her?”

“Well, she’s the sort to tell you exactly what she’s thinking.”

Valda snorted, “She’s not like that at all. She’s a great liar -- you can’t trust anything she says.” They performed a series a steps together, giving their feet a little more lift than was strictly necessary. It was a relief to be with someone his own height. “People think they can trust her just because she’s pretty.”

“You really think Dowager Woolom is good looking?” asked Tad. It was Valda’s turn to look confused, and in a few more steps he exchanged her for the older woman.

“Are you having a good time, Madam Woolom?”

“You can’t divert me, boy. I see you making light feet with little Valda, and on the eve of your departure no less. And they say I’m a rogue and a scoundrel.”

“I haven’t done anything improper with Valda!” insisted Tad.

“Then you are worse than a scoundrel,” she accused him, “you are a tease!” By the next change, he was so baffled he barely noticed that not only was he dancing again with Valda, but that she was out of place. She must have thrown some other couple into disarray by being there.

“Not the Dowager, silly! I was talking about my aunt.” When Tad didn’t respond she added, “The Mayor. What do you think of her?”

“Oh,” said Tad, “I think she’s scary.” After that they fairly flew through the steps, and Valda somehow conspired to keep from changing partners again until the end of the song.

Tad danced the next several songs, each time with whatever partner the hostess gave him, and still Valda passed through his arms at every opportunity. After an hour, thinking of having to ride at first light, Tad left the floor looking for Mr. Brightstar to beg permission to go to bed. That was when a small hand grasped his and pulled him into a shadowy corner. It was Valda, and she had both of his hands in hers, and before he knew it her lips were on his. It took a few heartbeats for him to realize that she was kissing him! Some large fuzzy presence filled up his brain and blotted out all sensation except her thin lips on his, and his continuing shock that somehow, in her world, she thought this was a good idea.

It seemed to go on for a long time, although it couldn’t have been for more than a few seconds before her mouth released him. She must have sucked his breath right out of him, because he knew he wasn’t breathing right. Sometime during this operation, she had backed up against a wall and pulled him along with her, and he found himself leaning against Valda pinning her there. His arms had gotten around her and were trapped between her thin body and the wall. If she was as uncomfortable as he was, then she was doing a good job of pretending otherwise.

“Promise you’ll think of me,” she whispered earnestly, “when you’re in the Southlands.”

Tad thought that she had some nerve kissing him, especially after the way she was been so haughty just hours before. And what did she want from him, exactly? And how did she know about the Southlands? And if she thought he was going to moon over her for weeks on end like one of those Riders, who you sometimes read about, who fall in love with courtly ladies, then she was crazy. He wasn’t coming back here, and if he did he would do his utmost to avoid her.

“I promise,” said Tad’s mouth, quite rebelling against his good sense. She kissed him again, and this time all he could feel in the whole world were her soft and lively lips. They moved around and around, and made his own lips move in ways they shouldn’t have. They definitely weren’t supposed to move like that.

Valda broke their grapple suddenly, both of the lips and the arms, with an audible pop. Just as suddenly as she had grabbed him, she was walking away buoyant and satisfied, as if she had just accomplished some kind of personal achievement. The girl turned a corner, looked over her shoulder at him, and then was gone.

For a while, for longer than she had kissed him, Tad stood looking at what she had pushed into his hands during their tryst (he supposed that was the right word for it, “tryst”): a length of blue silk embellished with strands of green and silver thread. Utterly bemused, he went up to his room, stuffed it deep inside his pack, and threw himself onto the bed to sleep. With any luck, he would forget the whole matter before dawn.

----

The next morning he and Mr. Brightstar and the rest of their group was up before the sun. There wasn’t much in the way of leave-taking: just a quick but hot breakfast, courtesy of Calanth’s excellent cook, and a transfer of their baggage onto the horses, beautifully turned out by Horesemaster Lewis. In a matter of minutes they were mounted and away, with Tad taking up the rear of the formation. They rode through Walter’s Bailey, where a few early risers waved at the Bishop and called out to greet him. Thaddius feared Valda might be among them, but to his great relief she was nowhere to be seen.

They rode West at a brisk pace, through the city of Straight around noon, after which the road turned Northwest. They kept riding, past a large number of farms and a small caravan, until they encountered a fork in the road: onward lay Coldmyr Lake and, eventually, the Barony of Ardengard. The road branching South, sturdily built but neglected for decades, would lead them across the border and into the Southlands.

It was at this modest crossroads that the party dismounted and checked their arms. Riding around in the early Autumn heat wearing armor was uncomfortable and tiring, but only a league south lay the border of Aspera. Beyond that there was no law. It was all fine and good to let your guard down a little when riding on the King's Road in times of peace, especially while accompanied by two well-known and easily-recognized Riders. It was another thing entirely to neglect one's safety in the wild.

Basil exchanged his tattered robes, much cleaner since their visit to Nearshore, for a padded jerkin and a long shirt of fine chainmail. It looked too delicate to be useful as armor, but cloaked as it was in flowing green and yellow overgarments it had a kind of grand flair. The elf would have looked every bit the ancient elven warrior if it weren’t for his rusted and nicked sword. The Bishop donned his own, more mundane, chain shirt and ensured his knobbly staff, or cudgel as he insisted people call it, was where he could lay his hands on it. Earkey put on a suit of metal scales that seemed so large for his size he would surely fall over.

Nolan and Tad had ridden all day with their leathers on, and didn’t need to change. Tad strung his crossbow, and made sure his sword and dagger were still where they belonged. The sisters always rode armored in metal-studded leather no matter how safe their path, but they took the opportunity to loosen their weapons and take up lances from the packhorse. Their business ends were nearly two feet of diamond-shaped steel, narrowing to a newly honed and deadly-looking point. Lancing was, Tad had been told, harder than it looked but an extremely effective tactic. Each sister had brought three of the long heavy spears, just in case something big needed to be poked at from horseback.

Meanwhile, Minzerec looked on this preparation with the supreme disinterest of one who puts faith in his own mind over base tangible things like pointed sticks and bits of iron.

Basil produced a thick metal flask, sipped from it, and passed it on. In silence everyone drank, except for the Bishop who touched it to his lips ceremoniously. Nadia was last in line and, when she was finished, passed it to Tad. When he didn't take it right away she pushed it into his hand and, compelled by an urge not to disappoint her, he took a mouthfull and swallowed. Something harsh and flammable hit the back of his throat and up into his head, then went down his throat and set his lungs on fire. He coughed and wheezed so hard he nearly fell off his horse, and several pairs of hands had to steady him and thump him on the back until the fit passed.

Thus buoyed, the group turned resolutely South.