They reached Eldran's Keep later that afternoon. As the place loomed up before Uachi, he was struck again by the difference between this ancient, stone-walled place and the sweeping Imperial Palace in Karelin, with its gleaming white walls and jewel-bright roofs. The stone that had been used to build this keep must have been hewn from the earth not too great a distance away; in almost every way, it seemed like it had sprouted up from the landscape, as at home here in the rolling green fields and hills as a mossy rock.

Beyond it loomed what had looked like a mist from so far away: the remnants of an ancient forest that was now no more than scattered, naked trees, most of them blackened and charred, the ground beneath them devoid of any life.

"What happened to that place?" Uachi asked, indicating the broad swathe of the forest with a nod of his head.

Diarmán walked on toward the keep with his eyes straight ahead, as if he preferred not to acknowledge the forest. "My grandfather burnt it to the ground some thirteen years ago now," he said.

The obvious question was, Why? but Uachi could tell from Diarmán's tone of finality that he would not be as forthcoming as he had about other things. He chose not to press him. He was not here in Narr to unravel mysteries about mad lords and charred forests; he was here to retrieve Uarria and Ealin. All he cared to do in this place was confirm whether Diarmán was indeed a lord with the power to give Uachi a horse, and to plan from there whether they would travel together toward Aólane.

Closer now, Uachi could tell that the device on the banners was a pair of crossed daggers, one of them slender and curved, the other a straight-hilted weapon. The same device was echoed in bronze on the huge doors of the keep, which stood open, revealing the way into a stone-floored inner courtyard. Within, the courtyard was empty except for a well, the flagstones broken in places and weeds sprouting up here and there. There was an aura of disrepair about the place, as if the household was in decline. Now that they'd reached it, it was believable that the travel-worn Diarmán could be a lord in such a place.

Diarmán strode to the center of the courtyard and stopped there, spreading his arms. He drew a deep breath and called, "I'm home!" at the top of his voice. The words rang off of the stone walls that rose up around them toward the sky, echoing back to them.

Diarmán lowered his arms. Uachi stayed where he was several paces behind, feeling unsettled.

Uachi glanced over his shoulder, looking for Farra, but the cat had paused just before the first flagstone of the courtyard. She lowered her massive head to sniff at the flagstones, her whiskers aquiver, and she cast a glance at Uachi, her lambent eyes wide and watchful.

"Come on, girl," Uachi whispered.

But Farra turned around and streaked away, her tail held out behind her. This was odd; normally Farra was not skittish around people, for she'd been raised at Uachi's side in Hanpe and had lived with him in the Holy City, usually staying there in the palace when Uachi was away. More than anything that had happened to that point, Farra's reluctance to step inside the thick outer walls of House Eldran's courtyard put him ill at ease.

There wasn't time to think through it or to go after the cat, though, because the sound of clattering footsteps had come from behind him. Uachi tensed, turning around with a hand on the hilt of his dagger, but what he saw was not intimidating in the least: it was a boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen with the same brilliant hair as Diarmán, racing across the courtyard on swift feet. He slammed into Diarmán, who staggered back, laughing.

"You're back!" the boy cried.

"So I said," Diarmán replied, ruffling the boy's ruddy hair. "Emón, how are you? How is Mother?"

"I'm well. She's...tired." The boy's bright smile faded somewhat as he noticed Uachi standing back and to the side.

Diarmán followed Emón's gaze. "Ah, yes: I've brought a guest."

Emón threw a guarded glance at Diarmán. "Does Mother know?"

"She will soon enough. Why don't you run on ahead and tell her? Don't worry, he won't be here long. And tell her I've brought her medicine, too."

Emón raced back toward the house with the same bright energy as he had displayed coming out. Diarmán started after him, gesturing to Uachi that he should follow.

Uachi was not the sort of person to fill silences. He was content to stay alert as they crossed through another set of huge doors and into a shadowed hall. Although it was light outside, this hall was interior to the keep and had no windows. Instead, fires burned low in sconces along the walls, permitting only a little illumination and filling the place with an oily scent.

Not for the first time, Uachi wondered if such trinkets as spirit globes and other magicked conveniences were used here in Narr. Although he hated such things, he could see how favorably they would compare from a practical perspective in such a vast, gloomy space as this.

Diarmán led the way. "This up here is the Great Hall," he said, "Obviously. Once upon a time we had more pretty things with which to fill it—sculptures and the like—but I'm afraid we are not quite so grand as we once were, so I go in, now and then, just to lend a little beauty to the place."

Uachi quirked a brow but made no response to the comment, which had been offered with breezy good humor. They passed by a door that permitted entrance into a vast, cavernous chamber. Uachi glanced inside and saw a huge table at one end of the hall, fit for seating twelve people, and more trestle tables arranged all through the place.

"A bit antiquated," said Diarmán. Uachi looked toward him, but Diarmán was walking onward. "Used in older times to entertain noble guests, knights, skilled servants, dignitaries and the Druitha."

"Druitha?" Uachi echoed.

"Religious men. I don't imagine their reach extended very far to the north—most of you in Penrua are probably Zanara's lot."

"We are," Uachi said, although he was not an overly religious man. "Are you not?"

Diarmán cocked a brow at Uachi. "There are more gods in the world than one, Uachi of the North. You can wait in here," he said. "A bit dusty, I'm afraid, but then, we don't get much use out of this part of the keep."

They stepped into a finely-appointed parlor, where beautifully upholstered chairs were arranged around an empty hearth. Although it was summer, it was cold in here, and Uachi was surprised by how the thick stone walls of Eldran's Keep seemed to insulate it from the warm sun. In the wintertime, it must have been a frigid place to live.

Diarmán led the way toward a plush chair, its colors dampened with the effects of dust and time, but Uachi did not follow. He lingered near the door at first, looking around. Another replica of the family's crest was crafted in bas relief above the grand fireplace here, and on either side of it hung crossed arms. On the walls were lavish, smoke-darkened tapestries depicting subjects unfamiliar to Uachi. There were tall bookshelves that put him in mind of Matei's parlor, heavily burdened with old books. The windows were hung with oppressive curtains that did much to block out the light, even drawn.

"Not a very cheerful place," Uachi said. After the words were out, he realized it was rude. He had never cared much about rudeness, but it would be a good idea to start. Offending the man who was offering him a horse was probably unwise.

"No, it's not," Diarmán agreed. He let himself fall back onto the couch he had selected. A puff of dust rose into the air around him. He sneezed, and then he laughed. "I like to think it was better in my grandfather's day, though. The Great Lord Emón."

"What is it you need to discuss with this High Queen woman?" Uachi asked, fixing Diarmán with a curious look. He stood now near the window, one hand on the cold stone ledge of the window sill. Outside, the grass stretched on like a swathe of lush velvet fabric, all the way up to the edge of that tragic, blackened forest.

"My household's future," Diarmán said. "I want to ensure everything's in order before my grandfather carks it."

"I wish you wouldn't speak so."

Uachi turned, surprised to see a beautiful young woman standing in the doorway. She was around Diarmán's age. She might have been an older sister, but her hair was ashen brown, her eyes dark, and her face whey-white in the gloom.

Diarmán sprang to his feet at once. "Mother." He strode toward her and accepted the hand she proffered, bending to kiss her knuckles and then press his forehead to her hand. "I'm sorry to be irreverent. How do you fare?"

Thunderstruck, Uachi looked from the woman Diarmán had called Mother to the young man himself. There was no way this woman had given him birth; she looked far too young, even had she aged gracefully indeed. The woman glanced toward him, catching him staring.

She did not answer Diarmán's question. "You've brought a guest," she observed, turning to Uachi. She extended her hand imperiously, but Uachi, never one to stand overmuch on ceremony, did not immediately move. He'd never in his life kissed a woman's hand—other than Ealin's, and that only in intimate moments.

Nevertheless, he intended to remain in Diarmán's good graces long enough to get the horse he needed to give Ealin proper chase, and so he closed the distance between himself and the lady and took her hand as Diarmán had, bending to kiss her knuckles.

"Mother, may I present Uachi. A friend. Uachi, my mother, Lady Moigré of House Eldran."

"My lady," Uachi said.

Diarmán added, "He's here for a day or two, no more."

The woman pulled her hand out of Uachi's grasp and turned back to Diarmán. "Did you bring it?"

He reached into his coat and withdrew a small bundle of cloth, which he offered to his mother. She took it, held it up to her nose, and drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent. Her eyes closed for a moment, in relief or in pleasure, and then she tucked the bundle into the pocket of her gown. "Thank you, dear. You do take care of me."

Lady Moigré turned to regard Uachi with a calm, cool look. "I am afraid you will not find luxuries in our house," she said, "but I do hope you will find comfort and hospitality. Please inform my son should you find anything lacking. I shall see you both at supper."

With that, the lady turned and retreated back into the hall, one hand resting on the pocket of her gown.

"Am I to call you a lord, then?" Uachi asked, unamused.

Diarmán shrugged. "You can call me whatever you want—it won't make any difference to what I am."