They took a southern tack, staying within the borders of Woest as long as possible before turning west. After crossing the Blue River, they wound around the west side of the clear cold lake, away from the city of Tarne, along a narrow strip of land that separated the lake from the mountains. This route would take longer, but Waithe felt they were much less likely to encounter hostile forces.

Waithe took the rear as they rode single file along a narrow rocky road among tall trees. He took a moment to assess this unlikely band - no conquering army were they. But the Spirits brought them together for a reason and there were connections between them that he did not yet understand.

He was the only warrior of the group, equipped with a sword on his back, a long knife at his belt, and a throwing knife tucked into a boot. A bow and quiver of arrows were tied to his saddlebag, but he generally used them only for hunting.

Alden had training in the arts of war, probably reluctantly so at the insistence of his parents. While he had not the fierce heart of a warrior, he was resourceful, dedicated, and surprisingly level-headed in tense situations. His technique with the long knife he carried at his waist was fair at best, but his skills as an archer were indeed impressive. And who knows what strange devices hid in his saddlebags.

Ceres, both vulnerable and powerful at the same time, had no fighting skills whatsoever. However, her access to Magic through the Spirits made her a force to contend with. She had the kindest of hearts, something Waithe came to admire, a dichotomy of weakness and strength. Perhaps more than anything, that was why she was called to this quest. Of them all, her life was the most important.

Eira was an enigma to Waithe. Several times this mute little girl rose high in dire situations, all with her characteristic impish grin. From what Ceres said, her Magical abilities were unprecedented for someone so young. She seemed so happy, especially considering what she had already endured in her short life. Even now she played with the Spirit Phy who darted about her. But somewhere buried deep in her mind must lurk dark memories of past trauma. Her ultimate purpose in this cause was unknown, but it must be important. Phy had led Ceres to her.

Ceres looked down at her reflection as her horse passed a puddle. She groaned. "My hair!" The dye that had turned it dark faded unevenly, leaving blotchy streaks in her hair. She turned her head back to the rider behind her. "Does it look horrible, Alden?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it. He thought for a moment. "How should I answer that, my beautiful Lady?"

Waithe choked back a laugh, grinning instead. Ceres shot Alden a narrow-eyed glare, and then one at Waithe. She rolled her eyes back. "Better I should know than to ask a man such a question." She bent forward to the little girl who sat in front of her. "What say you, Eira. Does my hair look horrible?"

Eira nodded with the most sincere eyes. Ceres clamped her eyes shut and sighed.

Waithe said, "Let us find a roadhouse for the night. There be some ahead near the hot springs that discretely cater to the elite. A soft bed and a warm bath would do us well. And there, my dark-haired Lady, you may restore your true color."

*****

"Waithe, of all your choosing, this be perhaps your best. This place, the view of the lake, the fine food, and the feather beds are so wonderful. And oh, bathing in the hot spring pools was divine." Ceres brushed her renewed sandy blonde hair as they sat on the veranda of their cottage, the remains of a breakfast spread on the table before them.

He grumbled, "For how much it cost, well it should be."

"Once we save the Realm, I say we return for a longer stay."

Waithe lowered his eyebrows as the faint sound of footsteps in fallen leaves behind him came to his ears. His words took a serious tone. "Ceres, pull your hood up about your head. Alden, does someone pass behind me?"

Alden answered, "Aye. A man, he looks this way."

"Be he short, long red beard, and a scar across his forehead?"

Alden's eyes grew wider. "Aye. You know this man?"

Waithe frowned. "Soon I shall. He watched us last evening as we arrived and again when we took dinner." He stood up and stretched his arms. "Continue as you were. I shall go have a friendly chat with him."

Waithe walked toward a small nearby privy, constructed of the same rose-colored stone that made up the walls of the cottage. He opened the creaky door and closed it again, but did not enter. Out of sight of the man, he circled around the backside of the cottage.

The man knelt behind leafy bushes, peering between branches. He alternated his gaze between the trio now seated on the cottage veranda and a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

Waithe came up silently behind him. "Most improper this spying be."

The man jerked in surprise, his eyes wide. He stumbled back to a sitting position braced with one arm. He reached with the other to a knife on his belt but found Waithe's blade at his throat before he could draw it out.

Waithe nearly whispered, "That would be unwise, my new friend. Now toss it aside."

The man gulped as he slowly pulled out his knife and flicked it away. Sweat began to form on his brow.

Waithe snatched the paper that laid on the ground beside the man. It announced a reward for the capture of Lady Ceres followed by a description of her. With a shove from Waithe, the man fell backward and slammed hard onto the ground. He yelped as a boot came down on one of his hands and pinned it. The tip of Waithe's long knife pressed against the skin under his chin, nearly piercing it.

Waithe bent forward such that his narrowed eyes peered directly into the man's wide eyes. "Whether you live or die depends on how well you answer my questions. Do you understand, friend?"

The man's head made a series of small nods as his jaw quivered.

Waithe held up the crumpled paper. "First question, who gave you this?"

The man held silent, but a bit more pressure on the knife helped him find his voice. "Soldiers, I know not from where."

"Describe them."

"Black uniforms. Some wore hoods and face coverings."

"How were you to contact them?"

"I... I do not. They come every five days."

"And when do you expect them again?"

The man tightened his lips, then groaned as Waithe's boot heel pressed down harder on his hand. "Today! Today around midday. Please! I tell you what you ask."

"Indeed so, friend. That be why there still be breath in your lungs. One more question, how much did they offer for this Lady?"

"Twenty gold marks."

The man visibly shook as Waithe smiled. "Only twenty? You could have bargained for much more."

Waithe hauled up the man by his collar in a single move. With his blade still at the man's throat, Waithe marched him ahead, dragging him when he stumbled.

Alden abruptly halted as Waithe came upon them. Waithe said to him, "Get the horses ready! We leave now and head back south. But first, my new friend here needs to relieve himself."

Waithe dragged the man to the privy and swung the door open.

The man gasped. "You do not mean to--"

"Your first choice be dead or alive. And depending on how you choose of that, your second choice be feet first or head first."

The man seemed nearly to cry as he squirmed down the narrow opening into the pit below. Waithe gave him a final push and he fell in with a splash. Waithe then slammed the privy door closed and moved a boulder in front to bar it closed.

Ceres, who watched all this, put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, Waithe."

He shrugged. "I did not kill him, my dear Lady. Someone will find him later."

Alden ran back with the horses. Within a few moments, they were loaded and ready to go. Alden led the way and at the road, turned to the south.

Waithe called out. "No Alden. We go north."

Alden creased his brow. "I thought you said... Oh, of course."

As they continued on the narrow road Alden read the crumpled paper that Waithe took from the man. "A reward for Ceres' capture... But why do they post it here? We had fled east to Woest. How would they know we returned to the Lake Lands?"

Ceres jerked upright. "Waithe, could they know we journey to Kust?"

Waithe thought for a moment. "That be troubling. If Reverend Quar helps them, then Scias and Raste might surmise that we would seek the Shadow Spellbook in Kust. She would have read from the same journal that we took from the Medice archives. Or they may just be casting their net very wide, no expense have they yet spared to take you, my dear Ceres. In either case, we must be more cautious."

Alden asked, "How much of a reward do they offer for Ceres?"

"The spying man told me twenty gold marks." A grin came to Waithe's face. "But I think I could have negotiated much more, perhaps fifty. What think you, Alden?"

"Hmm. I think at least a hundred..."

Ceres snapped her head around toward Alden. Eira mimicked the same narrow eyed glare that Ceres shot his way.

"My dear Ceres, to me you are beyond priceless."

The edges of her lips turned up and a faint flush came across her face. Unseen by the others, Waithe nodded in admiration, Alden was learning fast.

Openings in the tall pines revealed high snow-capped mountains to the west. Patches of golden yellow appeared among aspen groves on higher parts of the slopes, signaling the start of autumn. To the east, the lake narrowed to a clear stream that tumbled down among large boulders. The beauty of this place was almost enough to distract Waithe from the feeling of unease that prickled his gut.

As the sun reached its zenith, the road narrowed to a path framed by pink speckled walls of granite to one side and the stream to the other. They had seen no one else the whole morning, which well suited Waithe. Leading the group, he scanned ahead for the trail that would take them west through a mountain pass into the lands of Kust.

The trail curved around a huge block of granite that must have fallen from the cliffs above. Piles of rock lay behind it. Waithe pulled back sharply on his reins to stop his horse. Before him, and just as surprised, were four horsemen wearing black. Dark hoods obscured their heads and black sashes their lower faces.

Waithe narrowed his eyes and drew the sword from the scabbard on his back in one fluid motion.