Isabel hated the idea of leaving Sir Alexis behind, even if only for a few days. But the knight eventually had convinced her that his injuries were minor and that they would be safest traveling to Westport in the company of Chancellor Malotte and his armed party while Alexis sorted himself out.

Besides, the chancellor wanted to make a great show of displaying the Glaive, a holy relic that Isabel and their party had recovered from the deep mines of Proxima Thule. In the end, as was often the case in this crazy land, she was incapable of saying no.

So, with her heart in her throat, she bid the brave knight adieu at the humble lean-to that was his temporary hospital bed. Their parting was sad and uplifting in equal measure.

It was well into spring by then, and after leaving Alexis and departing Pepperdine, they made their lazy way along a dense forest road that followed the coastline southward. Their party was about 30 in number, guards and all, and the day was spent in delightful conversation with Deirdre and their new friend Mother Ignatia.

The older woman reminded Isabel very much of Reverend Ainsley. She was tall and lean and erudite in a way that left Isabel breathless. There did not seem to be a single topic upon which she was not well read and well informed.

But could the mother superior be termed a friend? Well, in Isabel's old life, no. The woman was far too grown up and mature. But things were different in Albion; Isabel was different. Here, maturity was the rule. Feckless childish goofing about, which was much of what Isabel had done in her old world, simply was not done. Here, everyone was an adult, even the children ... at least after a fashion.

Deirdre, who Isabel was certain wasn't even yet 16 years old, spoke to the mother as a peer, asking her about all manner of things having to do with science, history, and philosophy, and listening attentively when the cleric spoke.

It was a different world entirely.

But for all the pleasant conversation and enlightening debate, this wasn't her favorite stretch of country. She found herself looking around far too often and not realizing until afterward that she had been looking for Alexis somewhere in the marching order.

She always blushed when she caught herself doing that, despite herself. That man did have an effect.

It was only a short ride to Westport, less than a week by the estimation of Sir Armand, who was dependable on such things. And after the first full day's riding, a restful night in their tent with Isabel, and a half day's riding more, she found herself becoming more comfortable with their traveling situation.

It was just past noon on their second day of travel when the column came to a stop. It was no cause for alarm. The western part of Albion was relatively free of the war, but enemy scouts and patrols did sometimes venture into the area, so, out of an abundance of caution, the column on occasion stopped at the sight of strangers.

When their most recent peril came into view, Isabel was out of the saddle of her ugly little horse without thinking about it. Soon she was running toward the tall black-clad figure who strode toward them.

It was no other than Right Reverend Moorcroft Ainsley, her friend and guide, a fellow who she had not seen since first encountering him nearly a year before. He was a tall and lean fellow, far too handsome for such a scarecrow of a man, and he was a man of God. But she threw all propriety to the wind and ran straight into the cleric's arms.

Before she knew it, she was babbling on in one long stream of words, trying her best to tell him everything that had befallen her in the last year. It was only after she felt another hand on her shoulder, that of a smiling Deirdre, that Isabel realized that she was yammering on like a child.

She felt her face suddenly redden.

"I cannot tell you how good it is to see you, my child," said Reverend Ainsley in his sweet and warm drawl. He reached out. "And sweet Tuppence. The Walking God truly has smiled upon us all this day."

"Oh, he definitely has," said Deirdre. It almost looked like there was a tear in the youngster's eye.

It was only when the reverend turned and regarded their traveling companions that Isabel realized that Moorcroft Ainsley, who otherwise was dressed in his usual black ensemble of britches, frockcoat, and broadbrimmed traveling hat, was completely barefooted. From where she stood, it was apparent that his feet were dirty, blistered, and bloody. She had to bite her tongue to keep from speaking.

"Who are your august companions, Tuppence?" the reverend asked. "I see no hint of my friend Alexis."

"This is the king's chancellor," said Deirdre, "Mr. Malotte. And coming up yonder is Mother Superior Ignatia, from the Frisian lands."

The reverend moved forward with a raised hand. "My dear chancellor, and Mother Ignatia. May your road be smooth and the way easy."

"So, you're Moorcroft Ainsley," said the chancellor in his usual phlegmy voice. "I've heard the king speak your name more than once. Where have you gotten yourself to, good reverend?"

"Why right here in the road, with my feet firmly on the ground, as any decent man should," was the reverend's modest reply.

A sour look flashed across the chancellor's face. In the society of Albion, a humble and pious man walked. The portly chancellor was astride a handsome charger.

"Well, it's past time for our noon meal," the chancellor said. "Captain, get us a fire going, yonder. We'll take our leisure for a time."

The chancellor then led his horse off at a walk, a put-upon look on his face.

By that time, the nun had dismounted from the borrowed burro she was riding. Pious people walked, but Isabel was under the impression that riding a burro or a donkey was the next best thing in terms of piety. In no time, the two clerics had made their introductions, and the four of them—Isabel, Deirdre, Moorcroft, and Ignatia—were settled by a stream listening as the reverend regaled them of his recent exploits.

"It must be here, somewhere," the cleric insisted.

"So you keep saying," said Deirdre. "You just haven't said what 'it' is."

"Child," said the preacher in a patient tone, "the tracing and rediscovery of lost paths, those trod by the Walking God himself, is a precise and vexing science."

The face of Mother Ignatia brightened. She said in a hushed voice, "You've discovered such a thing?"

"I do believe I am close, but though I have been walking these sacred fields for many days, I have yet to see success. Some days more of prayer and careful contemplation, and I am sure we will triumph."

"Ohh ...," said the nun. "Do tell us more!"

"It was an inspiration from the far-off horizon," he said. "Saint Haziq of the Long Shanks came to me in a dream. And though I have found books and learned discourse to be the surest path to the truth, the saint was a dreaming I could not ignore. This is the path of faith!"

Isabel had heard such pious words in the past, but those utterances from the mouth of Moorcroft Ainsley had a power and a solidity that she'd never imagined. The conversation went on longer, and after a time Deirdre brought some water and tended to the reverend's sore and injured feet.

Her young friend was such a practical person.

Isabel had found that it wasn't uncommon for those of deep piety not only to walk, but to walk with bare feet as a sign of their devotion. Some even crawled the length of pilgrimage routes, paying no attention to how rocky or rough the road might be.

Ever practical Deirdre had ignored the preacher's injured feet as long as she was able, before finally rising with a deep huff and a roll of her eyes and fetching the things she needed to tend to him.

The preacher was a wonderful man, but everyone needed someone in their life to keep them grounded and to sometimes put them in their place. For the reverend, it appeared, that person was Deirdre.

Soon after, they ate. The chancellor was an impatient man, and not long after they took their last bite, he indicated that it was time for them to go.

Armand had been keeping his company with the soldiers as he was wont to do, only looking over from time to time to ensure that Deirdre and Isabel were where he had left them. He walked over now.

"Deirdre and I have talked it over," Isabel said to him. "The reverend has asked us to stay a time and help him divine for a lost route here in the forest. Perhaps it will give Sir Alexis time to catch up with us."

The knight gave her a look. Alexis had tasked him to travel ahead to Westport in order to meet some supply ships that were arriving with troops and materiel for the war. Before he could speak, she continued.

"Sir Armand, it will be fine. These are peaceful lands. And Reverend Ainsley and Mother Ignatia will be here with us. We'll continue to Westport in a few days."

"You are a pious woman, Lady Isabel. It does my heart glad to see that. But isn't finding the Glaive sufficient religious duty for the time?"

They talked on the matter a time longer. Sir Armand could be touchy when it came to Isabel's safety, and he had sworn to look after Deirdre. They struck a compromise. The chancellor agreed to leave a handful of his guards, and Armand departed with the Glaive in his saddlebag for safe keeping. This was war, and he had duties to attend.

With that, they set out with what remained of daylight in search of the elusive path that had been trodden by this land's Walking God.