The young man named Driss did indeed rejoin them two days later, when Deirdre and her friends were still several days out from Westport. It embarrassed her how much she enjoyed having the young fellow again in their company, and for a time she felt so self-conscious of that fact that she was sure that everyone could see her inner thoughts.

Her reaction was to shield her feelings by being unpleasant to the young man, which alternated with her smiling at him in various silly ways. She realized that wasn't a terribly flattering look, so she soon took to avoiding him entirely.

For his part, young Driss was a perfectly charming and amiable companion. He had been informed that Sir Alexis had departed Pepperdine to rejoin his companions, so it was with the knight's companions that the young fellow intended to remain.

The lands thereabouts were governed by an elderly lord who was vassal to Baron de Vere. And as Deirdre and her friends travelled south, various riders came and went along the road, including soldiers and messengers of the lord, a fellow named Sir Constantine.

There was something ill afoot, there was no question about it.

She wasn't quite certain where the Fiend was during those days. Reverend Ainsley had remained behind at the spring under the guise of giving the place further study. No doubt he followed along as he sometimes did, getting into no telling what sorts of mischief and deviltry as he did.

They would see him soon enough, in one guise or another.

In the meantime, Deirdre enjoyed travelling with Isabel and the mother superior. Among her many skills, the nun was foremost an historian, and as they rode and while they rested the sister regaled them with the histories of the various peoples of Albion and the eastern continent.

The woman even knew a great deal of zoology, and Deirdre and Isabel had spent part of the afternoon on their third day after the spring listening as Mother Ignatia explained the peculiar history of the Gelt, the ugly little horse that Isabel had obtained in northern Albion.

"Okay ...," said Isabel, when the nun stopped to take questions. "You've talked about the great Gelt migrations. What does that have to do with my horse?"

"Darling child," said the cleric, "the horses merely are named after the people. The Gelts are an ancient tribe who migrated into this part of the world more than a thousand years ago. Those little plains ponies were a mount much favored by them."

"So, where are these Gelts, now?" asked Deirdre. "You said they conquered half the world."

"Why that's easy enough, young miss. I'm a Gelt! ... And you're a Gelt. Most of the people of Albion, Ghitland, the Frisian lands, and even the folks of the Reef, trace their roots to the Gelts."

"But not Avaria?" asked Deirdre.

The nun glanced at Isabel, who all save Deirdre thought to be a native of that land. "Perhaps. People do love to spread their seed around. But most folk in Avaria and Haute Bisk are of a different stock altogether. They are more closely related to the folks of Etruscia."

"And what of the Dacians?" she asked.

"Ah. They are an entirely different people."

"Some say they're not people at all," said Deirdre.

"Bah, such scandalous chitchat," was the nun's sweet reply. "If they aren't people, then what are they?"

"I was raised to believe they are kin to the trees."

Her words got the nun to laughing in earnest. "Such things people say, such things."

Their small party was not spread out. One of the guards, a fellow named Beck, rode well ahead, but the sergeant and the other guard were always nearby. The various messengers and patrols that they had seen warned of more raiders in the area, so the men were on their guard.

It was good that young Driss was with them. He was an incomparable fighter, a Samedi the Fiend had named him. The explanation the creature had provided for that name was sparce. Though the fake preacher had answered her questions on the subject, she hadn't perfectly understood any of it. He was a good and patient teacher, but there often was a gap between his explanations and her limited vocabulary to give voice to such ideas. This was one of those times.

"A creature of Source magic," he had said in conclusion. But that didn't make any sense at all. Before she was able to ask more, exhaustion had overtaken her. They had parted ways early the next day.

But Driss was with them now and had taken to riding beside the sergeant and chatting about things peculiar to the male species. He was an amiable lad, and he sat a horse better than most anyone she'd ever seen. Even Sir Armand, who was accounted a gifted equestrian (for all his size), didn't handle a mount so well.

A hostler he called himself. A free soldier, the Fiend had called him. That sounded very much like "mercenary" to Deidre.

She had just formulated the intention to ask Mother Ignatia about what she knew of Samedi, when a high whistle sounded up the road. Their scout, Beck, was whistling and pointing up the High Road. Black smoke rose in the distance.

Driss immediately goaded his mount and soon was racing down the High Road toward danger. The sergeant hesitated, looking several times up the road and several time at the young women who he had been ordered to protect.

"Go!" cried the mother. "Someone may need your aid. We'll be fine."

The sergeant hesitated no longer. He ordered the last of the guards, Smead he was called, to stay with Deirdre and the others and turned his mount to race down the road.

Against the protestations of Smead, Deirdre, Isabel, and Mother Ignatia followed as fast as the nun's lumbering donkey would allow them to ride. The poor woman, sitting in an awkward sidesaddle, had a difficult and bumpy ride over the next league as they raced at their best pace toward peril.

When they reached the source of the smoke, it was to find a small hamlet with some cottages ablaze. There were several fallen soldiers along the road, all of them in the same bright gold surcoats as the raiders from near the spring days before.

The fighting appeared to be over. And Sergeant Eaton spoke with an older knight along a curve in the High Road. The men, being men, paid the women no attention when they arrived. War is war, after all.

A little polite eavesdropping appeared in order. And it was profitable. It appeared that the raiders were more than mere bandits. The sigil on the tabards the men wore had been unknown even to Reverend Ainsley—and the Fiend knew most everything—but the elderly knight, Sir Constantine it turned out to be, was sure they were the colors of a minor landed knight in the service of Etienne de Margot, the jackal who led the rebellion against the king.

There was little doubt what was afoot. The villain de Margot hoped to weaken the king's forces by sending raiders into otherwise safe lands in an attempt to force the monarch to pull troops from the front line to guard towns and to chase away the raiders.

Sir Constantine, heavens protect him, was having none of that. He insisted his men would drive off the interlopers without bringing troops home from the front. It was a merry good notion to Deirdre's ears.

She still was innocently sitting her mount listening to Sir Constantine and the sergeant speak when the free soldier Driss arrived from the woodlands to the north. His mount moved at a light canter, and the fellow actually seemed gleeful. What a lean and handsome bloke he was. She still wasn't certain what a Samedi was, but she liked it all the same.

To her surprise, he rode straight up to her.

"Hullo," he said without preamble. "It was dreadfully wrong of me to dash off without a thought of your safety ... and the safety of Lady Isabel and your mentor."

"We're quite good at taking care of ourselves. Thank you. Was it a jolly battle?"

"It was hardly worth the name. There couldn't have been more than a dozen, and his lordship's men were here before the sergeant and I. We killed a few and lit a fire 'neath the tails of the others."

"So, a good day's work?"

"Alas, I'm not being paid. ... I like to think of it as a courtesy."

She could hide a smile, but gifted the lad with one, nonetheless. "Is that how free soldiers make their livings? Doing just deeds for the innocent?"

"I'm an 'ostler."

"A hostler? Mounted and in heavy plate? Swinging a sword like a champion? The horses where you're from must be fearsome beasts."

The chap's smile widened. "I was a free soldier once, but then I decided I wanted something different. Now I look after war steads."

"You never mentioned what your message was for Sir Alexis," she said.

"Ohh ... that's for his ears only."

"I'm his daughter. What you tell him you can tell me."

"Would that were true, Lady Deirdre. I would spill you my every secret. But these words are the words of my employer."

"So ... not your secrets to spill?"

"You have the right of it, m'lady."

"Well, in that case, you can share them now. Sir Alexis rides up behind you even now."

And there the Fiend was, once again in the form of the great knight, astride his mighty stead, riding in their direction.