AS THE LOPSIDED orb of the three-quarter moon rose above the castle, the slanted rooftops and scalloped battlements sparkled with new frost. If a keepe could be topped with crystalled honey, Bhaltair reckoned ’twould look thus. Unable to remain for the evening meal, his stomach grumbled at the thought.

But as ever with the Skaraven, he would shoulder his burden without complaint. At times, the weight of his mortal lives seemed too much to bear. But it was not the infirmities of old age that pressed the spirit down, it was the consequences of past mistakes. Bhaltair sat up taller in the saddle. There was yet the chance he might set matters to right.

As he guided his sturdy brown mare out of the stables and into the true cold of the night, he bunched the cowl of his robe tight about his neck. He ought to be abed with some logs in the hearth, but what Perrin had told him couldnae wait. He had calmly promised her he would do what he could, and not just for the sake of the grisly fate she’d seen for him.

“Only remember, lass,” he had reminded her, “that far-seers behold many futures. One change today can forever alter tomorrow’s fate.”

“I get that, but I’d really like to change this one,” Perrin said. “If nothing else, please, be sure to get a message to Brennus about the attack.”

He used his heels to urge the little mare forward, only to find his way blocked.

“Master Flen,” said Maddock McAra, taking a gentle hold of the bridle. “Do you find my hospitality so wanting that you’d steal way in the night?” He patted the side of the horse’s neck.

“Surely no’, milord,” Bhaltair said. “’Tis druid business that demands my haste. For my part, I’d like naught more than to sit at your table and warm my creaking bones at your fire. I’ve no love of the cold, nor travel at night.”

“If ’tis safety that worries you, you’ll have a room in my garrison,” the diminutive lord said, not letting go. “There’s naught safer than to be surrounded by my fiercest warriors.”

Bhaltair shook his head. “’Tis no’ fear, milord, but duty.” He waited for McAra to release the mare’s bridle, but he didn’t, and Bhaltair suspected why. “Your lady worries you,” he said gently.

Some of the tension in the laird’s shoulders released.

“Aye,” he admitted with a sigh. “Without Lady Emeline, I fear the sickness ’twill return.”

“Keep her food and drink separate from the rest,” Bhaltair advised him. “’Twill keep the sickness at bay.”

“So ’twas Oriana’s doing?”

Bhaltair nodded gravely. “Aye.”

Maddock’s hand tightened on the bridle. “The search for that cunning wench ’twill continue through the night.”

Bhaltair didn’t bother to tell him that Oriana had likely gone.

“As to the night, milord…” Bhaltair said, pointedly lifting his reins.

“The mad druids and their giants ’twill surely attack,” Maddock said plainly. “Your magic might make the difference when ’tis time.”

Bhaltair spoke just as plainly. “’Tis precisely why I must reach the Sky Thatch, milord.” He raised his voice, summoning the authority of his many incarnations as he gazed down at the laird. “This night.”

Maddock stood his ground for a moment, as though he were considering something, but then released the bridle and stepped back.

“Safe journey, Master Flen.”

’Twill be anything but that, Bhaltair thought, but only said, “My thanks, milord.”