Firebrand

“Not recommend what?” Karigan asked.

“Going to the lumber camp where he thinks my father was last seen,” Estral said.

Captain Treman looked uneasy. “It is very near territory Second Empire has claimed for itself. The camp itself has been closed up for winter. No one there. If your father did pass through the camp, it would seem he has a penchant for living dangerously.”

“I’m afraid he does,” Estral muttered. “It’s the only clue I’ve gotten at this point.”

“The captain said it’s closed up,” Karigan told her, “and we aren’t going anywhere near Second Empire.”

“You aren’t,” Estral said, “but I can go where I please.”

Karigan wasn’t about to let her friend hare off into danger like that, even though Estral’s reason for joining in on the journey was for her own purposes. “Actually, I was thinking you could bide your time here while Enver and I continue north and—”

“It is not your decision,” Estral told her with surprising heat. “I am not yours to command, no matter what titles have been bestowed upon you.”

Karigan schooled herself before responding with her own heat. “True enough, but to ignore the advice and warning of Captain Treman, who has been in this region for some time fighting Second Empire, would not be wise.” Before Estral could reply, she continued, “Do not stay here if that is what you wish. Come with Enver and me, and perhaps we’ll find more clues. But please, don’t go walking into danger.”

“As if you don’t?”

Karigan felt her cheeks warm. “If I do, it’s because of duty. If you do and something happens to you, then I’m the one who must contend with Alton, and he would not be happy with me.”

Humor returned to Estral’s eyes. “That might just make it worthwhile.”

“Oh, dear gods,” Karigan muttered. She noted Enver looked curiously uncomfortable, and she learned the reason why a little while later while she soaked her wrist in the pan of warm water Destarion had prepared for her.

“Galadheon,” he said when he came to her.

“What is it?”

“About our travel . . .”

“Is there a problem?”

He looked uncharacteristically abashed. “Our path. It lies close to the Lone Forest.”

“What?” Water sloshed over the rim of the bowl with her reaction. Others in the room looked over at them. In a low voice she said, “Why didn’t you mention this before? Like a long time ago?”

“I did not know.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know? You’re the guide.”

“The way is, as you were told, found on no map. It is, as I explained long ago, a matter of intuition.”

Intuition. It was like some kind of terrible Eletian joke.

“If it helps, Galadheon, Eletian intuition is stronger than that of humans.”

Yes, but he was half human, she thought with rancor. Was his intuition only half as good as a full Eletian’s? The gods, she decided, hated her. Wayfinding by intuition? What was next? Finding the p’ehdrose through dreams?

Eletians.

RENNARD OF THE RIVER UNIT

Enver no doubt sensed Karigan’s displeasure and so moved off to once more sit by the fire next to Estral. Yes, she was sure the gods were laughing at her. Well, she’d have to make sure that when they neared the Lone Forest they were very careful. She would have continued to stew over it all, but Lieutenant Rennard sat down across the table from her. Now what? she wondered.

“Hurt yourself?” he asked.

“Broke my wrist last spring. The damp cold makes it ache.”

“I have a knee like that,” he replied. “Tramping out in the woods all day like we do doesn’t help much, but Destarion is good with the remedies. Don’t know how we got so lucky to get him, but he’s the best mender we’ve ever had. When we were posted by the Terrygood, settlers and lumbermen would come from miles around to see him. You’d think he worked miracles.”

Karigan swirled her hand around in the now tepid bowl of water. Of course Rennard would not know why Destarion had been assigned to the River Unit. The whole affair around the assassination attempt on the king, and the circumstances surrounding his precipitate wedding, had been kept quiet.

“I’m glad Master Destarion has been useful to your unit.” She removed her wrist from the water and dried it off with a towel.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Rennard finally said, “I am sorry I was disrespectful when we met in the woods.”

She was surprised by his apology. “I know that soldiers often think of messengers as lesser.”

“I am afraid that’s true,” he replied, “but I also think that perception is changing. It’s just that when we’re posted out here in the wilds, we are more coarse, rougher. Part of it is the danger; part of it is the nature of a group of soldiers living closely together and sharing that danger. Anyway, I had heard a little about you, but I guess I hadn’t believed it until we met out in the woods and you held your ground.” He laughed as though to himself. “Had I known you were a swordmaster and honorary Weapon, I would not have turned my back on you. And, of course, I should not have been so rude regardless. I apologize for the way we received you.”

“Hmm. Can’t say I’m happy about the hole your archer punched in my saddle, but apology accepted.”