They climbed steadily through the darkness, their breath pluming out, their horses swimming through a gray ocean of mist. They’d been traveling for two hours when the sun crested Eastgate, spilling into the Vale below.
As the mist cleared, they passed through brilliant sunlight and cool shadow, between banks glazed with maiden’s kiss and starflowers. Tiny speedwell bloomed in the crevices, monkshood and larkspur in the creek beds. Spirea and columbine smudged the slopes in sunnier areas. Once, Dancer pointed out a half-grown fellsdeer fawn.
They paused at midday to rest the horses and eat a meal of biscuits and ham. When they passed the turnoff to Lucius Frowsley’s place, Han wished he could stop and tell the old man that his friend Alger Waterlow still lived, in Aediion. If that could be called living.
But their business was at Marisa Pines, and so they pressed on.
In late afternoon, while they were still a few miles from their destination, Han heard the thunder of horses approaching at a run. Han and Dancer exchanged glances, then moved off the trail to wait.
Four riders galloped toward them on tall flatland horses. Foam dripped from the horses’ mouths, but the riders spurred their mounts as if they were being chased by demons.
Three of them were young—younger than Han—one middle-aged. As Han and Dancer watched, one of the riders groped at his neckline, turned, and sent a blast of flame over his shoulder.
“Wizards? Here?” Han leaned forward in his saddle to get a better look.
Two of the riders had passengers slung across their saddles in front of them. Children, in clan garb, limp as rag dolls.
Five Demonai warriors galloped out of the trees, riding hard in pursuit. They stood up in their stirrups, raising their bows, but seemed hesitant to shoot with the children on board.
Dancer heeled his horse forward, riding straight into the wizards’ path. Han followed, blocking the trail.
The wizards reined in, their horses rearing and plunging at this sudden obstacle.
Now the Demonai bows sounded, and the unencumbered wizards dropped out of their saddles. The clan warriors formed a rough circle around the two still-mounted wizards.
One of the young wizards carrying a captive brought his horse to a crow-hopping stop. He was dressed in finely tailored riding clothes. He raised his hands away from his amulet. “Don’t shoot! I—”
A Demonai arrow pierced his throat. One warrior leapt lightly to the ground and seized hold of the horse’s bridle, while another lifted the child to the ground.
The remaining wizard—the middle-aged one—seeing what had happened to his companion, wrenched his horse’s head around, trying to ride off the trail and past Han and Dancer. Unfortunately for him, there was a drop-off on that side. Horse, rider, and child tumbled down a steep slope into a ravine.
Han dismounted and plunged down the slope after them.
The child had flown from the horse and landed in the rocky creek bed. The wizard was trying desperately to slide out from under his mount, which had fallen on top of him in the shallow water. Above Han, on the trail, a bow sounded. And another. Two arrows bristled the wizard’s chest, and he slid under the surface.
The child wasn’t moving. Han worked his hands under her, and carefully lifted her out of the creek. A girl of perhaps six years, she was bleeding from the head, and her arm hung at an impossible angle. She lay perfectly still, eyes open, tears leaking out on either side.
Han turned toward the slope, supporting her head and shoulders to prevent further injury. “I could use some help, here,” he called.
One of the Demonai slid down the slope toward him, landing a few feet away. She was a stocky warrior, her face streaked with Demonai symbols. She looked familiar to Han, but he couldn’t quite place her.
The warrior raised her longbow, aiming at Han. “Put the lytling down, jinxflinger.”
“Trailblazer!” Dancer shouted, from the trail above. “Put your bow away. That’s Hunts Alone. He’s trying to help.”
The warrior’s name jostled Han’s memory. She was Shilo Trailblazer Demonai. Han had recently seen her at Raisa’s coronation party at Marisa Pines.
Trailblazer glared at Han, then slid her bow into its sling. Between the two of them they managed to carry the little girl up to where the horses waited.
The other warriors had a small boy laid out on the ground. He looked like he might be a four-year.
“He’s not moving, but I can’t find a mark on him,” one of them said.
“They’ve been immobilized,” Dancer said. “Here, let me.” Placing his hand on the boy’s chest, he gripped his amulet with the other and disabled the charm.
The boy reached up and gripped Dancer’s braids. “Jinxflinger took me,” he said.
“I know,” Dancer said. “But you’re safe now.”
He already knows that word, Han thought. Jinxflinger. Are we ever going to get past this?
“Leave the girl immobilized until we can get her to Willo,” Han said, trickling a little power into the child to relieve the pain. “What happened?”
Trailblazer spat on the ground. “These four jinxflingers kidnapped two of our lytlings—Skips Stones and Fisher. I suppose they meant to trade them for amulets.” She smiled grimly. “Now they will have to explain themselves to the Breaker.”
“Who were they?” Han asked.
“They didn’t introduce themselves,” Trailblazer said, shrugging as if wizards were all the same anyway.
The younger ones might have been students at Mystwerk, made desperate by the Spirit clan embargo on amulets. Powerful amulets were more and more difficult to come by—even the temporary kind. When they could be found, they were incredibly expensive.
“Let’s get the lytlings back to Marisa Pines,” Dancer said. Han mounted up, and Dancer handed the injured girl to him while the Demonai looked on uneasily.
“We will escort you into camp,” Trailblazer said. “To make sure nothing happens to you. Tempers are running high.”
“Let’s go, then,” Han said, worried about the girl in his arms and eager to hear what Willo had to say about this new business. He nudged Ragger forward, scattering the warriors in his way.
As they neared camp, there were signs of troubled times. The usual greeting gaggle of lytlings and dogs was nowhere to be seen. Grim-faced sentries stood along the road that Han had traversed hundreds of times in his childhood. Some of them Han knew—by sight, anyway. The Demonai leaned down to explain the outcome of the chase. The sentries nodded to Han and Dancer as they passed, but kept their weapons in readiness.
Han and Dancer dismounted in front of the Matriarch Lodge. Willo’s apprentice, Bright Hand, met them at the door. Han handed Skips Stones off to him, disabling the immobilization charm.
Willo emerged from the back room. “Bring her here, Bright Hand. I have a bed ready.” She glanced at Han and Dancer. “Please, share our hearth and all that we have. There’s tea brewing.” Then she disappeared into the rear.
The smoky upland blend brought a rush of memories as Han sipped at it. Would he ever feel at home here again?
It was more than an hour before Willo ducked between the deerskin curtains hiding the back room. “Skips Stones is sleeping now. I’ve set the broken bones, and she was able to take some willow bark. She was alert and talking. I think she will be all right. I’ve sent Bright Hand to fetch more supplies. Come—we’ll sit with her.”
They followed Willo into the rear, where Willo had