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Greenwillow, eyes hot and brows puckered, rounded on him. "Whining again? Know this, mortal man. Perhaps I do go to throw my life away! It's no matter. I've been ordered to go, and I shall-alone, if need be! To cast defiance into the One King's face will teach him that there are those who oppose him, real fighters, not coin-counters!

"As for you," she added, "stop dragging your feet! I remember a man who strode boldly down the roads and disdained all danger. Now I'm saddled with a carping cripple! Obviously the wraith drew more than strength from you; it ripped out your heart as well! If you wish to continue your 'spiritual journey'-as much as humans can have spirits-you'd best get on with it! Hiding behind stone walls will not restore your strength or spunk. Choose that, if you will. Choose to fail! But don't whine at me about your losses! I've lost more than you'll ever have!"

Stunned by this tirade, Sunbright could only stand as the elf marched down the road, nose high. He hadn't whined at all. Had he? And he hadn't suggested they not go. She was being obstinate and heaping blame on him for nothing. With his dizzy thoughts and aching back and clumsy feet, he didn't know what transpired, or even what he was anymore.

Nor did he know what Greenwillow was. She was an elf, which was mystery enough, and a woman, so doubly mysterious.

He could only go on and hope for the best. If he died, then perhaps that's what the gods intended for him. He wouldn't linger, or whine.

He did, however, curse a great deal, and that made him feel somewhat better.

That night, thinking that orcs preferred open reaches, they made a cold camp in the woods. Greenwillow had shot two fat rabbits, but they dared not light a fire, so Sunbright sliced the tough meat very thin, and they chewed it raw.

The elf agreed to take first watch, sitting against a tree, arms across her knees. Sunbright, who was exhausted, folded his blanket, pinned it shut with splinters, and flopped on his back. His throbbing head had whirled the day long, and finally he'd realized he lacked one thing: information. So, fighting fatigue and sleep, he asked quietly as the late sun set, "Greenwillow, why?"

For a long time there was silence. Then a soft sob choked her. Arching his neck, the man saw a tear course down her pale cheek. Sniffing, she whispered, "I was drunk, I'll admit. Elves tend to hold their emotions close, especially around humans. And it works against us sometimes, for too much wine or too much magic or too much fighting can make us lose our heads, go berserk or lust-mad. But I liked you and was lonely, and wanted to share myself with you.

"But in an eye-blink you pushed me away and chased another. I was forgotten, but I shan't forget.

"We can march side by side, fight shoulder to shoulder as comrades-in-arms. But that is all we'll be."

Day by day, as summer aged to autumn and the highland woods were tinged with red and yellow and orange, they pressed on. The lands of greater Dalekeva ended not far into the hills, and there were miles and miles of unsettled hinterlands. They made good time, even though they slid through the forest parallel to the road, never traveling on it. Out in the open, eating well, drinking pure springwater, tramping steadily and sleeping deeply, Sunbright found his strength of limb and leg returning, though an ache deep inside lingered. At the end of a day's march he swore if he thumped his chest it would ring hollowly, like a cracked bell. But the lack inside would heal, the cleric had promised, so he waited patiently.

With Greenwillow he talked once again, but only of incidentals. Which trail to follow, whether they might flush quail from a thicket, whether footprints they came across were those of men or orcs, or both. But they said nothing of the heart and shared no stories. Their evening camps were quiet enough that they could hear squirrels scrambling amidst their acorn harvests, and owls on tufted wings beating the night air to seek scurrying mice.

Eventually they passed into the realm of Tinnainen, though the city was still miles off. First was an isolated cabin, empty, with the door ajar. Then a stronghold cabin, two stories of logs with arrow slits on the second floor, not burned, but abandoned. Then late one afternoon they topped a rise and saw, curving below, a long, narrow valley. There were farms at the bottom, the fields harvested, the granaries full, the livestock corralled for the night, the chickens and geese penned. The road to Tinnainen cut straight across, due east.

"Looks quiet enough, for an occupied territory," hissed Greenwillow. Neither had spoken loudly since leaving the river.

"Even conquerors must eat," the barbarian whispered back. "You can't feed an army on rape and loot. Better to threaten the peasants into farming their hardest and leave them to it."

Greenwillow scooted forward and peered north and south. Both could see the valley ran for miles. "It's either walk miles out of our way to keep to the woods or wait until night." To never cross open land by day was an ingrained rule of the wilderness.

Without speaking, they decided to wait. They found a hollow spot, propped their baggage as pillows, and napped. Cool night air filling the hollow woke them, and they strapped on their packs and weapons in the dark.

Down the slope, slipping from tree trunk to tree trunk, they made their way. They paused a long time at the edge of the woods, tiptoed out to peer at the road, and listened. Finally they set out, hands free, wary. Sunbright hissed at the first field, for his heavy feet crunched grain stubble. Greenwillow moved with no more noise than fog.

They passed downwind of a large farm, but something roused the dogs, and they set up a ferocious barking.

Hard after came a long, low whistle from the woods ahead.

Sunbright locked his feet even as Greenwillow grabbed his arm. "Look!"

The elf's eyes had picked out what roused the dog. Straining, Sunbright saw it too.

A patrol of soldiers: hunched, knotty-armed, bow-legged. The two turned to discover another patrol coming up behind them. They were caught.

In the past, Sunbright Steelshanks would have put down his head and outrun them. But his old strength was gone, and he'd marched the entire day. Quietly he shed his baggage and drew Harvester, the leather-steel heft a comfort in his hands.

"Run. I'll hold them."

But Greenwillow, too, dropped her burdens and drew her slim ornate sword with a silvery shiver. "Comrades we are and shall remain."

Back to back, the two leveled their weapons and awaited the oncoming enemy.

Chapter 9

Many strange things had happened to Sunbright since he first fled his tribe, but what happened next was the strangest of all.

Taking a fresh grip on Harvester, he was judging in which direction to swing first when a growly orcish voice sounded in the still night. "Good evening. Would you care to break bread?"

"What?" the barbarian gasped aloud. Break heads, he must have said. Behind him, Greenwillow squeaked.

The patrol fanned out as if to attack, but halted a dozen feet away. The barbarian saw now that there were men scattered amidst the orcs, confirming the rumors they'd heard in the marketplace. These were the same sort of orcs that had attacked him a year ago in the Barren Mountains: Thousand Fist orcs with neat gray tunics embellished with a red splayed hand. There were six of them, with obsidian-studded clubs or short swords, and three humans. The men wore the same uniforms, and all three had shaved their heads, probably because the tunics came infested with lice and fleas. Sunbright would expect to find only the lowest sort of lazy scoundrels mingling with orcs, but these seemed average sorts, if quiet. Lack of bathing had turned their skin grayish in the manner of orcs, however. Their eyes roved over the half-elf.