Dragon Blood

4—TISALA

Tisala paced the confines of Ward's room. Waiting here while someone else dealt with her problems was harder than the role she'd accepted in her father's little plot—which was just what Ward had thought it to be.

It had been her father who proposed it, Alizon had been none too happy about her knowing everything—his plans were more than Ward had guessed. Enough more, she hoped, for her father and others she cared about to triumph over Jakoven. But Ward had been brutal in his dismissal of Alizon's rebellion, and his recital had had the ring of truth about it.

She'd been too long among men who grasped every straw as a great hope and built a house of it. Everything she knew of Ward told her that he saw the world as clearly as any. If he saw disaster, she was afraid he was right.

It was too quiet.

A keep always has noise: people going about their lives, the clash of weapons as the Guard trained, the creak of wagon wheels. With the king's troops here it should have been louder than ever. But there was no sound here at all, not since the tremendous booming cracks of wood on wood, and Tisala was growing even more nervous.

She sat down abruptly, fighting the dizzy exhaustion that claimed her at unexpected minutes. Some aspect of the magic Oreg had used to help heal her, Ward had explained.

The soreness was mostly gone, though her left hand ached. Oreg warned her it might not ever have much strength, but he'd been pleased that she could open and shut it completely. She'd been pleased that it was still on her arm. She remembered distinctly wondering whether she should try to cut it off herself before the bandits attacked her. She hadn't realized she was so close to Hurog.

She pushed back her hair wearily and clung to the carved post of the nearby bed to stand, knowing that if she stayed in the chair she'd fall asleep no matter how anxious she was.

Ward's tunic hung over the end of the post. There was a salt-sweet smell that clung to the fabric, a smell that lingered in his bed as well.

Would she have come here if it weren't for that compelling memory of an afternoon spent riding and joking?

Ward probably had such afternoons often. But no man before had ever teased Haverness's daughter, who could outfight, outride, and, mostly, outwrestle anyone. No man had ever flirted with her before. Perhaps she'd misinterpreted, perhaps he'd just been polite. But at least he didn't see an abomination when he looked at her.

Well, she wouldn't embarrass him by hanging all over him. She knew how to be a comrade in arms, someone men were comfortable with. She wouldn't make a fool out of herself. She pulled the fabric of his shirt against her nose and breathed in deeply, all the while sneering at herself for acting like a silly girl half her age.

The door opened and Tisala dropped her hold on the shirt, adopting a defensive stance as Stala strode in. Tisala relaxed as she realized the woman hadn't seen her sniffing Ward's shirt.

"Ah," said Stala briskly. "We've much to discuss. Lord Duraugh will be here in a few days and we need to decide what to do with you. I expect Duraugh will strip Hurog of every soldier here and take them to Estian, but we've got to keep you safe as well. How are you feeling?"

His aunt's voice was quick and biting—from habit, thought Tisala, and not any particular irritation.

"Better than I should be," she answered. "What has happened that Lord Duraugh needs Hurog's men? Where's Ward?"

"The king's troops took Ward with them to Estian to stand trial—no, no, girl," snapped Stala impatiently, "don't look like that. As far as I could tell they didn't have a clue you were here, and Ward kept them out of the keep. It had nothing to do with you." She gave Tisala an assessing look. "Do you know why Ward was fighting in Oranstone five years ago?"

"Four years," corrected Tisala before she could stop herself. Clearing her throat she continued before Stala could wonder why Tisala would keep track of how long ago it had been since she'd seen Ward. "Because the king threatened to imprison him in the Asylum—he and Tosten were just talking about it." The thought of Ward in one of those barren little cells she knew all too well made Tisala feel ill.

Gods, she thought, he won't last long.

Stala said, "Ward won enough acclaim for stopping Kariarn's invasion, the king couldn't very well declare him mad, not then. But time has passed and Ward hasn't done anything else remarkable. People forget. Unlike the general populace, though, Jakoven has a long memory, and a grudge against the family of Hurog. It's not your fault they took him. If anything, from what Ward told me, it sounds as if you are a victim of the king's ire with Hurog rather than the other way around."

Tisala took a step away from the bed, impatient with the weakness that caused her to sway unsteadily. "You can't let them take him to the Asylum. Have you ever been in it?"

Stala shrugged, but Tisala could tell she wasn't happy. "I didn't let them do anything. Ward decided he'd go with them and gave the rest of us our orders. I'm to make certain you're safe." She narrowed her eyes and grabbed Tisala just as her knees gave out. The older woman's firm grip propelled her back into her chair.

Stala's voice softened. "He'll be fine, lass. Our Oreg is trailing them. He won't let them do anything to Ward—gods help them if they try. Oreg doesn't have Ward's fine political sensibilities. Tosten's gone for Duraugh—and that man is as sly a politician as ever was bred from this family. If Duraugh can't get him out by negotiation, Oreg can get him out with power. Ward's safe enough. Don't fret. We just need to decide how to keep you safe."

Keep her safe? Would Ward have gone with them if he hadn't had to worry about her? Tisala shook her head firmly. "I came here because I was hurt and needed a place to hide while I healed. I can keep myself safe. Give me some food and I'll be fine. You don't have to do anything more for me—but" — she leaned forward—"maybe I can do something for you."

"Oh?" Stala pulled a chair up and sat close enough for soft conversation. "What can you do for us?"

"Much of my work these past years for Alizon has been with people not in favor with Jakoven, such people who have a tendency to end up in the Asylum." There, that was as fine a line between lie and truth as she'd ever trod. "As a result, I know a lot about the Asylum and how it operates. If politics don't work, and someone has to break in to get him out—I can help."

If the Hurogs were more loyal to the royal house than Tisala believed, she might just have signed away everything she'd worked for. The Hurog family had strong ties with tradition, and tradition had them supporting the king no matter how he treated them. Tisala was betting that Stala and Ward's uncle loved Ward more than they loved tradition.

"Most of the people imprisoned there are people of little consequence or power," commented Stala. "At least now."

Tisala forced a smile. "Most of the people who support Alizon are people of little consequence. But there are a growing number of them."

Stala let out a breath. "Right. I won't stop you leaving as soon as you wish, but waiting for Duraugh might be better. He knows when a mouse sneezes in Estian; he'll know how to use your information."

"When is he coming?"

"Tosten set out to find him as soon as Ward left. Perhaps as little as four days."

Surely Ward could survive a short time in the Asylum. It would take days of travel before he was actually in Estian. She knew a man who'd lived there for years.

Tisala stretched her stiff neck. "I'll wait for Lord Duraugh."

Tisala slept most of the day, and awoke the following morning feeling much better, especially after she ate the enormous breakfast that had been left to cool by her bedside. When she finished eating, she stretched out gingerly. Sweat poured off her forehead anyway, but when she was finished, most of her stiffness was gone.

Ward's staff, which she took from its place against the wall near his sword, was too long. Her left hand, as Oreg had speculated, wouldn't grip right, so she had to alter some of the steps accordingly.

Stala came in without knocking as Tisala was in the middle of turning a slow cartwheel using the staff as an extension of her hands. If the ceiling had been lower, or the room smaller, it wouldn't have worked.

"Not a particularly useful move," Stala observed dryly.

Landing lightly on her feet, Tisala smiled neutrally. "I've found it very useful in my line of work. In the middle of the second act, the warrior goddess teaches the hero how to defeat the emperor's evil wizard. It doesn't bring in much, but it pays for my room and board."

"You've been acting?"

"Ward's told you about what I was doing in Estian," said Tisala. It was a safe enough guess. Now that she wouldn't be able to go back to it, there was no harm in Ward's aunt knowing about her role. "As Haverness's daughter I couldn't work—not and keep my status as a lady, but being a spy is an expensive lifestyle."

Her father had sent her money once, but she'd told him not to do it again. The chances of someone making the connection were too great—and Jakoven would love to have an excuse to take Haverness for treachery.

Tisala continued, "One of the men at the inn where I stayed was an actor; he got me the part. I wear a mask, and the theater's in a district not overrun with nobles anyway."

Stala nodded her understanding. "Ward told me that you can use a sword—high praise. Can you use a staff as well?"

Tisala shook her head. "Not right now. This staff's too long, but I suspect my left hand's not up to it even with one the right size."

Stala examined the hand in question, turning it this way and that.

"The sooner you start pushing it, the sooner it'll recover," she said at last, returning Tisala's hand. "I think we can find a better fit for you than Ward's weapon. That boy could use a tree trunk. The Guard is working with staff today in the bailey. I've a Seaforder, several Tallvens, and a few Avinhellish men, but we've not had an Oranstonian here in my memory. It would do the men good to see the difference between Oranstone style and ours."

Tisala felt a real smile spread over her face. It had been so long since she'd been in a sparring match with trained men. "Fine."

Staff fighting gave way to the sword over the next few days, then hand-to-hand and bow.

Tisala was in her element as she'd never been. Here the men weren't afraid to lay into her just because she was a woman. There were better fighters among the Guard, but she was far from the worst, and Stala taught her a few tricks. What lingering weakness she felt began to fade hour by hour. When she put her head down to sleep, exhaustion gave her dreamless rest instead of the nightmares she'd been plagued with since she left her torturer dead in Estian.

By the end of the morning workout, three days after Ward had left, she felt well enough that she decided to set out for Estian that afternoon on her own rather than wait for Lord Duraugh.

While Tisala wiped off sweat and exchanged friendly insults with the Seaforder she'd been sparring with, she decided what she'd need to ask Stala for: a horse, supplies, and money for bribes.

The sound of a horn's staccato blast from beyond the newly repaired gate brought everything to a standstill.

"Lord Duraugh," said Stala. "It's about time."

Stala put her fingers to her lips and blew a sharp whistle that was answered by a horn. At that sound the men guarding the gates scrambled to open them. A second whistle had the Blue Guard in formal formation. Tisala stepped in beside Stala and watched Ward's uncle ride through the gates with half a hundred men, including Tosten and Beckram.

Their horses were stumbling tired, and Stala sent a group of her guards to help the grooms with the animals.

Ward's uncle was a big man, too, though not so extraordinarily large as Ward. The Hurog blood was easy to see in the shape of his face and his coloring. Like Tosten and Oreg, his eyes were a luminous blue very close to being purple. They swept over the men in the bailey, touched briefly on Tisala, then settled on Stala.

He dismounted and yielded his gelding to a groom without comment. "The king's men are close on our heels. I dared not take too many men from Iftahar—Ciarra is due to give birth to my grandchild any day. Without us there to bargain with, like as not they'll leave her be, but I needed to give her a force to fight with if the king decides he really needs all the Hurogs, rather than just the men in Estian."

Stala frowned. "What do you mean, all the Hurogs? And why are the king's men chasing you?"

Beckram answered her, "The day before Tosten reached us, I had word from a friend that the king was going to summon us all to him. Tosten told us that the king has already taken Ward."

Tisala, standing unnoticed behind Stala, had forgotten how effective a weapon Ward's cousin had in his voice and face. The rich baritone caused a pleasing flutter of her heart, and his face combined the best of Hurog features with unusual golden skin tones and reddish hair. Unlike Ward, Beckram was very handsome—she'd heard somewhere that he'd married Ward's sister.

"We decided to lead them away from Ciarra and find out if Hurog were still safe, before we let them catch up with us," said Duraugh. "Have you had any word from Oreg?"

Stala nodded, though Tisala hadn't seen any messengers come or go, nor any sign of a carrier pigeon coop. Maybe, being a wizard, Oreg had other means of communication—although her father's wizard had not.

"He says they're two days out of Estian. Ward is fine. Oreg says he's already won over the general, though none of them, possibly with the exception of Garranon, have a clue what they're dealing with."

"He's not trying his stupid act again?" exclaimed Beckram.

Stala rolled her eyes. "Of course not, but you know how he is. Even without the act most people think he's not too swift."

"It's the eyes," added Tisala, deciding it was time to make her presence felt. "They're lovely, but not the eyes of a clever man."

Tosten grinned at her under his dirt. "Nope, it's that it takes him so bleeding long to say anything. Uncle Duraugh, Beckram, allow me to introduce Ward's warrior-maid and Haverness's daughter, Tisala. Tisala, you already met Beckram, though you might have forgotten." His tone made it clear that he was well aware that no woman, having once met his cousin, would ever forget him. "And this is my uncle, Lord Duraugh. Though he's Shavig to look at, he holds his estate in Tallven, which gives the king's chamberlain ever so much trouble at formal dinners—does he sit with the Tallvens or the Shavigmen?"

Lord Duraugh set aside his weariness and bowed with automatic courtesy. "Lady."

Tisala smiled. She bowed in return. Women who topped six feet looked ridiculous and awkward bobbing up and down, so she avoided curtsies when she could. She remembered meeting Lord Duraugh and his son any number of times in Estian, though she doubted they could say the same.

"Lady," said Beckram.

"I congratulate you on the upcoming birth of your child, Lord Beckram."

A glorious smile lit his weary face. "Yes, and I'd give my right arm to be with her now, but I wouldn't sacrifice Ward—no more than Ciarra would let me. My mother's there, and she's devoted to my wife. Ward's troubles aside, we'd have put her in more danger by staying—the king's men won't fool around at Iftahar when they're looking for us." He turned his attention to Lord Duraugh. "Father, we don't have much time. What are we doing?"

"Stala," said Lord Duraugh, "I've got to leave you here. No sense rescuing the boy and having Hurog overrun while we're about it. How many men do you need?"

"You've fifty men with you, and we can mount that and fifty more on trained, well-rested horses," Stala said. If she felt any resentment at being left behind, Tisala couldn't see it. "That leaves a hundred here—more than I need. If you'd like, we can pull a few more horses off pasture …"

"No," said Duraugh. "I don't want to feed and house more than a hundred in Estian anyway. It's too expensive and unnecessary. I need to make a showing, but if the king decides to take us, it wouldn't matter had I twice a hundred."

"As to expenses," said Tosten, "I know you didn't bring much extra from Iftahar. Hurog can help support this army—I know that Ward has some gold stored away. I'll bring it as well."

Duraugh nodded. "It would help. I have some banked in Estian, of course, but I wasn't planning on feeding an army there."

"I'm coming, too," said Tisala. "I know the Asylum and I owe Ward a favor."

Duraugh hesitated, obviously wondering why Haverness's daughter would know anything about the Asylum. A shrewd look passed over his face. "We'd be delighted to have you."

That fast he'd made the connection Stala had missed; Tisala could see it in his eyes. Haverness's daughter, with a known sympathy for Alizon's rebellion, could have only one reason to know the Asylum so well: The Asylum had been built to hold the king's brother. In Stala's defense, though, it had long been rumored that Kellen was dead.

"Good," she said, half surprised that Lord Duraugh's speculations bothered her not at all. Being at Hurog had obviously made her less wary. "I'll stay out of sight in Estian. You don't want the Hurog name tied to that of a known rebel."

He nodded and turned back to Stala. "Can you get my men settled? They need the rest. We'll start at first light tomorrow—we've that much lead over the king's men."

In the morning it was Tosten who organized the distribution of fresh horses, while Stala dealt with men and supplies. Tisala helped where she could, saddling horses and running messages. She'd just gotten back from such an errand when Tosten led a sizable liver chestnut mare with a wisp of white on her forehead and handed her the reins.

Tisala knew that something was up from the expressions on the various faces of the guards around her, but the mare didn't bolt or show any signs of bucking when Tisala lowered herself onto her back.

"That's Feather," Tosten said, stepping into the saddle of his own fresh mount

"What's wrong with her?" asked Tisala, indicating the watching crowd with a sweep of her gaze.

Tosten grinned. "She's Ward's remount—no one else rides her, except our sister, Ciarra, in her wilder days. Don't worry, he'd want you to have her. You'll just have to sit on her a bit to keep her back with the rest of us."

Tisala was taken aback, knowing how Ward felt about his horses. Had her feelings for Ward been so obvious? She didn't allow anything to cross her face, but she was afraid Tosten saw it anyway. He grinned at her, then rode over to help direct the last few mounts.

Stala stepped up beside her and put a hand on the chestnut's shoulder. "When this is over," she said quietly, "visit us again. Ward would enjoy sharing Hurog with you."

Stala grinned suddenly, doubtless at the expression on Tisala's face. "He's recounted to me every blow you struck against the Vorsag and every word you spoke to him. You're not so obvious, but I'm an old woman. I've seen how you touch things that belong to him. Come back."

Tisala glanced around quickly to make sure no one was listening. "I am older than he by five years, and hardly a beauty to make a man's heart beat faster. He'll do better finding a pretty Shavig maid."

Stala smiled and stepped away from the horse. "You make his heart beat faster, and five years is less than nothing to a man's soul. Come back."

The journey to Estian seemed longer than the one Tisala had taken here. Her hand ached in the morning and she was grateful Feather's soft mouth allowed her to use only one hand on the rein.

By evening they'd ridden by a small trading town and were in the lower hills that marked the barrier between Tallven and Shavig. They camped near a creek that night. To Tisala's relief, they'd left the snow behind in the mountains of Shavig.

The morning of the second day dawned without a sign of the king's men. Tisala tossed an icy handful of creek water over her face, hoping to wake up. While she was wiping her face, several horses cried out a warning—then it sounded as if every animal in the camp went mad.

Feather, she thought. Even if she hadn't seen Ward with his horses, the guards' attitude would have made it plain that Feather was precious to him. The last thing Tisala wanted to do was to explain how she'd let the mare get hurt.

She found Feather at her picket rolling her eyes at the other animals, though not unduly alarmed. The rest of the horses were kicking and fighting as if they were dragon-frighted. Feather'd broken out in a light sweat, but calmed at a few soft words.

The worst disaster averted, Tisala turned to see what had caused the fuss, expecting to see a bear or even one of the great mountain cats.

The blood rushed from her head and she swayed against the mare. Dragon-frighted, indeed. There in the midst of their half-packed tents and scrambling men stood a creature that could only be a dragon.

It was a huge and glittering creature in every shade of blue and violet she'd ever seen. The dark midnight blue on its extremities faded to violet-rose glinting with iridescence like a sea-pearl. The bony structures of its half-furled wings were black and shiny with faint patterns of gold that carried through on the lavender scaled membrane that made up the bulk of the wings. Light purple-blue eyes contrasted the irregular, dark blue scales of its face.

Tosten stood alone in front of it, his fists clenched as he shouted at it. As soon as Tisala realized that everyone else was fighting horses or scattered too far away to help him, she drew her sword, leaving Feather where she was tied. The dragon's attention was on Tosten, so Tisala advanced at a walk. It hadn't done anything yet and she didn't want to incite it.

She'd crossed half the distance between them when she heard what Tosten was saying.

" … not here!" Hot anger threaded his voice, though she hadn't misread the fear on his face. "No one is supposed to know! It's too dangerous: You know what Ward says. There are a hundred people here—someone will talk. Do you want to be hunted by a thousand want-to-be mages who are after your magic?"

Tisala stopped where she was. This was, it seemed, a private conversation for all that Tosten was shouting at the top of his lungs.

The dragon's head snaked forward with deadly swiftness and Tosten's hair parted from its breath. Ward's brother paled but held his ground.

"I'll ride out to meet you as soon as I find my horse," he said. "Which might take a while, thanks to you. Go away."

The dragon took an enormous breath and huffed it out, twisting its head and glancing at Tisala briefly. Then it heaved itself onto its hind legs and up into the air, vanishing over the edge of a ridge of mountain to the west.

Tosten turned to her with a look on his face that was almost pleading.

Before he said anything, Tisala answered that look. "Hurog means dragon." I've seen a dragon, she thought giddily.

"And when the rest of the world finds out we have one, they'll be camping at Hurog's doorstep waiting for a chance to kill him," said Tosten, running a worried hand through his hair. "Damn it. He knows better than that."

She nodded. "I'd pass out the word that Ward will be unhappy with anyone who tries to seriously pass around this tale if I were you. Not being a Shavigman myself, I never claim to see dragons."

Tosten smiled wearily, and she remembered he'd ridden twice as far as Lord Duraugh and his men.

The runaway horses were caught and rumors flew about what had spooked them. (From what Tisala heard, only a few people had actually seen the dragon—they, like she, had been trying to calm their mounts. Most of them had had significantly more trouble than she'd had.) The cold night with just a hint of frost ensured that everyone was gathered around the small fire where Lord Duraugh's cook was handing out bowls of warm mush.

Tosten cleared his throat and avoided his uncle's eye. "It surely was a strange windstorm we had this morning."

"Strange indeed," answered Duraugh solemnly.

Tisala could tell by the expression on his face that Tosten had not thought his uncle would say anything. Tosten had known about the dragon, thought Tisala, watching their faces, but his uncle and cousin hadn't until this morning. Hurog blue eyes met in a soundless argument, Tosten pleading for time. It occurred to Tisala that the dragon had had Hurog-blue eyes as well—just like Oreg, who'd gone to watch out for Ward.

"Frighted the horses but good," said Beckram. "I dare say that a storyteller would make up something about a great monster who scared the horses—but that might make it harder for us to get the Hurogmeten out of the Asylum. These lowlanders are greedy for things they don't understand; they might think that Ward had something to do with a mythical beast."

Tosten gave his cousin a grateful look.

Lord Duraugh glanced about at his own men. "I would be very unhappy if a rumor were to make it more difficult to free my nephew. Very unhappy." He sounded it, too.

"What windstorm?" said one of the Blue Guard, a man named Soren. "It was Bethem's snoring that startled the horses."

Bethem, whom Tisala knew as one of the best swordsmen in the Guard, spit on the ground. " 'Twas naught but your wife—she's scared the hides off braver animals than our horses."

"It was a giant sea turtle a hundred feet long, blowing flame from his nose," said another man. "Would have ate us all, but for Bethem's snoring. It thought he were another giant turtle, even larger and more ferocious, so the monster turned and fled back into the sea."

After a while the camp settled into a more normal atmosphere. The men cleaned their dishes and packed camp, saying nothing more about the incident, but there was a subtle, understated glee in their faces as they worked. Dragons, said each cheerful whistle, each blithe look, were a good thing for Hurogs.

Tisala finished her packing and walked to where Tosten was huddled with his uncle and cousin.

"We're ready to ride," she said.

Lord Duraugh looked at her, and with the air of a man ending an argument said, "I'll get them started. Tosten and Beckram have an errand to run, and I'd like you to go with them."

"But—" said Tosten.

"She already knows enough to ruin us if she wants to. If he came for the reason we all think he did, she might be able to help him. Now go, before he gets impatient and creates another incident."

Tosten and Beckram mounted without another word. Tosten set out away from camp at a trot, not looking to see if Beckram and Tisala were following him.

As soon as they were out of sight of the camp, Ward's wizard, Oreg, stepped out of the trees.

"I've bad news," he said.

Tisala looked into his eyes, which were purple-blue, just as Tosten and his uncle's were. Just as the dragon's had been. And her speculation solidified—somehow Oreg and the dragon were one.

"It must be important," said Beckram, sounding not at all like his normal self. His horse shifted uneasily, looking for whatever had disturbed its rider. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry," said Oreg, looking from Tosten to Beckram. This was not the reserved, somewhat intimidating man Tisala knew from Hurog. This man was shaken and worried—and was apologizing for appearing in the middle of the camp in the guise of a dragon.

Not a guise, she thought, remembering Tosten's reaction. Oreg was a dragon. A dragon who was supposed to be watching over Ward.

Tisala dismounted and gave a huff of disgust at the two Hurogs and the wizard. "Oreg, you have just shown me the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, but if you don't tell us what happened to Ward, I'll kill you myself."

Oreg raised both hands from his sides and said simply, "I can't find him. He was there when I went to sleep last night, but when I tried to find him this morning, he was gone. Their camp was pulled up and their tracks lead to the city. I checked out the Asylum and the king's castle, but I couldn't find him. I can feel him but I don't know where he is. I always know where Ward is."

"The king had his wizards build a place in the Asylum to contain mages. Could something like that keep you from finding Ward?" asked Tisala.

Oreg stared at her for a moment. "It might."

"The king said he was taking Ward to the Asylum," she said. "We have no real reason to doubt that. When we get to Estian, I know people who can get me in so I can look for him."

"He's frightened," said Oreg, his eyes almost blank. "I can feel his fear. He doesn't scare easily."

"All the more reason to believe he's at the Asylum. We'll find him," she promised. She glanced at Tosten and Beckram. "Let's get going. The sooner we get to Estian, the sooner we get Ward."

"You all have the wrong idea," said Tisala to Tosten, who had taken up a post by her side for the day.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I am not now, nor ever will be Ward's woman." It was baldly put, but Tisala didn't know any other way to fight the assumptions that Ward's people were making. Riding Ward's mare was only adding to the problem.

"Hmm," replied Tosten gravely, though a faint smile tilted the corner of his mouth up. "You don't like my brother?"

She didn't know how to answer that without lying or giving the wrong impression, so she closed her calves against Feather's sides and the big mare increased her pace and left Tosten behind.

He waited the better part of an hour before approaching her again.

"I don't know how much you've heard about my father," he said when they were close enough for conversation. "But, being an Oranstonian, you've probably heard the worst of it. Ward, when he speaks of him, will tell you that he was mad. But I've always believed he was evil."

He stopped there and rode with her until she thought he'd said all he'd intended. At last he continued, "When I was a boy, we had a kitchen maid, the daughter of one of the stablemen, whom everyone was in love with. I was thirteen and thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. It was more than her face and form—though those were remarkable—it was … joy, I suppose is the right word, though happiness would work as well." Tosten gently dissuaded his gelding from snatching a bite of grass. "I don't think that she and Ward were lovers until the night my father tried to rape her."

"Ward stopped him?" she asked.

"I used to think it was Stala," he replied. "But I've thought about it since, and I think Ward sent Stala there. The maid was carrying trays from my mother's rooms when my father walked by her. I was hiding from him—under a piece of furniture in the hall—and when he stopped I thought he'd found me, at least until she screamed.

"She fought him hard—and he let her. If he'd wanted to, he could have stopped her struggles easily. He was almost as big as Ward is." Tosten stopped speaking again.

They ate lunch in the saddle and Tisala made no move to push him. When Tosten resumed his story, he did it as if there had been no break in their conversation.

"My aunt Stala came in running." Tosten closed his eyes. "I think she heard the screams. No one else in the keep would have gone to rescue a woman trapped by my father. Stala knocked him away from the maid, then slapped her, I think, because the screams stopped. I couldn't tell, since my view was limited by the hall table I was hidden under.

"Stala helped the maid up and sent her to my brother's rooms." Tosten let out a huff of air that might have been a laugh. "I think now, that night was the first she spent in my brother's bed. But at the time I felt truly betrayed: by my own inability to face my father down and rescue the maiden, and by my brother's relationship to the woman I, a thirteen-year-old, thought I was in love with. I couldn't deal with my own shortcomings, so I blamed them all on Ward. I listened to Stala and my father fight—both verbally and physically and then have sex in the hall—and I thought about the maid and my brother doing the same thing and I hated them all."

There was a smile on Tosten's face when he turned to look at Tisala, but his eyes were flat. "So when the castle laughed at my stupid brother's devotion to his little serving maid, I laughed, too. He followed her around all day at her chores, carrying the laundry baskets or the serving trays for her, and at night she slept in his bed."

Tisala didn't want to think of anyone sharing Ward's bed, but she set the feeling aside and listened to the story.

"Ward would have been about fifteen or sixteen during that time, and already a big man. My father had begun to avoid him—I think he was afraid of what Ward could do. So he did nothing about my brother's unseemly devotion, which went on for a little over a year before she married someone else."

Tosten's breathing was erratic, and Tisala could tell that this story was not without cost. "One day I walked by my brother's room and stopped because the door swung open by itself. Hurog was haunted, so it wasn't that uncommon to have doors move on their own. I wasn't frightened until I heard Ward crying. He would have married her, I think, if she'd have had him. But she knew her place, if he didn't. She left for Tyrfannig and a marriage with a merchant her father knew." Tosten rubbed his gelding's neck. "She had a miscarriage a few weeks later—the day I heard Ward in his room. I think it was Ward's child. I wish I'd gone to him when I heard him crying instead of closing the door.

"I didn't know if I was going to tell you the whole thing or not," said Tosten. "But it seems the right thing to do. None of us have seen Ward like this since then. He doesn't have casual relationships. He doesn't flirt, he doesn't light up with eagerness when other women come into the room—just you." He gave her a quick grin. "I wanted you to know that I don't just think of you as—how did you put it? Ah, yes, Ward's woman. I believe it's much more serious than that."