straight ahead, his eyes itching from his tears, and kept going until he reached the small fire the bards had made. He could hear echoes in the distance, shouting and yelling, no doubt in warning about the flames that were still raging to the northeast.

  He sat down and stared into the campfire, his mind racing with the memories he had

  shared with Eryn. He saw the face of his wife in the flames, proud and strong but also tender and loving, her brown hair streaked with grey. She hadn't been anything extraordinary in her looks, but she had the incredible heart it took to love someone in spite of their disagreements and opposing loyalties. She had never been in favor of his policies on the Cursed, or on the mines.

  She had been willing to accept that he had, to a fault. At least until it had cost her son.

  Next was the face of his son, Teran. He wondered if the boy was still alive. He should be

  married by now, and maybe have children of his own. If he could ever settle down and have

  children. He remembered that his firstborn had been as ambitious as they came, running off to join his army on his sixteenth birthday, the very moment he was free to enroll as an adult.

  Aren had been so different. Quiet and thoughtful, every bit his mother's son. He had a

  strength of his own, one that he bolstered with words and kindness instead of sword and bow. He had always seen a hidden fire in his second son, sitting just below the surface of the calm and wise exterior. He had never imagined what he was seeing was the Curse, laying in wait to claim him.

  That was what he remembered. There was still so much he didn't. How had he come to

  join his army? Where had he trained? Who did he know? Why had he been allowed to stop serving? Where had the vicious wound across his body come from, and how in the name of

  Amman did he survive it?

  It was question, after question, and no matter how hard he tried to bring his past to the

  surface, there was still so little he could recall. He saw Alyssa clearly now, and he could bring to mind most of the fighting they had done over Aren. He could remember bits and pieces of things in flashes of images and voices.

  Murderer.

  Almost all of the memories had to do with his time as a soldier, moments in the time of

  the one part of his life he most wished he could forget. But did he? Would he be the same today, if all of that pain was taken away, and only the good came back? Would Eryn be alive, if he had no cause to help her? Would he even care to help the Cursed, or would he settle somewhere, and spend his days reminiscing on a past he could never recapture?

  Even so, he found no comfort in the vast holes of his past. He may have spent years in the

  gutter, scrounging for enough coin to keep himself drunk, but he would have thought he could recall something about himself. His parents? His birthplace? It was as though he had not existed, and then he had, his entire life already arranged.

  Silas reached into his pocket, seeking the paper he had taken from Roque's corpse. It was

  the message that the rider had been in such a hurry to deliver that he hadn't waited for the Mediator to reach the collection point. He took it out now, and turned so he could hold it up to the fire light.

  Roque,

  If you are sure it is him, you must prevent him from reaching Elling. If he has somehow thrown off the yoke of inebriation, it won't be long until he comes for me. You cannot allow this to happen! I don't need to remind you how dangerous he is, and how much more dangerous he can become if his memories return. Find him. At all cost, find him!

  - Iolis

  Silas stared at the note for a long time. He was certain that it was in reference to him,

  though he was unfamiliar with the sender's name. Who was Iolis, and why would he seek him

  out? It was clear the man didn't wish him to.

  "He knew I was drunk, but he didn't know where I was," he said out loud. "How could that be?" And why was he so afraid his memories might return? For that matter, how had this Iolis known he had lost them? All he had were more questions. The only thing he was sure of, was that at least some of the answers were to the north.

  "Silas," Robar said, approaching him again. "May I sit?"

  "If you can answer a question for me."

  "Does it have to be the truth?" The minstrel smiled.

  "Yes, although I don't expect you to know this answer. Who is Iolis?"

  Robar started laughing. "How do you not know who Iolis is?" The look Silas gave him quieted his mirth. "His full name is Iolis Germaine Elling. He is the Overlord. The twelfth of his name."

  "Sit," Silas said. The minstrel complied. Silas handed him the message. "Are you familiar with the Overlord's hand?"

  Robar took the note and read it. "Very, very interesting," he said. He handed it back.

  "You are a mystery, aren't you, Silas? I was afraid of you before. I'm more afraid of you now.

  What is it like, to not know who you are?"

  Silas glared at him. "Is that his hand or not, minstrel?"

  Robar leaned back, putting a little more distance between them. "It is," he said. "I'm sure of it. The Overlord has to sign our permit to perform in Elling City each year. Entertainment taxes, you know. He wrote that note."

  Silas looked at the paper again. "So the Overlord doesn't seem to want me to pay him a visit," he said.

  "It certainly looks that way," Robar replied.

  "There's good coin in mystery, isn't there?"

  Robar nodded, his smile returning. "There certainly is, my friend."

  "So you'll get me into Elling?"

  "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Silas

  He had only been asleep for a couple of hours when Robar shook him awake.

  "Soldiers," he said. "Coming down from the north. I had Jeson out keeping watch."

  Silas sprang to his feet and grabbed the sword he had taken from the Mediator. "How

  many?"

  "Twenty, or more. Too many for you to fight, too close for you to flee. This way." He brought Silas to the carriage, and knocked on the door. "Sena, can we enter?"

  "Yes," his wife said. "Hurry."

  Robar opened the door to the carriage and shoved Silas inside. Sena was there, but Eryn

  was gone.

  "Where is she?" Silas asked. "She was too sick to leave."

  "Silas, is that you?" The muffled voice came from beneath the bench seat of the carriage.

  "Eryn?"

  "She's fine," Sena said. "I don't know how, but even her fever has gone." She bent over and lifted the cushion of the opposite bench. She slid her hand along the wood until she found a latch of some kind, and flicked her wrist. Then she lifted the wooden surface, revealing a space just big enough for him to press himself into.

  "It's going to be a tight squeeze," Robar said.

  Silas climbed in. "It beats a grain sack any day." He lowered himself down and curled up.

  Sena dropped the seat over him, and then the two minstrels sat, one on either side. A few

  minutes later, they heard the clomping of hooves, and Jeson's voice.

  "Right you are, My Lord. Come around and take a look, all the time you need. We've got nothing to hide. We're just a band of minstrels, we play this route every year. You may have heard of us? 'Robar's Rapscallions', we're called."

  As if on queue, Sena started yelling. "If I told you once, I told you a thousand times Robar, 'Your Merry Stones' is not appropriate for the Overlord!"

  "But Sena, darling," Robar pleaded. "Even the Overlord has a sense of humor, I'm sure."

  "Sense of humor? Is that why we were banned from Lord Malicent's manor? Because he

  has no sense of humor?"

  "I didn't know she was his wife," Robar shouted.

  "You lifted her skirt right in front of him," she cried.

  "Yes, My Lord." Jeson's voice filtered in between their bickering. "That's Robar's carriage, he's in there with his wife. Yes, My Lord, they do that a lot."

  "I heard that," the both shouted out of the carriage at once, before returning to their fighting.

  "No, My Lord. I'm sure they'd be happy to speak to you." It was followed by a knock on the door.

  "What do you mean?" Robar shouted. "I change every day."

  The knock came again, more persistent.

  "Robar, be quiet. Somebody's knocking."

  The carriage shook as Sena went to the door to open it.

  The voice outside was deep and gruff. "We're looking for two fugitives..."

  "Aye, I've heard about the fugitives," Sena said. "A girl and a man with white hair, right?

  I ain't seen 'em."

  She must have tried to swing the door closed, because it squeaked on its hinges. Silas

  heard a bump.

  "Out, right now," the voice ordered. "Or your next show will be short a few instruments."

  There was some shifting and shuffling. Silas could hear the two bards exit the carriage.

  "Where are they?" the soldier asked. The tone of his voice worried Silas. He carefully pushed against the seat, but the latch was locked.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Robar said. "It's just the six of us. We've seen no others."

  He heard the sound of metal against leather, and then a short gasp. Sena screamed.

  "The five of you, now," the soldier said. His voice dropped. "Find the others, and bring them here."

  Silas pushed against the bench again, but it didn't give.

  "Eryn," Silas whispered, hoping she could hear him, but the soldier couldn't.

  "Silas?"

  She did hear him.

  "We need to get out of here. Robar will either give us up, or they will kill the minstrels and burn everything they own to make sure they aren't hiding us somewhere. Can you get out?"

  "Let me ask you again," the soldier said. "Where are they?"

  Robar's voice was more panicked. "I told you, we haven't seen the fugitives. Killing my people won't make that any less true."

  "Silas, mine's stuck too," Eryn whispered.

  Silas considered bashing against the platform, but they would be caught for sure. "Your Curse," he said. "Can you use it to open the lock?"

  "I don't know. I'll try."

  Silas heard more shuffling feet; the rest of the minstrel troupe being brought before the

  commander.

  "I'll ask you one more time, before I kill another minstrel," the commander said. "I know they're here, or were here. There was a messenger who survived an attack on one of our camps.

  He met us on the road to Elling. He distinctly remembers seeing a dappled mare in the field nearby. Keep that in mind when you answer my question. Where are they?"

  Silas choked on his breath. He had overlooked the horse. Robar, his wife, and the rest of

  the minstrels were going to die, and it was all his fault. It didn't matter what they said, because they had already lied. They couldn't and wouldn't be trusted.

  "Eryn?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Eryn?"

  They needed to get out, now.

  "Okay," Robar said. "The fugitive, Silas Morningstar, came into our camp. He demanded a horse. He threatened to kill my wife there. We had no choice." His voice was filled with fear.

  "Eryn?"

  She didn't answer. He had no choice but to try to break his way out. He closed his eyes

  and tried to coil as much force as he could into his body before he shoved against the seat.

  "And he brought the horse back?" the commander asked.

  "I... uh... I... we were sleeping," Robar said. "He must have returned with it in the middle of the night."

  Silas heard a small click. He released his tense body, and pushed lightly on the seat. It shifted up. She had done it! He pushed it open as slowly as he dared, and was greeted by a pair of brown eyes peering in.

  "Silas?"

  "Shhh.." Silas said. "We're going to have to fight our way out."

  Eryn held up her bow. "I'm ready."

  "Two more questions for you, minstrel," the commander said outside the carriage. "One, why didn't you tell me this the first time I asked? Two, why would he take your horse, and then return it?"

  Silas climbed out of the hidden compartment, lifting the sword behind him. He leaned

  forward, and inched away the curtain covering their view of the outside. He saw the back of Robar and Sena's heads and the commander of the soldiers in front of them, a bloody knife in hand. The other three minstrels were being held by soldiers, who were flanked by three more soldiers on horseback.

  Silas motioned for Eryn to give him the bow. She passed it over, and then drew an arrow

  from her quiver and handed it to him. He notched it and drew it back before using the tip to push the curtain aside once more.

  "Well?" the commander asked. He walked over to one of the captives and put the knife to her throat. "I expect you'll have a reasonable answer."

  "Please," Robar said. "She's done nothing. I... I let him take the horse. I... just kill me instead. You're going to kill me anyway. There's no point for you to kill her too."

  He put his face right up to the female minstrel, and then looked at Robar. "You're right,"

  he said. "Take her back to the others. We'll bring these three to the mines."

  The three bards began to struggle at that, but the soldiers held them tight.

  "We have to do something," Eryn whispered.

  "No, we have to wait. The mines are a better fate than what will await them if we show our hand right now."

  The soldiers pulled the minstrels away, leaving the commander and the three on

  horseback. The lead soldier approached Robar again.

  "This is for lying," he said.

  He turned, his dagger headed for Sena's throat.

  The force from the arrow that pierced his shoulder pushed him off course and made him

  to drop the knife before it could reach her. He cursed in pain and surprise, grabbing for the shaft at first, and then thinking the better of it and going for his sword.

  The hesitation and indecision was all Silas needed to pull open the carriage door, drop the bow, grab his sword, and jump out. He shoved Robar and Sena apart with his shoulders, and

  stabbed the soldier in the gut.

  "You should have just left," he said to the man.

  The men on the horses began to shout, drawing their swords. A few seconds later, another

  arrow came through the window of the carriage, hitting one of them in the neck and knocking him from his horse.

  "You need to get out of here," Silas said, pushing Robar in the direction of their horses.

  He ran towards the vacant charger and jumped, his foot catching the stirrup and helping

  him slide easily into the saddle. He wheeled the horse with confidence, pointing it towards the other two soldiers while another arrow flew out from the carriage. It missed its target, but it was enough of a distraction to give Silas time to reach the man and easily slip his guard, planting the point of his own blade between a pair of ribs.

  The remaining horseman spurred his own charger forward, sword out to his right and

  angling for the kill. Silas brought his own blade around, and they met in a sharp clash of metal.

  The Mediator's sword broke the other into pieces, the force of the impact leading the shining blade right through the soldier's neck. Both head and body tumbled from the horse and onto the grass.

  "Eryn, it's time to go," Silas shouted. "Robar, take your wife and ride. Head east past the villages and make your way to the Killorn Mountains. They won't follow you."

  "What about the others?" he asked. "They're musicians, not miners."

  "I'm sorry. I truly am. We can't help them right now."

  Robar grabbed Sena's hand and started running for their horses. The rest of the soldiers

  who had waited near the road were headed their way. Eryn popped out of the carriage, her bow and quiver across her back. Silas rode towards her, leaning over.

  "Give me your arm," he said. She reached up and he took hold of her, pulling hard to bring her up behind him. "Hold on tight."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Eryn

  The horse spun around, Silas turning it west towards the Baden. Eryn wondered why he

  was going that way. Would they be able to cross the river on the horse?

  She wrapped her arms around him and held on as tight as she could. She couldn't help but

  notice the rough edge of the scar he had hidden under his shirt, and she nearly let go out of surprise at the feel of it. She caught herself in time, and focused on staying on the horse with him as it galloped through a small copse of brush and down the riverbank.

  The soldier's horses were well trained, and the charger didn't even slow when it reached

  the river, instead plunging right in. They were lucky to have come down in a somewhat shallow spot, and the water didn't rise above the horses flanks.

  The short time it took them to get through the river felt like an eternity. Eryn looked

  back, seeing the rest of the soldiers about to join them at the bank. There were at least ten of them, all mounted on similar steeds.

  The west side of the river wasn't much different from the east. The bank sloped gently

  upward to a small outcropping of brush and trees, where it regained a second road that ran north to south on the west side. They galloped straight over it, and headed into a large, open field where the soldiers would have too easy of a time with their bows.

  "They're going to shoot us out here," she said. This was all too much like the first time she had run.

  Except Silas wasn't Roddin.

  "You're right," he agreed, pulling on the reins and bringing the horse to a stop.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Get an arrow ready. It doesn't matter if you hit anything, it's just to keep them on guard."

  He turned the horse around, and started racing towards them.

  "Are you crazy?" she cried. She grabbed an arrow from her quiver and put it to the bowstring, holding onto the horse with the strength of her thighs. She was surprised by how smooth its gait was at this speed, and that it wasn't as hard to aim as she had expected.