Rashka left the northern road before dawn and took them through the black pines. Beyond the trees lay a ridge too steep for wagons. Luvztospoon climbed it with his sword in his good hand, careful where he put his feet.
They had argued over the route until the stars began to fade. Luvztospoon wanted the straight road to Hollow Crown, the one with the fewest miles between him and Seven. Rashka had spread a stolen patrol map in the dirt and pointed out three places where the enemy could see them coming long before they could see a wall. He had listened, though every word felt like time being taken from him.
In the dim light she walked first and left marks so small only the soldiers seemed able to read them: a snapped twig turned inward, a scrape at the edge of a stone. The young Tauren followed those signs with earnest concentration. Luvztospoon recognized the effort and remembered what it was to be new at something without being ashamed of it. He had not been good at waiting when he was alive. Death had improved his patience only in those moments when patience was no longer a choice.
Three soldiers followed Rashka: an orc with a shield, a troll archer, and a young Tauren who kept looking up at the sky. Maelin brought up the rear with the pack mule. When they stopped, Luvztospoon laid the repaired sword across his knees.
“Five soldiers?”
Rashka looked over. “Four. Unless you've enlisted while I wasn't looking.”
“Hollow Crown has more than four guards.”
“I asked for scouts. We need to see what we're walking into.”
He worked his shoulder while the others ate. The cold had stiffened it during the climb, and every time he looked north he found himself gripping the sword again. Rashka caught him trying to lift it.
“Elbow down.”
“I know how to hold a sword.”
“Then hold it in a way that leaves you an arm tomorrow.”
He lowered his elbow. Across the camp, the young Tauren smiled into his cup.
“Something to say?”
“No.”
Rashka took the cup from the young soldier and drank. “He learns faster than you do.” Luvztospoon settled the blade across his knees again. This time he left it there.
✦
They found the burned wagon at noon. A dead horse lay in the ditch. Beneath the axle were two men, neither moving. Tracks led away from the wreck toward an abandoned lime kiln. The troll crouched beside the footprints.
“Children. At least two.” He moved a little farther along the trail. “Some of the others were carrying weight.”
Luvztospoon looked up the road. It was clear all the way to the bend. Less than a day's hard march would put them at Hollow Crown. Rashka sent the young Tauren up to watch the ridge.
“We're checking the kiln.”
“Seven has already been there four days.”
“And whoever made these tracks may not have four hours.”
He looked at Maelin. She stood beside the mule, waiting. Near his boot, a small footprint ended in a dragged toe. There was no heel mark. He followed it to the next print and thought of Ellie reaching for the mitten. The road was still clear. He turned toward the kiln. “I'll go first.”
✦
Through a gap in the drying shed's boards, Luvztospoon counted six people. Two children stood pressed together. Three adults sat farther back, and a man lay beside the door. Outside, three cult guards watched the shed. A fourth held a branding iron over a brazier. Luvztospoon flexed his fingers. He could pull the iron out of that hand before the man knew he was there. Up on the slope, the troll was still finding a place to shoot.
Luvztospoon waited. When the archer settled, he stepped out. The man at the brazier saw him first.
“On your knees.”
He kept walking. Rashka's shield struck the nearest sentry. An arrow hit the branding iron's handle, knocking it into the snow, and the other two guards came at Luvztospoon together. He caught the first cut low. The repaired edge held.
The second guard struck his shoulder plate, then slipped past him toward the shed. Luvztospoon caught the man's belt with his good hand. The guard's weight tugged across the wound, sharp enough to make him hesitate. He bent his knees. Turned. The guard hit the kiln wall. Beside the brazier, Rashka finished her fight. The man who had held the iron ran for the road, where the young Tauren caught him. Luvztospoon opened the shed.
Neither child moved.
“It's finished.” He sheathed his sword and sat down in the snow.
One of them looked at his eyes, then ducked behind the other. He had nothing else to say that would help. He stayed where he was and let Maelin pass him.
✦
The man beside the door was alive. Maelin knelt to treat him while Rashka questioned the surviving guard. The prisoners had come from a supply convoy. Hollow Crown needed food, cloth, lamp oil. People, too.
“How are they getting through the keep gate?” Rashka asked.
“With wagons.” The guard spat blood into the snow.
Rashka glanced at the wreck on the road. “Not that one.” His eyes moved toward the ditch. Luvztospoon crouched in front of him.
“Where's the next delivery?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we'll ask your driver.”
Another glance toward the road. The driver had hidden in a dry drainage ditch behind the kiln. He wore a scarf tied over his ears and had pulled a sack over his head. Luvztospoon lifted the sack. Berrik blinked at him.
“Before you say anything,” the goblin began, “I have a very good explanation.”
✦
Sevenofknine had made it as far as the hall twice. On the first trip she counted doors. On the second, Nessa dropped a basin and kept everyone occupied while Sevenofknine loosened the screws around a service hatch. Now the records room was empty. She crawled through the hatch and stood behind Malrec's desk, holding still until the scrape of her sleeve against the wood seemed to have died away.
The clasp at her throat pressed against the old bond. The farther she went from the lower hall, the worse it hurt. She had learned to judge her remaining time by it. The ledger was beneath a locked drawer. She tried the bent nail. It slipped, then slipped again. She stopped before she damaged the lock and felt along the back of the drawer. Thin wood. Screws she could reach. Her death took up three lines.
She read them once, then turned to the binding. Six pages. Rethan had worked his marks into the power that raised her while she lay helpless. Before she knew where she was. Before she understood what had happened to her. He had recorded what she said in her sleep. An inn. A stream. Red cloth. Then Luvztospoon's name. She turned the page. There it was again, among the notes. And again.
Her fingers had gone numb. She rubbed them against her palm until she could separate the next two sheets. Beneath the notes on recognition was a diagram of three stone channels. They ran from the lower hall to a central seat and carried stolen power to the gate. Someone had added a note in a different hand:
\Without the channels, the bearer can withdraw if the outer clasp remains whole.\
She put her hand to her throat. Then she bent over the page again. Without the channels. The outer clasp whole. If the channels were broken first, she might be able to leave the seat. She would not have to seal herself inside it. Footsteps sounded beyond the door.
She slid the diagram into her sleeve, replaced the drawer's back, and lowered herself into the hatch. Before pulling it shut, she reached out with the nail and scratched through a painted symbol beneath Malrec's chair. The clasp cooled. She stopped with her hand still on the hatch. The difference was slight, but she could feel it. Then the footsteps came closer, and she pulled the hatch closed.
✦
Berrik sat beside the captured guard with both hands up.
“I transport sacks,” he told Rashka. “Sacks don't tell me who owns the destination.”
“These sacks had prisoners beside them.”
“They took my horses. They said I'd join the prisoners if I argued.”
“You hid when we attacked.”
“I am very good at hiding.”
Luvztospoon lowered himself in front of him. Berrik's hands stayed up, but he stopped talking. He looked at Luvztospoon for a moment.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Luvztospoon looked north. Berrik followed his gaze. When he turned back, he reached beneath his scarf and brought out a brass token.
“This gets a delivery through the outer gate.”
Rashka took it and turned it over in her hand.
“How many passengers?”
“Officially? None.”
Luvztospoon waited.
“There are compartments under the grain sacks,” Berrik said.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes sacks are not all I transport.”
“Then we're going to need your other wagon.” Rashka stood.
Berrik stared up at her. “How did you know I have another wagon?”
“You look like someone who complains when he loses one.”
Luvztospoon offered him a hand. The goblin took it and scrambled out of the snow.
“I suppose this goes on my bill,” Luvztospoon said.
Berrik looked at the ribbon around his wrist.
“We'll discuss the bill when she's back.”
\## Full original chapter \## Chapter Nine: The Road He Chose Rashka did not take the northern road. She led them east of it, through a stand of black pines and over a ridge too steep for wagons. Three soldiers accompanied her: an orc carrying a shield, a troll with a bow, and a young Tauren who kept checking the sky as though expecting orders from it. Maelin traveled at the rear with their pack mule.
“Five soldiers,” Luvztospoon said when they stopped before dawn.
Rashka glanced at him.
“Four. Unless you've enlisted while I wasn't looking.”
“Hollow Crown has more than four guards.”
“And I asked for scouts, not an army. We learn the ground first.”
He looked north. The repaired sword rested across his knees. His shoulder had stiffened in the cold. He worked it carefully while the others ate. Rashka watched without comment until he tried to lift the blade too quickly.
“Keep your elbow low.”
“I know how to hold a sword.”
“Then hold it in a way that leaves you an arm tomorrow.”
He lowered his elbow. Across the little camp, the young Tauren smiled into his cup.
“Something to say?” Luvztospoon asked.
The smile vanished.
“No.”
Rashka took the cup from him and drank.
“He learns faster than you do.”
✦
At noon they found a burned wagon beside the road. Its horse lay in the ditch. Two men were dead beneath the axle, and footprints led from the wreck toward a abandoned lime kiln. The troll knelt over them.
“Children,” he said. “At least two. Others carrying weight.”
Luvztospoon studied the road ahead. The northern route was clear. Hollow Crown stood less than a day's hard march away. Rashka sent the young Tauren to watch the ridge.
“We're checking the kiln.”
He turned to her.
“Seven has already been there four days.”
“And whoever made these tracks may not have four hours.”
Maelin remained beside the mule. She said nothing. Luvztospoon looked at the small prints again. One had left no mark on the heel, only a toe dragged through the snow. He remembered Ellie holding out her hand for the mitten. He rose.
“I'll go first.”
✦
Six people had been forced into the kiln's old drying shed. Through a gap in the boards, Luvztospoon saw two children, three adults, and a man lying very still beside the door. Three cult guards stood outside. A fourth held a branding iron over a brazier. Luvztospoon felt the familiar pull in his fingers. One gesture could tear the brand from the man's hand. He waited until Rashka's archer reached the slope above the shed.
Then he stepped into view. The guard at the brazier looked up.
“On your knees.”
Luvztospoon kept walking. Behind him, Rashka struck the nearest sentry with her shield. The troll's arrow took the branding iron's handle, knocking it into the snow. The remaining guards rushed Luvztospoon together. He blocked the first cut low, exactly as Rashka had taught him. The repaired edge held. He turned the second man aside with his shoulder plate and drove the first back toward the brazier.
The second guard lunged past him toward the shed. Luvztospoon caught the man's belt with his good hand. For a moment, the weight pulled across his wound. He bent his knees instead of hauling with his arm, turned, and threw the guard into the kiln wall. Rashka finished the fight beside the brazier. The man with the iron ran toward the road. The young Tauren caught him before he reached it.
When they opened the shed, the children would not come out. Luvztospoon sheathed his sword and sat in the snow.
“It's finished,” he said.
One child looked at his eyes and hid behind the other. He stayed where he was while Maelin went inside.
✦
The man on the floor was alive. Maelin treated him while Rashka questioned the surviving guard. The prisoners had been taken from a supply convoy. Hollow Crown needed food, cloth, lamp oil, and people.
“How are they getting through the keep gate?” Rashka asked.
The guard spat blood.
“With wagons.”
She looked at the burned cart on the road.
“Not that one.”
His eyes shifted. Luvztospoon crouched beside him.
“Where is the next delivery?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we'll ask your driver.”
The guard glanced toward the road again. They found the driver hiding in a dry drainage ditch behind the kiln. He had tied a scarf over his ears and pulled a sack over his head. Luvztospoon lifted the sack. Berrik blinked up at him.
“Before you say anything,” the goblin began, “I have a very good explanation.”
✦
Sevenofknine had reached the hall twice before she found the records room unguarded. The first time, she had counted doors. The second, Nessa had pretended to drop a basin while Sevenofknine loosened the screws around a service hatch. Now she crawled through the hatch and rose behind Malrec's desk.
The clasp at her throat pressed against the old bond. It hurt whenever she moved far from the lower hall. She used that pain to judge how much time she had. She found her ledger beneath a locked drawer. The bent nail failed against the lock, so she unscrewed the thin wooden back instead. Her death was recorded in three careless lines. The binding filled six pages.
Rethan had threaded his marks through the power that raised her. He had worked while she lay helpless, before she understood where she was or what she had become. He had written down the memories she spoke when she slept. An inn. A stream. Red cloth. Luvztospoon's name appeared over and over. Sevenofknine turned the page with fingers that had gone numb.
Under the notes on recognition was another diagram: three stone channels running from the lower hall into a central seat. They carried stolen power to the gate. Beside it, a recent hand had written: \Without the channels, the bearer can withdraw if the outer clasp remains whole.\ She touched the iron at her throat. A way out.
She read it again, forcing herself not to mistake hope for understanding. If they broke the channels first, she might leave the seat without sealing herself inside it. Footsteps sounded outside. She returned the drawer's back, slipped the loose diagram into her sleeve, and crawled into the hatch. Before she closed it, she dragged the nail across the floor beneath Malrec's chair, gouging a narrow line through one of his painted symbols.
The clasp cooled against her skin. Only a little. Enough to know the diagrams were telling the truth.
✦
Berrik sat beside the captured guard with his hands raised.
“I transport sacks,” he told Rashka. “Sacks don't tell me who owns the destination.”
“These sacks had prisoners beside them.”
“They took my horses and told me I'd join the prisoners if I argued.”
“You hid when we attacked.”
“I am very good at hiding.”
Luvztospoon lowered himself in front of him. Berrik stopped talking.
“Did you find her?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Luvztospoon looked north. Berrik followed his gaze. After a moment, the goblin pulled a brass token from beneath his scarf.
“This gets a delivery through the outer gate.”
Rashka took it.
“How many passengers?”
“Officially? None.”
Luvztospoon watched him. Berrik swallowed.
“There are compartments under the grain sacks.”
Berrik said it as though he were admitting to an unlicensed business transaction, which was probably exactly what it was. The goblin kept his chin up, but the gesture did not hide the quick calculation in his eyes. Rashka was already thinking about guards and gates. Luvztospoon could almost see her moving pieces around a board in her head.
He remembered Berrik making tea in a broken watchtower and warning him that people changed. The merchant had been right. Seven had changed. Luvztospoon had changed too. And now this man, who had spent two days discussing losses in coins and wagons, was offering the only passage they could see into the place where she was held. The weight of that offer was more difficult for the goblin to carry than any sack of grain.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes sacks are not all I transport.”
Rashka stood.
“Then we're going to need your other wagon.”
The goblin stared at her.
“How did you know I have another wagon?”
“You look like someone who complains when he loses one.”
Luvztospoon rose and offered Berrik his hand. The goblin took it.
“I suppose this goes on my bill,” Luvztospoon said.
Berrik looked at the ribbon wrapped around his wrist.
“We'll discuss the bill when she's back.”