“The dragon? It is ridden?”

He stared up at the Eye, the swirling shapes and colours. The pupil, a dark slit, opening to a world of prophesy. Through it he peered, searching, searching. “A chasm…barren plains…a silver…a silver scar…” He leaned in, chest rising and falling, fingers trembling, lips murmuring. “Shadows and death. Creatures…in the night. No…no, that won’t work,” he said. “Steel does nothing…nothing…nothing. Fire…burn them….burn them…burn them!” His neck twisted, bug eyes staring up at her, wide and unblinking. Two words hissed off his lips. “Burn them,” he said.

Talasha opened her eyes.

Her heart was thumping at her ribs, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. A cold sweat dappled her brow. She took a deep breath, steadying, wondering why that moment had come back to her, in particular, that memory. Hadrin had babbled on about a hundred things, a hundred things that had not made sense to her. That had been just another of them.

Why that one? Why did I dream of that one?

She put it from her mind, standing, stretching. The moon had moved along its course, another hour passing by. It had felt like only moments. It was time to go, to return to Cevi. I’ve been gone too long as it is.

She turned to the riverbank and froze.

A man stood right before her, atop the muddy slope. A shadow in the dark, cloaked and cowled. The sight of him made her gasp and stumble back. “Who are you?” she blurted. “What do you want?”

There were more behind him, emerging from the woods. Two, three, four of them. One was a woman, by her size and shape, the rest men, all in ragged clothes, bits of armour and mail, tattered cloaks hanging at their backs. They looked hungry, lean, desperate. Hollow eyes caught the moonlight, gleaming.

“Who are you?” she asked again, heart thrashing. She had her spear in her grasp, though dare not raise it, lest she provoke them. “Speak.”

“You know us,” the lead man said. There was something in his voice she recognised. “We know you.”

She peered at him as he pulled back his hood, saw beyond the fleshless cheeks and matted beard. “Tarran? Is…that you?”

A nod. “What are you doing here, Princess?”

The others stalked in behind him, glaring with hungry eyes. She recognised them as well, though had never known all their names.

“She never left,” the woman said. Her voice was a rake over rock, unpleasant, a scratchy lowborn thing. She had been a washerwoman in her cousin Tethian’s camp. The others were soldiers, cultists, followers. Few of Tethian’s band of outlaws were half as fervent as him. They were men without a cause, suckling at the power teat. Almost no one had truly believed that Eldur would be found.

But Tarran. He had been a respected soldier, once before, Talasha remembered. He joined Tethian for his cause. He was a man of faith.

“Is that true, my lady?” the man in question asked her. His beard had gone to grey in patches, his hair dark as pitch, salted with strands of silver. His eyes were severe, humourless, mouth a puckered scowl. “Have you been in these wilds all along?”

“Does she look like she has,” another man said, taller than the others. “Seems well fed to me.”

Tarran looked her over, nodding.

“She was with that Varin Knight,” said a third man, shorter, more squat, leaning on a spear at the top of the bank. “He still here with you now?” He looked around into the woods, squinting. “The Knight of Mists.”

Talasha shook her head. “We left together, with…some others.” She did not know what else to say. So much had happened since then. “I returned, only days ago. But I won’t be staying long.”

“Oh? That’s a shame,” cackled the washerwoman. “Be nice to have another woman around.”

“Nice for us too,” laughed the tall man. “You’re ugly as muck, Santhra. But the princess here…”

“Quiet,” Tarran said. His voice was rough, worn down by years of shouting. He let a silence settle, looking at Talasha’s spear. “Did you make that yourself, my lady?”

“I did. For fishing the river.”

“Have you caught anything?”

“A trout.” She saw the hungry eyes and added. “We have eaten it already. I came down in the hope of catching another. And to fetch water.”

Tarran’s eyes ran up the slope, through the trees, behind him. “We? You’re not alone, then?” Another silence. “We saw a finger of smoke, earlier. Is that your campsite?”

She stayed silent.

“Will you lead us there?”

No, her instincts screamed. She sensed nothing good would come of an association with this group. But for Tarran they felt rough, the worst of Tethian’s followers, and few had been good to start with. Outlaws, bandits, vagrants, villains, they had joined him for food and shelter, mostly, and had never shared his vision. Now they hope for the same from me, she thought. They hope I will have food to give them, valuables perhaps. But there was something worse here too. Something she did not want to consider.

“A delay’s always telling, Tarran,” said a heavy-voiced man, the one who hadn’t yet spoken. He was bigger than the others, broad-chested and barrel-bellied once before, though his stomach had shrunk since last Talasha had seen him. She remembered him as well. One of Ashun Klo’s brutes. Not Grumlo or Kartheck or Rackar, no, they were all killed by Lythian and Pagaloth and Neyruu. But another of them, another crude thug. Humghor, the princess remembered. That one cannot be trusted. And if one can’t, none can.

Tarran gave Talasha another moment to answer. When she said nothing, he stepped down the muddy bank and up to the water’s edge. “Who are you here with, my lady? You said you returned only days ago. Do you have an honour guard with you?”

Another cackle from the washerwoman. “Course she doesn’t. You think they’d let her come down here all alone, in the dark?”

Tarran considered that a moment. “Who, then? You must understand my concerns, Princess. If that Varin Knight of yours is waiting up the hill. Or the dragonknight, Sir Pagaloth…”

“Neither are with me, I assure you.”

“Then who is? You said you are not alone.”

“My handmaid,” she decided to admit. “Cevi. You might remember her.”

“I do. You had two, that I recall.”

“Mirella. She…died.”

The man lowered his chin. “Sad to hear, my lady. Was it…that night?”

“No, some days after. Though by an injury she sustained that night. So yes, in a fashion.”

“Too many died that night,” grunted the big man. “Lost my brothers. And my commander. And we all lost our prince.”

“We have a princess now,” Tarran said to that. The way he said it, the way he looked at her…

“What is it you want from me?” she asked him. The blood was rushing through her veins, heart pumping hard, preparing.

“Pardons,” Tarran replied. “For our…associations.”

Talasha frowned. The others behind Tarran nodded and murmured, understanding his intent.

“We heard that some of the old company tried to make it down to Loriath,” Tarran explained to her. “They were taken as traitors and outlaws when they arrived in the city, and burned. That is why we’re still lingering here, in these woods, scraping a living off the land. But with you…”

She understood. They expect me to clear their names, award them amnesty. They have no idea what’s happening out there. She took a step away from him, right to the very edge of her rock. Only a few short metres separated them, river water rushing in between. “I will not be going to Loriath,” she said, firmly. They could not know what she had done, or been through. If they take me to Loriath, I’ll be captured, returned to Eldurath. And him. “I am your princess. You will obey my commands.”

Laughter barked from the others. A loud snort from Humghor.