Fia began to read the document.

“This is to declare to all who make so bold as to doubt the word or action of our good and devoted servant, Barendol Alandron, fifth son of Lord Cerril of Alandron Castle, in regards to the most important matter which I have this day entrusted to him. Being as the keeping and the retaining of this most precious gem, our Cororan Solevir (stone of our inheritance, the single most valuable item in all our treasury, commonly called the Sunlight Stone) as I said, whereas its maintenance is more costly than the whole of our treasury altogether, we hereby have charged this our subject to take it privily away and keep its location secret and to hold it in safekeeping for all our future generations, until such time as there be true need of it, at which time we shall be able to have it to use, since no thieves will know of its whereabouts to steal it.

“Therefore, trusting fully to the loyalty and unwavering devotion of this noble house, and in particular, Barendol, fifth son of Lord Cerril, I hereby commit to his keeping, and that of his son’s, and his son’s sons, the Cororan Solevir, and I hereby charge him to use henceforth a new surname, for all his generations, that of Gemelio.

“I also hereby decree any man, be he common or blooded, ceorl or lord, that lays so much as a finger upon our noble servant shall be advised to beg his pardon quickly on their knees, else I hear of it and ruin their lives forever. Give way before the word of the king!

“Signed this tenth day after the Battle of Bortellen, tenth and second year of my reign,

“Eleros, Sovereign of beauteous Othira, and King of the North Shore of the River Endrel.”

She looked up and noticing the silence that hung in the room.

“You’re sure this is real?” she asked of Ilido. By the look on his face she knew he was sure, but she wanted him to tell her why.

“It is sealed with the King’s Seal.” Ilido touched the impression on the wax that stood below the king’s name and titles. It did look real.

“So you are the keeper of the Sunlight Stone,” she said. “But how are you so sure about the king?”

Gilahdro took the parchment, refolded it, and replaced it in its hiding place.

“I am also the heart of the network that keeps the Othiran refugees smoothly moving out of the few mountain stations that we have available to us.” He turned and walked down the hall to a nearby door. With a silent hand he gestured them through. “And that same network has other duties.”

The room was filled with maps and hand-lined graphs with spidery writing denoting events.

“We provide a very accurate list of information that might be helpful to those who go secretly down into Lorsia for negotiations with King Hanor and his council, and we maintain a detailed web of the state of the resistance forces, as well as finding our wounded safe places to mend.” He paused with his hand on a large, very comprehensive map spread across a table. He looked straight at Fia. “King Gregor is in one of them even now, tended by skilled healers.” He turned his gaze to Ilido. “They say there is a strong chance that he may live to fight again.”

“We also keep track of the enemy’s movements.” He gestured with his fingers across the map. Fia and Ilido drew nearer to get a better view.

“And try to make sense out of their latest attacks.” A preoccupied frown creased his brow. “The last few days they have razed several villages in this low mountain region.” He tapped a finger at several places not far from each other. “Their purpose is hard to define. They must know the army is receiving help here from the low mountain towns, though they are never so foolhardy as to stay there. Perhaps they are trying to bully information about the hiding camps from the people.” He shook his head. “They should know better; the camps are too well guarded and too often changed.”

“It is several days’ journey to the highest town,” Ilido stated. “How can you know what happens mere days ago?”

“For a man afoot or horseback, yes,” Gilahdro agreed. “But not for a fast dog.” He tapped a bronze statuette of a lean, prick-eared dog, well-furred, with pride to his stance and intelligence in his eye. Fia’s folks had such dogs at Scelane Tilth; they helped with the herding and guarded night or day. “They can go where a horse cannot, and are therefore swifter, and take no men away from the battles.

“We have perfected a courier system better suited to the mountains than any other. Our dogs, well-fed and well-rested, can make the trip in a day and a half, and unlike pigeons, they will go both ways. A more reliable messenger you will never find, and there are none more skilled, brave, or quick-witted.”

“The pigeon…?”

“Was from us, yes.” He nodded.

Fia pulled in a strangled breath and tried to pretend like she wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was once again smack in the middle of plans she had no business knowing about.

“But here.” He tapped the map again, indicating a small town. “Arnithera. They have not yet gathered there, but I will send a message that you are coming and they will be ready when you arrive. You had best return again immediately, and do not stay the night at all until you are a good distance away. The usurper’s forces have been very active of late, and there is also a great risk of a storm soon; the air is changing. To be caught in the mountains in a white-storm is no gentle fate. You must push very hard. If you cannot make it to Olayin House, then take the other fork and come here.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry about the Sunlight Stone,” Fia said in a small voice, her eyes on the ground.

He heaved a sigh. “It will be recovered. I think I know the scamp by whom you were deceived. We have eyes everywhere, and he will not escape us.” He straightened. “But there are more important things than that now. Lives are at stake, more precious than any stone. Already you have lost valuable time. I would welcome you at my table but you must be on your way immediately. Come.” He gathered them each under an outstretched arm and piloted them towards the door. “I would send a man with you but they are all taken up elsewhere.” He glanced at Ilido. “It is dangerous work, but you have done it before. You must be careful and cautious and above all swift. Return again quickly and safely.”

He showed them out the door of his mysterious house, and as they crossed the courtyard Fia noticed a bank of pigeon cages with occupants similar to the one on which the message had arrived. They passed out the gates and Gilahdro somehow seemed to know exactly where the horses were. As she and Ilido mounted up Fia turned to him.

“Do you ever go down into Othira?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “When King Eleros gave us the jewel he commanded that the keeper of the Sunlight Stone must not go farther than two leagues from this house, intending for it to encourage watchfulness over the gem. It was something every Keeper has sworn to uphold when we have taken the position, and even now in this troubled time, I cannot break my oath.”

She nodded and they turned their horses’ heads towards Othira.

“Fare thee well!” he cried as they loped away. “And may speed and safety ride with you!”

She saw that he stood watching them until he was hidden by trees, and Fia found herself wishing he could have ridden with them. He was one ally that would be more than useful no matter what situation they found themselves in. She made a note to ask Calima about him, and wondered how much that lady did, or didn’t, know.

It was a long trek across the mountains. They rode in the solitude of the high Gerardels, their path only a thread that ran through them. There was snow piled deep in the ravines and sometimes the horses slowed to a crawl. But they kept moving late into the evening and as soon as it was light enough to see in the mornings. However, sleep proved most elusive, as the cold and the uncomfortable bed of a mountain slope didn’t provide a very restful combination.

They passed the highest point of the pass and started down the other side. On one ridge as they turned and started to the bottom, she could see below them a frozen stream that they would need to walk carefully over, the ice a dangerously slick proposition. It was still too early in the season for there to be any fear of it giving way beneath the horses, but a slip and fall on this ice could hurt badly, and a limping horse or handler would greatly reduce their speed.

“What if the king does not recover?” she asked Ilido. “Will the war go on?”

“The general Terol is a skilled and dedicated tactician,” Ilido replied. “He will see to it that the usurpers have no peace until a true king rules again in Othira.”

“But if he dies, who will rule the kingdom when we win this war?” she pressed.

“There’s always somebody.” He shrugged, and then added as if he was speaking to the stream, “If there’s a kingdom left to rule.”

“You don’t actually think we’re going to lose?” She froze in thought at his words.

“We?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“My brothers are fighting,” she muttered.

He smiled bemusedly, and then passed it over, answering her question.

“Sometimes,” he lifted his shoulder, “I don’t see how we could possibly win. Our kings are always being killed, and our best men are fighting to their death. Our army gets smaller with each battle, and boys just can’t grow fast enough to replace them. What’s going to happen if it keeps on like this?”

He started across the icy stream and she put her cob to following him, silently considering what he had said.

The cobs were on the pine-needled path that wound along the hillside before he spoke again. “Mere battles aren’t winning this war. We need a decisive point upon which to strike. But there doesn’t seem to be one.” He shook his head slowly. “There has to be one, if we could only see it. So what is it that we can’t see?”

She shrugged in ignorance and they rode on in silence.

At last they broke out of the high mountains and were well into what were officially termed the low mountains, right above the foothills.

“Where will we find the group?” Fia asked Ilido. “And how far away is it now?”

“We are not far from Arnithera, now,” he said. “It’s where they’ll be waiting for us.”

His eyes had sharpened and gained a brightness that she had not seen in him before; the excitement and tension of completing this mission without any expert help was both a worry and a stimulant to him.

It was getting on to afternoon the next day when they caught the first sign of trouble.

A smudgy pall hung against the blue sky several ridges over, and though the wind was strong from behind them it did not blow away.

As the two riders topped the last rise they saw what they already suspected. Arnithera was in flames.

“Quick!” hissed Ilido, as he slipped from his cob. Fia did the same.

“What now?” she whispered.

“Secure the horses,” he said quickly. “I’ll go ahead to see if the enemy is still there. I’ll signal if they’ve gone.”

She nodded and the next moment he was off, running softly where the cover was best, careful to keep the ridge between him and the burning town. She quickly turned to tethering the horses, a task not swiftly accomplished. By the time she was done she saw him beckoning to her from the next ridge.

The enemy was gone then. At least that much was good.

Fia’s face burned with exertion as she toiled up the long slope of the next ridge, but when she looked down on the town of Arnithera her weariness was immediately pushed aside.

A wave of terror washed over her like a piercing scream, but her ears told her there had been no sound. Without needing to consider she knew it was not a sound that ears could hear. It was a sound her heart had made.

The enemy had brought ox carts and barn doors, doorsteps and pieces of rafter. They had piled them deep in front of the gates so that no one could pass, and then they had set fire to the town, and kept a guard so that none could escape over the walls. Only now that the entire town was ablaze had they been satisfied with their work, and gone to find other employment.

The people she and Ilido had come so far to save were trapped inside that burning inferno. It would be impossible to get the gates open; they had been carefully blocked with that one intention. There was no hope for Arnithera.

Or for those inside her.

What sort of men could do such a thing? Fia thought. What must they be like, inside their minds and hearts?

She dropped to her knees, suddenly weeping with helplessness, gratingly aware that in the deepest part of her soul she was glad. Glad that her family did not live even near this region where madness stalked; glad that Scelane Manor was a hundred leagues away. Glad that the Gerardels stood between here and there in all their wintry fury, that this madness could not touch her home. She wept bitterly for those who had no such comfort, and wept in horrible relief that she was not among them.

“We must help them!” Ilido shouted, his fingers biting into her shoulder, dragging her up and onward. With a force beyond his own he pulled her down the slope and towards the burning town.

“There’s nothing we can do!” she shouted in return, the noise from the flames nearly drowning out their voices. The wind had calmed and the smoke pooled out towards the approaching two.

“Yes there is!” he replied and forged ahead, into the drift of the smoke.

Coughing, choking, the fumes stinging her watering eyes, she stumbled in after him, the thick sleeve pressed against her mouth not completely able to keep out the suffocating smoke.

Ilido headed onward, seemingly undeterred by the heavy smoke and reeking fumes.

“I cannot! I can’t go farther!” she shouted to him, shaking her head. They had stopped beside a stock-watering well, with an almost empty trough and a handle pump.

“You don’t need to, just stay here!” he yelled above the noise, and gestured to the trough. “Keep the water pumping! We must have water as we come out. Can you do that?”

She nodded, tears nearly blurring her vision. He plucked a scarf from her head and plunged it in the trough, barely taking the time to wring it as he put it over her nose and mouth nearly up to her eyes.

“Tie it!” he shouted, and then was gone. She peered after him through swimming vision as her fingers fumbled with the sopping scarf ends, dragging them into a knot. Then she took hold of the handle and began to pump.

What did Ilido think he was up to? her mind demanded. How in the world did he think he was going to help anybody in there?

Endlessly she pumped the handle, up and down, up and down, while the smoke billowed and fire raged. Where had Ilido gone? No one could still be alive in the burning town. What if he never returned? Must she go on pumping forever until the town was nothing but ashes? If so, how would she ever last that long, and not collapse?

After what seemed like forever, suddenly there they were, Ilido moving among them as they came on, a long line of men, women, and children.

By a sudden mercy the wind abruptly shifted, blowing back towards the town. The smoke cleared from around the well, and blessed air, clean and fresh, was all around her.

“Quickly!” ordered Ilido. “Quench your thirst, fill your water flasks. Bathe your wounds and burns. We must be off before the sun falls lower.” Then he was gone.

“How did you escape?” Fia asked them, her limbs finding renewed energy to work the handle.

“There’s a tunnel.” A man coughed, then raised a handful of water to his lips and drank. “It comes out in a well house not far from here. We were stuck there below, with no one to lift the door from the outside. The young prince remembered well what he had learned from the Mountaineer.”

“Who is the Mountaineer?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” He shook his head. “No one knows his name. Every so often, when there’s a group ready he comes over the mountains and guides them back over. He’s saved hundreds of lives, knows those mountains like nobody else.”

“Who’s the prince?” she asked.

“Who’s the prince, girl? Have you gone daft? He’s the prince.” He jerked his head.

Realization began to dawn slowly over her benumbed mind, but she still could hardly accept it.

“Prince…” she left the sentence hanging tantalizingly in front of him.

“Prince Ilido,” he finished for her.

“Ah, right,” she said slowly, and pumped the handle up and down. “And does everyone here know that?” she asked the man.

“Everyone here does. We come from his old home estate, before the crown fell to his father, Lord preserve him,” he replied. “You’re right though, if there were others here we’d have to keep quiet about it. They’re after him, they are.”

“Yes, it’s very dangerous,” she agreed. “All right, everyone,” she raised her voice, “you all heard him! Quench your thirst, fill your flasks, bathe your wounds, and prepare to move out immediately!”

The faster they got out of here the better she’d like it.

By the time they were beginning to be ready Ilido returned, leading their cobs, as well as three other horses.

“I found them in the grove with ours,” he said. “They must have run off when the enemy came through, and drifted to the herd.”

“We haven’t enough horses,” Fia said to him aside in a low voice. “There are too many people. We’ll be too slow going back.”

“We’ll have to get more then, though I don’t know how we’ll do it,” Ilido said uncertainly. He considered a moment and then looked at the man she had spoken to earlier.

“Elarno, where is the nearest place we can get horses?”

“The village of Brethil, yer highness; it hasn’t been burned yet. We’ll also need more supplies; we lost what we had in the fire.”

“Right,” said Ilido. He hated to linger below the high mountains, but there was nothing else for it. They would never make it over the Gerardels fast enough with so many people walking. “You’ll need to take us there.”

They left the horses with most of the women and all the small children, as well as those who had been wounded or badly burned during the fire. This party was to head towards the Lookout Knob, a landmark everyone seemed to know.

Everyone but Fia, of course.

Then those who could walk well headed for Brethil.

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