So the summer passed. As the days began imperceptibly to shorten, and the grass grew brown and dry in the fields, they spent more and more time away from the village. They never ranged too far, but Faelon took them into the hills to the north, and the forests to the east, and south to the borders of the lands inhabited by other men. These did not look like the Dunedain; their skin was lighter, their hair light brown instead of dark, and they spoke in a way that was strange to Miriel, though the words were the Common Speech. They lived in stone farmhouses, tucked into hollows of the rolling hills, and pastured sheep on the wiry moor grass. And they were not over-friendly to Rangers. Appreciative, certainly, and warily respectful, but they did not like these rough men to linger in their villages.

"Well, would you?" grumbled Meren, with a wry little laugh, one gray evening as they left a hamlet behind them and headed out across rough country to find a sheltered place to sleep. The wind in their faces was dry and nearly cold, a first warning of autumn, and they shivered. "You must have seen how that girl looked at me."

"What girl?"

He turned to her, incredulous. "The pretty one, with the green shawl. At the last house, the one who gave us bread."

She frowned, shrugged. "If you say so."

A note of doubt creeping into his voice: "You didn't see it?"

She grinned. "I wanted the bread, not the girl. So no, I didn't."

"Well, her father did. Couldn't wait to see the back of us."

"So it's your fault, then."

"What's my fault?"

She laughed. "Everything. But tonight, the fact that we're going to sleep cold on leaves under the sky rather than warm on hay in a barn."

"It wasn't just me…"

"No, most likely not. But I'll blame you anyway."

He shrugged. "Why change an old habit now?"

She forced her voice deeper, an old woman's scratchy croak. "Tradition is the lifeblood of our people."

"If we forget who we are, we are lost."

"No, no, it was 'If we forget who we have been, we are lost.' Get it right."

"As you wish, mistress."

"Shut up."

"Will you both shut up?" That from Faelon, a low growl that came clear back to them, though he did not turn his head.

"Yes, master," they said together, glanced at each other and only just managed not to laugh.

But she noticed that the Breeland farmers did indeed react differently to her and Hannas than to the boys, and she tucked the thought away and said nothing to Meren.


When harvest time came and every hand in the village was needed to bring in crops before the frost, they went out into the fields and toiled from dawn to dusk, returning as exhausted as they ever had from a hard day of training. "A different kind of strength," said Faelon with a mirthless smile. But at least there was food in plenty in the Hall at night, and a deep relief whispered through them all when at last the fields were empty and the storehouses full. We will not starve before spring. For they all knew that it was not always so.

On the morning after the harvest feast, Faelon roused them long before dawn. "Up and out, on your feet. The last one up gets no breakfast."

He did not carry out the threat, but nonetheless they dressed and ate hurriedly, knowing better than to ask why. They cursed and grumbled, of course, but softly, almost reflexively, without true ire.

"Anything's better than more of yesterday," said Meren, the words indistinct through a mouthful of bread. "Right?"

"Maybe." Lain's voice was tinged with skepticism. "Better the dragon you know…"

Gallach chuckled. "I'll take the dragon I don't. Much more interesting."

"Roasted Gallach. Mmmm." Hannas grinned and pushed back her plate. "Maybe I'll save room after all."

Gallach snorted and cuffed her on the shoulder; she responded by snatching the last slice of ham from his plate and stuffing it into her mouth.

No sooner had they finished their hurried meal than Faelon returned with two other Rangers, all three of them dressed for travel.

"Outside, now," he snapped.

They obeyed without hesitation, leaving mostly-finished bowls of porridge and crusts of bread on the table. The night was just beginning to give way to the first gray hints of misty dawn as they gathered around the Master, shivering a little in the cold, clammy air. Faelon looked round at them all appraisingly before speaking. Something like a smile curved the corners of his lips as he gestured to his companions, standing still and silent on either side of him.

"This is Belegon," indicating the man to his right, "and Sulon. They will be assisting me with your first field trial."

They had been expecting it, had known it must come soon. At last. Am I ready? Shifting feet, raised chins, and sharply indrawn breath, though none ventured to speak. I am ready.

"I believe you are prepared – most of you are prepared – but we'll find out the truth in short order." Faelon smiled grimly. "You know what is before you; it's the same every year. And yet," he shook his head in mock disbelief, "it never seems the trainees do any better."

Miriel could not help but grin at the implicit challenge. Glancing around, she saw that their reactions varied – some seemed genuinely nervous, while her own eager expression was mirrored in the faces of others. But then her attention fixed once again on Faelon, as he laid out the rules of the trial.

"Your objective is to travel from here to Ladrengil, carrying a full pack and weapons, without being seen. With fair weather and a dry road, such a journey would take a Ranger no more than two days. You will be given three, for I do not recommend that you use the road. The three of us," he gestured to Belegon and Sulon, "will be patrolling the countryside on horseback. If one of us catches you, you will be held for sword drill before being permitted to continue on your way." He glowered at them. "Thus will you learn that it is often better to avoid a fight; even if you survive uninjured, you will be delayed and wearied. So don't get caught. You have until sunset on the third day to reach the gate of Ladrengil. If you do not, you will fail the trial. Those who fail – and some of you will – must repeat it at a later date, when I deem you ready. If you do not arrive by dawn on the fourth day, I will assume that some misfortune has overtaken you, and we will come looking." His scowl made it clear that any trainee causing such inconvenience had better be prepared to face the Master's wrath. But his voice softened slightly as he went on, "If you do, by some mischance, injure yourself such that you cannot continue, make your way to the road, or as close to it as you can. That is where we will begin the search."

"There is but one more rule – you will leave here with one day's food rations, and you may not beg food of any traveler or homestead you encounter along the way. You may of course eat whatever you can gather or shoot, but that takes time. And often fire, which is not generally wise if you are trying not to be seen." He chucked, a bit unpleasantly. "That is all. You will depart at intervals, starting at sunrise." He glanced at the pale eastern sky. "Get your gear. Move."

Miriel felt her heart beating fast as she swiftly made up her pack and strapped on her weapons. Yet there was an undercurrent of fear as well, enough to set her stomach churning and make her wish she had eaten a bit less at breakfast. This is where we find out how good you really are, girl. No more games, no more drills. This is real – or as real as it will get until you make maethorneth.

"So what's the plan?" Calen, by her side, low and steady. A little too steady, she thought, too deliberately calm. He's rattled. She felt a grim smile, though she did not let it show on her lips. Took long enough.

She shrugged. "You heard the Master. Move fast, stay off the road." A mirthless chuckle. "Be hungry."

"Alone, or together?"

She stopped. "I don't know." Slow, and thoughtful. "He never said."

"No."

"I assumed….I mean, I thought he meant—"

"You know what happens when you assume."

A wry, grudging smile. "Makes an ass of you and me."

"Indeed. So. What do we do?"

Quiet for a moment, and then, "Small groups? Pairs, maybe. More than that will make it harder to hide."

He nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

And why wasn't I? Have I learned nothing? She shook her head, and shook it off. "Let's tell the others."

They were uncertain at first, as she had been. But Meren grinned. "He never said we couldn't. The way I see rules, if they don't say you can't, then you can."

"And where's that gotten you?" grumbled Morfind, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Indeed, they all seemed to relax a little, as if given a reprieve. All but Tarag. He said nothing, but frowned, and turned away as they began to choose partners. She glanced at him, and then back at Calen.

"Let him," muttered Calen, and she was surprised to hear a whisper of viciousness. "If he wants to, let him." A pause, and then in a very different voice, "Will you—will you come with me?"

She turned in surprise, for she had never heard such uncertainty from him before. She had thought to partner with Meren, or perhaps Hannas, but— "I know the land between here and Ladrengil better than you do. Better than Meren, too." Something in his voice then that she could not place, but she knew he was right.

"I—" she glanced around to find Meren, but saw that he was standing by Morfind, Hannas talking urgently to Gallach. Morfind is from Ladrengil as well, she remembered. And Hannas and Gallach….A small smile, and Calen smiled too as his eyes followed hers.

"She'll be fine," he said softly. And then, the moment of good humor gone, "We'll get there first, so we can go back if anyone needs help."

She nodded, then turned and gave him a small, appreciative smile. "I like the way you think." She turned back to finish packing her gear, and so she heard his chuckle but did not see the flush that spread across his face.

The order in which Faelon released them was random, and she felt again a little twinge of uncertainty. We leave alone, so perhaps we are meant to go alone….'If they don't say you can't, then you can.' She smiled, and shook her head. If we're punished for it, at least we'll all be punished together.

Faelon handed them each a packet of food, and then led them out through the gate, and they stood in a huddle on the road waiting for sunrise. It seemed to take forever, but at last a rose-gold glow touched the hills behind the village, and Faelon turned to them with a mirthless smile. "Good luck." And then, "Hannas, go."

She was the first, and as the others left at intervals, the group slowly dwindled. Miriel was fifth; she dared not look at Calen for fear the Master would understand what was said without words. But they had made a plan to meet at a hollow tree not far beyond the edge of the pastureland that surrounded the village, and before the sun had risen over the tops of the trees, he arrived, moving softly through the woods.

He smiled when she stepped out from behind the tree, but said only, "Good. Let's go."

In their hurried planning back in the barracks, they had all decided it made most sense to spread out, so if one pair was found, the others might not be. She and Calen therefore angled west, out of the direct way south to Ladrengil, and roughly followed the line of the river. But by mid-morning, this had taken them as far west as Calen thought wise. There was a ford a little further on that they had used on one of their expeditions during the summer, but they decided it would be foolish to use it now. "That's the first place they'll look," she grumbled, when he brought it up. Then she grinned wryly. "First test: easy and dangerous, or difficult and safe?"

He nodded. "I expect you're right." A chuckle, and then, "Know your enemy, eh?"

Instead they swam the river, hauling their gear across on a rope tied between two trees. There had been a moment's self-conscious indecision about clothes, but she took a breath and said firmly, "I don't want to be wet; it'll be cold tonight." A sidelong glance at him, and then, "Just—don't look, all right?"

He chuckled and nodded, and he kept his word, turning his back as she swam across and then pulled her gear over and dressed. She tried to do the same, truly she did—but she had to haul his gear, and then the rope, and if he did not hide himself entirely while she did it, that was hardly her fault….

At last they were both on the far side, dressed and put together again, and he turned to her with a small smile. "First test passed." She nodded, and they continued on through the woods.

By the middle of the afternoon, however, the trees thinned and the ground began to rise, and they knew they were coming to the edge of the downs. "Stop here until dark?" he asked. "Or do you want to risk it?"

She shook her head. "No need. There's plenty of time." So they found a hollow beneath the roots of a fallen tree, and they ate a little and tried to sleep. She didn't manage much, and though he lay with his eyes closed, she didn't think he was asleep either.

Slowly the sun sank, and the land faded from brown to gray. But not at last to black, for the moon was nearly full, a diffuse glow behind high, thin clouds, not enough for shadows but enough to show the land around them. A cold wind whispered across the open country.

She nudged Calen. "You awake?"

He stirred, groaned, but then sat up, glanced around and snorted softly.

"You actually slept?"

"Must have."

"Damn. Well done."

She saw his grin for a moment in the moonlight before he pushed himself to his feet.

They ate a little and then set off, steering as straight as they could guess at in the dark.

"Do you supposed the Master and his….friends are camped for the night?" she asked quietly, as they walked.

He shrugged. "Most likely." A thoughtful pause. "Though there are three of them. They might split up; we should still be careful."

"Hope for the best and plan for the worst, eh?"

He chuckled softly. "Something like that."

"Though we'll hear them before they see us, as long as the wind stays quiet."

They went on without speaking after that, moving carefully on the shadowed ground, but still far more quickly than they would have dared in daylight. The bleared smudge of moon behind cloud crept across the sky, and they glanced at it now and again to judge their course.

Despite cold and movement, Miriel began at last to feel sleepy. She heard Calen stumble behind her, softly curse the small burrowing animal into whose hole he had stepped. She smiled—and then froze. Flung out an arm to stop him, and dropped to the ground.

To his credit, he said nothing, only mirrored her movement and then was still, listening. At last, she touched his arm and gestured back the way they had come. And there, moving slowly down the hill they had just descended, was the dark figure of a man on a horse.

He did not appear to have seen them, for when he reached the bottom of the slope, he did not continue up toward where they crouched in the shadow of scrubby bushes, but rather turned east and followed a dry, stony watercourse that led away toward where they knew the road must lie.

They did not stir until long after he was gone, hearts pounding in the darkness. At last Calen shifted a little, murmured, "Well, that answers our question." She nodded, and without speaking more, they continued on.

The rush of near-discovery banished all thought of sleep, and they walked more quickly, eager for the shelter of the woods they knew lay somewhere ahead, in the valley of the river that here curved back toward the east. They would have to cross it again; she shivered at the thought.

The ground beneath their feet began to slope downward, and dark shapes of bushes and then outlying trees loomed up before them against the formless gray moor grass. It became harder to see, for the moon was sinking low in the west and the clouds had thickened. Her limbs felt heavy, and it seemed that her mind had slowed, plodding awareness narrowed to the shadowed ground before her feet. It was not enough. Her toe caught a rock hidden in the grass, and she stumbled and nearly fell. A few steps behind, Calen's breath hissed through his teeth, but he said nothing until she was steady on her feet again. And then, close by her side, "It's getting too dark."

She nodded, breath still ragged, felt herself trembling and forced herself still. "We'll have to rest sometime. Might as well be now."

Carefully, feeling with their feet in the dark, they found a patch of grass and leaves, dry and relatively soft. They had grumbled a little at Faelon's insistence that they bring a full pack for such a short journey, but she was glad at least that she had a blanket. The night had turned decidedly cold, and dampness crept through the air beneath the trees. Glad I'm not alone, she thought, as she huddled close to him beneath their blankets. And then, I ought to tell him. A flush, as she thought of how such words might be taken. He knows better. But still, she chose her words carefully, and in the end those she spoke were not her own, for it seemed safer that way.

"The Wild is not kind to a Ranger alone," she sang softly, "but together, my brother, we're warm."

She felt more than heard his chuckle, and they settled against each other to sleep.

She woke to cold water dripping on her nose. She started, shifted, groaned as a gust of wind shook more down rain from the trees, rolled stiffly to her knees and then stood, shivering. Must have started after we fell asleep. Damn, we were tired to sleep through that. Though her cloak had kept off the worst of it, every garment now seemed suffused with a clammy dampness that stole the heat from her body. She shivered again, stared blankly into the gray dawn, could almost taste the hot breakfast they would be serving in the Hall, could almost feel the warmth of the fire on her cheek. Stop it. This is the choice you made. She turned to Calen, found a similarly glum expression on his face – and then somehow they both were smiling, wry and half-hearted but real. He straightened his shoulders, put on an almost fierce expression. "Rain builds character. So do tree roots in your back at night, and cold river crossings, and being hungry. Most forms of misery, actually. Rangering is all about character."

She couldn't help laughing, though she covered her mouth to muffle the sound. "You—you're perfect," she gasped. "If I'd had my back turned, I'd have thought the Master stood behind me."

"That's why I waited. Didn't want you to piss your pants."

Another barely suppressed fit of laughter, and at last she managed, "Shut up. Do you want them to hear us?"

Returned to his own voice now, "Nah, they won't. They'll have found somewhere sheltered to camp, deeper in the woods."

She nodded, for it was eminently sensible, what she would have done had she a horse and no need for secrecy. And then, eyeing him with newfound respect, "When did you come up with that?"

"The voice?" He shrugged, but a grin danced at the corners of his eyes. "It's not that hard, really. Well, it would be for you, but since I've got a real man's voice—" He laughed and shied away as she cuffed him on the shoulder. And then an image appeared in her mind, and her eyes widened, and she gave a low whistle at the brilliance of the idea.

"You know that it's tradition for the trainees to roast the Master at the midwinter feast, after they've been made maethorneth?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No, I didn't, but—yes," he said with feeling, as he realized what she meant.

"You're game?"

"Of course." And then, more quietly, and it was not a question, "You're surprised."

"I—"

Silence, save for the dripping of rain. "I have never belonged anywhere." So soft the voice seemed hardly his, "It has….taken me time. To believe."

To believe you belong among us. Gently she touched his hand. "Believe, then," she said softly, and smiled.

By the time they got to the river, they were so wet that it seemed hardly worth undressing for the swim. But she felt the cold water, knew that uncomfortable as she was, it would be far worse in soaking wet clothes, and so they crossed as they had done before. Both were shivering violently by the time they were done, her hands shaking so much she could hardly fasten her cloak-pin. Calen took the lead, jogging through the trees, trusting to the rain to hide the sounds of their passage. They had one scare, a sharp crack and rustle of disturbed leaves ahead of them, but it was only a deer, startled by their presence, leaping away into the trees. Even if she had had her bow ready, it would have been a difficult shot, and impossible in the rain. Still she let out a breath of disappointment as food vanished into the misty woods. She was hungry, for they had eaten only a little the day before, and even less in the morning. So it was that her watchfulness faltered, and she nearly cried out when Calen stopped abruptly, whirled and grabbed her shoulder, and pushed her down behind the roots of a fallen tree.

Belegon, he mouthed. Absolutely still then, hardly daring to breathe, listening to the sounds of the rain-soaked forest, listening for sounds that were not of the forest. There it was – the rhythmic fall of feet, quiet but not silent, and as they peered out through a gap in the roots, he appeared through the trees. He was walking slowly, glancing from side to side as though searching for something.

Did he hear us?

They breathed softly and stayed still, ducked their heads so he would not have the feeling of being watched. She closed her eyes, and thought of being small, insignificant, empty space in the forest. But she listened, ears straining to follow him, to guess where he was, to measure the threat moment by moment. And she found her hand slipping down to the hilt of her sword.

No. Not now. This is not real.

But someday it will be real.

She felt more than heard Calen breathing softly beside her, the rustle of branches and the patter of rain surrounding them like a shield. She did not dare look, and they stayed still long after Belegon's footsteps faded away into the trees.

At last Calen shifted, and she opened her eyes and drew a long breath.

"Too close."

He nodded. "They must expect us to be in this part of the woods; it's the best cover around."

"So we do what they don't expect."

"Which is?"

She paused, thinking. "West or east? We can't go south yet."

He pressed his lips together, not pleased with either option. "East will take us back to the river, and west to the road."

"I don't want to cross the river again."

A mirthless laugh. "Neither do I. West, then?"

She nodded slowly. "Let's try it. We'll cross the road after dark. There's open country not much beyond, I remember that from the summer."

"Hilly, but it's a straight shot to Ladrengil. We could probably make it in by dawn, if we press hard."

She had to suppress an instinctive groan. I don't want to press hard. I want to eat, and sleep, and be warm.

Well, you can't, so stop whining. And then, more moderate and reasonable, You can have the first two, at least a little. Aloud, she said, "Shall we rest here then? We're not likely to find anywhere better, and they think this part of the woods is safe now."

He frowned. "Perhaps. Though they must know they might have missed us." A brief, dry smile. "But I am hungry. What do we have left?"

There was little enough, and they ate it all. "No sense carrying more weight than we need to, eh?" she said with a short laugh. "Not if we're going to run tonight."

He glanced at her, shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I suppose it was my idea."

"It was."

"Maybe I should have picked a partner who would restrain my bad ideas?"

"It's not a bad idea; it's the only way to win."

His smile was broad now, and faintly amused. "And you want to win as much as I do."

"Of course."

"Looks like I picked the right partner after all."

She grinned. "So did I."

They ate the last of their food, and then curled up with their backs against the log, shivering. Her whole body felt stiff, and the rain made the wet leaves beneath them cold, but at last she drifted into uneasy sleep.

The forest was noticeably darker when Calen nudged her awake.

"Time to go," he said in a low voice. They stood carefully, stretched, tried without much success to loosen chilled muscles. "Let's just walk," he grunted at last. "We'll warm up better that way."

They went the way they thought was west, though in the shadowless, rain-soaked woods it was hard to be sure. It grew darker, and the rain faded to a dull patter, and at last to large, heavy drops that told them it had stopped falling and was now only dripping from withered leaves. The branches began to stir, whispering and then tossing fretfully in a gusty wind. On the forest floor they were sheltered, but Miriel thought of cold wind in the open country, and she shivered.

Soon enough and yet too soon, the trees thinned, and they felt more than saw the ground turn from dirt and leaves to grass beneath their feet. But the moon behind heavy clouds was full, and when they came at last to the edge of the trees, they could guess at the shape of the land before them.

"At least we went the right way." It was the first either of them had spoken in hours, and Calen shivered as he spoke so that his voice shook.

She turned to look at him, could make out next to nothing in the dark, and so she had to risk the question. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," he snapped at once. But even in the dark she saw his shoulders slump, and after a silence he said more quietly, "I'm cold, as are you. I'm hungry, as are you. I'm wet and tired and sore and consequently in a foul mood, as are you. Aside from that, I'm fine." And though she could not see his face, she knew he was smiling.

She took the lead, jogging south across rough open country. There were many small dips and swells but no true hills, and though her legs ached and her mind felt slow, she found the place of dogged going-on and settled into it, thinking of nothing but the placement of feet on rough ground, one step and then another, and the steady beat of Calen's footfalls behind her, muffled in sodden grass.

The wind chilled their wet clothes and hair, but the heat of movement kept them warm enough, and they went on and on and ever on into the gray night.

"Halt." Behind and above them, sudden and sharp.

Her body obeyed before her mind had caught up. Calen stumbled into her and they both nearly fell, clutched at each other to stay on their feet. She turned toward the voice, squinting vainly into the dark as a tall man-shape strode down a slope to their right.

"Faelon," Calen murmured. "Son of a bitch."

The thought of a smile crossed her face at that, though her lips did not move. They had discussed it on the first day, with casual indifference that was not really casual at all; both agreed that if they had to be caught, one of the other Rangers would be far better than the Master. "He knows exactly what we hate, what we can do and what we can't. Bastard." They had both laughed, a little nervously, but neither really thought they would be caught. And now they were.

"Well," said Faelon conversationally, as he came near, "who have I found?"

She straightened her shoulders. "Calen and Miriel."

He barked a laugh. "I should have known. You're about the only ones we haven't gotten yet, figured you might be together. Whose idea was that, by the way?"

They looked at him blankly.

"I did not say you could travel in pairs." Irritation in his voice now. "Who decided you would?"

"I did," said Calen at once, flat and final.

"We both did." He looked at her, but she shook her head. "You had the idea, but we both agreed. And we both told the others."

"You did, did you?" They could not see his face, and they could not read his voice. "Well. No one else would say."

No one else would say….and a small warmth flickered in her heart.

"That's as may be," he continued after a moment, and in the faint sheen of moonlight through thinning clouds, she saw his lips curve in a thin smile. "You're mine now."

It seemed the longest sword drill of her life, and perhaps it was, for they had no way of telling time. Faelon was pitiless, as they had known he would be. Proper sparring would be too dangerous in the dark, exhausted as they were, so he made them go through it at half speed, which was far worse. Before they were through the first form their arms were shaking, and at last Miriel's shoulder simply gave out. Her sword point sank irresistibly to the ground, and she stood panting and shamed in the dark.

"Switch hands."

Switch….what?

"You heard me, girl. Left hand."

Slowly, trembling with fatigue, she obeyed. The cold, wet leather of the grip felt strange, and she lifted the sword cautiously. But her arm did not shake, and so she resumed the drill.

Had she been able to think, perhaps it would have been more difficult. But mind and body both were far beyond thinking, and so she simply watched Calen and mirrored his movements. At half speed she could nearly do it, though there were times when her arm moved the wrong way, instinct warring with reason. Opposite, she kept repeating in her mind. Same, but opposite. And then, a wry whisper, That's not confusing at all.

Calen eventually switched to the left as well, but even in the dark she could see that he struggled with it far more than she did. At last, Faelon called a halt. "You're both going to hurt yourselves if you keep up this nonsense," he growled. "Sheath your swords." They obeyed, and then, "On your faces."

It was far more than sword drill. Lying bastard, she thought, as she dragged her body up and down, squatting and jumping, carrying Calen and then he carrying her, pushups and plank holds until her entire body shook and breath rasped in burning lungs. At last they both stood before him, still and stupid, waiting blankly for the next command. He shook his head unsmiling, but there was faint approval in his voice. "That is all." Nothing more, and he turned from them and strode away into the night.

They stood staring after him, then sagged to the ground. No words, only gasping and trembling, gradually slowing, gradually bringing breath and body back under control.

"That wasn't so bad."

She tried to laugh, managed a hoarse croak. "You only had to carry me. I had to carry you."

"I'm not that much heavier than you."

"Taller. It makes a difference."

"Fair." A pause, and then, more seriously, "Are you all right?" What he meant was, Can you go on?

She knew it. And though everything in her longed to stay on the cold, wet ground, to huddle against his warmth and sleep, and perdition take the Master and all the rest of them, she nodded. Rolled to her knees. Pushed herself to her feet. "Let's go."

She remembered little of the rest of the night. She stumbled, fell, got up again more times than her weary mind could count, as did he. They were not jogging now, but they kept going, first one in the lead and then the other. For a mercy, the wind had dropped to a chill whisper, and the clouds gradually drifted apart until moonlight lay clear and cold over the land. She walked as if in a dream, on and endlessly on, more asleep than awake on numbed feet. But at last gray light crept over them, and as the sky behind the eastern hills turned pale, they came over a rise and saw the wooden walls of Ladrengil before them, smoke rising straight up in the still morning air.

They looked at each other, shadow-eyed and dirty and pale with weariness. She smiled a little, inclined her head to him almost in a bow, and together they made their way down the last slope in a slow, shambling jog. At last feet found hard dirt, the road strange after so long in forest and grassland. They slowed to a walk. The gate was shut, but as they approached a voice called out a challenge in the dawn.

"Miriel and Calen," she called in return, and wished her voice did not sound so pitiful. "Trainees from Elenost."

Footsteps on a ladder, clatter of bolts and creak of wood, and the gate swung open before them.