They met more people as they neared Kunebar, herdsmen driving flocks to market, traders with wagons piled high, the occasional rider on horseback. Men mostly, but there were some women, even families, and Miriel found it strange that it did not feel strange, not as she had expected. If they knew who you were, who you both are…but they don't. They think of you as one of them.

There were second glances, to be sure, at her more than Anna, but the occasional questioner seemed satisfied by Anna's answers, sometimes even chuckled at little at the phrase Miriel now recognized as Dunadan bastard. A small flare of anger, every time, but she was careful to keep it from her face, and kept her eyes on the ground.

At last there came an evening when the smell of smoke drifted down to them on the wind, and Anna said they would reach Kunebar the next morning. Miriel nodded, felt apprehension twist her gut. But then another, stronger breeze, and she wrinkled her nose. "What are they burning, shit?"

Anna grunted. "Yes."

"Really?" A smile, tentative and guarded.

"Really. There's no wood, so they dry horse shit and burn it."

"Bullshit."

"That too."

Anna caught her eye, and they both chuckled. And for the first time since she left Calen, she felt a whisper of home.

Kunebar was ringed with a low wall of earth, enough to keep animals out, and in. But not much help against attack. They do not fear that. And she thought it strange, and tucked it away in her mind. Many of the Druadwaith carried bows as a matter of course, for guard and for hunting, and so she did not feel out of place walking the muddy paths of the village visibly armed. But still she was wary, on edge, every sense reaching out through the strange crowds in search of threat. Anna's manner did not change, still the wind-roughened plainswoman, slightly bowed with a lifetime of labor, dark hood pulled over her hair to keep off the sun. But Miriel sensed alertness in her as well, eyes darting this way and that, tension in her stooped shoulders.

They moved with the other incomers toward the center of the village, to a large open space loud with the cries of trade. Anna bartered for food to replace their dwindling supplies, trading small brightly colored stones Miriel had not known she carried. Ask about it later. Watch now. And watch she did, as well as she could without seeming to do so, and she soon became accustomed to the patterns of the market. Enough that when a man began to follow them, she noticed.

He did not look different from the others, light-haired and dark-faced, moving without hurry from stall to stall, exchanging this for that much as they did. But he stayed within sight of them for far too long, and out of the corner of her eye she caught him watching them. Warn Anna. But not him. How?

She leaned forward as if to peer more closely at a blue-stone necklace, stumbled and went to her knees in the dust. Anna turned sharply, bent to help her up, and in the shelter of her hood, hardly moving her lips, she murmured, "There's a man. Behind us."

"I know. Friend. But be wary."

Nothing more, as Anna helped her to her feet and turned back to the stone-seller, apology in her tone. Then she took Miriel's arm, and guided her away from the dust and noise, into a shaded alley between mud walls. She touched the knife in her belt, and the other in her boot, glanced at Miriel but said nothing, only handed her a waterskin and then a piece of hard bread. And they ate, and waited, half-hidden in the shadows.

The man came soon after, strolling unconcernedly down the alley, hardly seeming to look about him. But Anna looked up as he approached, met his eyes, and he made a small movement with his head. Nothing more, and he continued walking, but when he came to the end of the lane, he glanced back before stepping out again into the sun. They followed him around corners and down dusty lanes, always keeping him only just in sight, until at last he slipped into an open door that looked like it might be a storehouse, or perhaps a small barn.

The latter, as it turned out, pigs grunting contentedly in the shadows and chickens scratching in the dust at their feet. A horse stamped and blew in the musty air. The man's voice then, from farther inside, soft and urgent. Words Miriel could not understand, but Anna replied, and the man's face that she could now see in the gloom relaxed a little, and he said in the common speech, "You shouldn't have brought the girl."

Anna shrugged. "Not your problem."

"Might be, if you're caught."

"So we won't get caught."

A thin smile. "Good. They're on the lookout, the prince's men."

"Why?"

"You know, or you wouldn't be here."

"I think. I don't know." And then, carefully, "I think not this year. Next?"

"Likely not. The prince overstepped, went too far too fast."

"And the king is not behind him?"

"The king is not a fool." A pause, as if thinking, and then, "He looks beyond the plains. But he can wait."

"Can he? He is not young."

"No. And he does not have the urgency of youth. He will wait for the right time. And if it is not his time, so be it."

"But it will come? They are agreed on that?"

"Yes." He sighed, and glanced at Miriel. "And I have a son, not much younger than her."

"We do what we can, my friend. And what we must."

He nodded. "Now you must go. You have what you came for. I will send word if I can."

Anna stepped close, put her hands on his shoulders, said something in the Druadwaith tongue that had the ring of ritual, and the man replied in the same language. And then, in the common speech, "Follow the crowd on your way out. Did you come over Thurinrim?"

"Yes."

"I would not go back that way."

She looked at him hard for a moment, then nodded. "Is the Westway passable?"

"Last I heard, yes. Barely." He glanced at Miriel, smiled slightly. "I hope she can climb."

Anna nodded, without hesitation. "She can."

"Good. Now go. Health and luck be with you."

"And with you."

A rare, broad smile, then Anna turned toward the glare of dusty light. And froze. Voices coming down the alleyway. Creak of leather, clank of metal, booted feet on the dirt.

"Take the horse." His voice a hiss, hands already untying the halter rope. "Back door." Brought the horse out of the stall, knelt with cupped hands to boost them up, Anna first and then Miriel. He grabbed Miriel's arm. "Hold onto her. Tight." Miriel nodded, and obeyed. Bending under the low roof, to the back of the barn, hay rustling under the horse's hooves. "Go right, and then left, and follow that to the wall. Hold on when she jumps, girl." Again Miriel nodded, her throat dry. The man looked up, met Anna's eyes. "Go." And he wrenched the door open with a grinding of rusty metal.

Miriel had just time to see the man dart left as they went right, and then she clung to Anna's back and held on for all she was worth. The horse swerved, and swerved again, shouts before them and behind, tones of surprise, outrage even, but not command. Did we lose them? Not for long. Light and shade flashed over her, and then the houses on either side were gone, fenced pens leading right up to the low earthen wall. Half the height of a man, lower than many obstacles she had jumped, in training and even in play. But never like this. Never with two riders. She gripped Anna with her arms and the horse with her legs, shut her eyes and felt the animal surge beneath her, felt her teeth grind together as they came down hard on the other side.

The sun was low in the western sky, the plains wavering gold and green. She loosened her hold enough to glance back. Sod-roofed houses, dust and smoke fast drawing away behind them, perhaps a crowd gathered at the wall, she could not be sure. But nothing between. "No one following," she gasped.

"Not yet. There will be." Anna's voice seemed almost calm, disturbed only by the pounding of the horse and the rushing of the wind. "Have to slow down soon. Horse can't carry two this fast for long. They'll be coming on fresh horses."

"Why? Do they know who we are?"

"Probably not. But we're strangers. That's enough. There aren't many here."

"What about your friend?"

"He can take care of himself." Finality in her tone, and Miriel knew better than to press. She's worried. And there's nothing she can do. And then, as if in answer, "We need to make it worth his risk."

They galloped until Kunebar was a fading smudge far behind, and then Anna slowed the horse to a walk. "Get down, give him a rest." Miriel obeyed, obscurely relieved to feel her feet on solid earth. "But be ready to get back up again."

The horse trotted steadily on through the grass, and Miriel jogged beside it. After a time, Anna said calmly, "String your bow." And then, "You can shoot from a horse?"

Sudden memory, hooves pounding, axes in the rising sun. "Yes. But behind…I don't know. I've never done that."

Anna nodded, smiled grimly. "Know your limits. I'll turn, if it comes to that." She looked back the way they had come, narrowed her eyes, and the smile vanished. "Get up." Miriel slung her bow, grabbed Anna's arm and hauled herself up, the horse obligingly solid beneath then. And when she looked back, sight blurred by the horse's juddering motion, there was movement on the plain behind them.

A race, then, between darkness and pursuit. Slowly the sun sank, and their running shadow lengthened in the grass. The following riders drew closer, still far away but close enough that she could see there were five of them. I have twenty arrows. But they can shoot too. A memory then, something Faelon had told them, on one of those frigid winter days when he allowed them to stay inside. 'The Druadwaith are deadly archers, on horse or foot. But their bows are short; ours have range on them.'

They went down a long slope, the tired horse heaving and stumbling on stones in the shadowed draw. Back up again into the sun, the horse laboring, slowing.

"Get off." Anna's voice was sharp, strained for the first time. Their pursuers appeared on the crest behind, clear against the darkening eastern sky.

The sun is in their eyes. It won't get better than this.

They crested the ridge, Miriel breathing hard from the climb.

Anna halted, twisted to look back. "How far can you shoot?"

Miriel had been eyeing the range, and answered at once. "The bottom of the draw, maybe even a little before."

Anna nodded, turned back toward the sun and the distant mountains, and urged the horse forward. "I'll make them think we've gone on."

Miriel followed until they were below the crest of the ridge, but then she dropped to the ground and crawled back. Anna stayed behind, out of sight. "Let me know if they get halfway up." Low and tense, and Miriel spared a thought for the strangeness of that trust. But only one, and then all her mind was focused on the land before her, and the riders nearing the bottom of the opposite slope.

Not yet. Not yet…almost…now.

They were looking down, watching the rocky ground at their horses' feet, and so they did not see her at once when she stood.

Slow now. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Not much wind, and perfect light. Nock, draw, aim…one. A horse. Nock, draw, aim…two. A man. Nock, draw, aim…three. Miss. Let it go. Nock, draw, aim…

There was no time, no thought, only the count, and the men before her, riding, shouting, falling.

Different movement then, and the man who was now in front raised a bow. He was not the man who had been in front before; that man now lay at the bottom of the shallow valley, unmoving on the stones. She knelt, heard an arrow cut the air over her head. Nock, stand, draw, aim…A man.

There were only two left on horses now, one of them wounded. They stopped coming, drew back out of range. Nock, draw, aim…Don't waste an arrow.

Not turning, she called out, "They've stopped."

Boots and hooves, muffled in the grass, and then Anna stood beside her. Silent, assessing. At last she said quietly, "I don't think they've given up. But we can lose them. Let's go." And then, looking Miriel up and down, "You ride for a while."

Miriel did not argue for fear her voice would shake. She slung bow and quiver, out of the way but available at need, and let Anna boost her onto the horse's broad back.

She had ridden bareback before, but never without reins, and she did not know the ways of the plains horses, so Anna kept the lead rope, jogging through the grass as day faded to dusk and then to night.

The draw on the far side of the ridge led them south and east, not quite the way they had been going, but they followed it, glancing frequently behind them. The two men that were left standing came at last to the top of the ridge, black and small now against the pale early evening sky. "They can see us," said Anna, between rhythmic breaths. "Good." And Miriel, no longer shaking but only, abruptly, very tired, asked without really thinking, "Why? Don't we want to hide?"

Anna glanced at her, and Miriel flinched a little, anticipating a rebuke. But after a moment, Anna said only, "Think about it."

Think. Too tired to think.

Darya scolding, older-sister exasperation: 'If you're too tired to think, you shouldn't talk either.' And then Faelon, posing a problem, to agonized groans at the end of a long day: 'If you're too tired to think, you die.'

So think. We were heading south and west. Random? Of course not. 'I would not go back that way.' The way we came. Over Thurinrim. Because we might be remembered. Questioned. 'Can the girl climb?' And she remembered that Westway was the name in the common tongue for another pass, perhaps halfway between Thurinrim and the end of the range. Long fallen into ruin, impassible by carts, or even horses. But perhaps not by those on foot, fit and skilled in the mountains. Perhaps not impassible by Rangers.

"We'll go this way to make them think we're headed for Thurinrim. Then turn west in the night and make for Cirith Annun."

A beat of silence, and then, "Well done."