"You lied to me." The commander stood in his tent, back to his... prisoner? Certainly not guest, any more. His tone was neutral, giving her no clues as to what would come.

"I did not lie." She had been very careful not to break that code of truth.

"You were economical with the truth. You played with words just like wizards do." And that was true, and Kite felt a surge of guilt at the way she had, deliberately indeed, misled him. Lies of omission, of implication, were still lies.

"I'm sorry," she said miserably, and half turning, he waved a hand at her.

"Take a seat."

He waited until she had hooked one of the stools that littered the edge of the tent, and placed it in front of his desk. Perched on it, off balance and lower than he, sat at his desk, she felt at a distinct disadvantage even without the situation as it was. That was no doubt intentional.

"Your companion will be sentenced to death," he started bluntly. "That is unavoidable, even had he not brought down our flyers. You are lucky he brought down the enemy flyers, too. Otherwise he - and maybe you - would have been lynched by now." Kite sat silently, not protesting Saryth's reasons for his actions. She rather thought the commander understood them, but he had already said there was no other option for her friend.

"Despite what you have said and been party to," he continued, "I am minded to let you go. First, listen to what I have to say. Let it be a warning."

Catching the undertone, Kite listened carefully.

"Your friend is held in chains in the centre of the camp. Because he is a sorcerer, he has been drugged. The drug used would give him the grandfather of all headaches, were he to wake... but his sentence will be carried out tomorrow. He will be beheaded by my hand at sunrise."

Looking at his face as he said this, Kite did not think he was looking forward to the deed. She felt numb, as though someone else was hearing a sentence being pronounced on her friend, as though this was a dream. This was not what I had expected when I left Alt Dunmere. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Executions and war, deaths and fighting. It shouldn't have been like this.

"The tent is guarded by my most trusted men. The man on watch tonight is a veteran of thirty years' service. Nothing but foul sorcery could distract him from his duty." It's not normal to give this much information away. Kite mentally paged back to his accusations; you played with words, the commander had said. And if he knows I lied by implication, he knows I am also...

"Were such a thing to happen, of course, he would be dismissed - with honour, of course, for it would hardly be his fault, but nonetheless, such a lapse could not be ignored. He is a good soldier. He was about to retire when this war started. He has two grandchildren he has never seen, and his youngest daughter got married in his absence. But enough of him." The commander sat up straight and glared directly at Kite. "You had better be gone by morning. You may leave. This time, heed my words."

Kite did; both the ones he had said, and those he had carefully left unsaid. Feeling in control again, which itself was an unexpected gift, she bowed to the commander in acknowledgement of his grace.

"I understand. Thank you. Thank you very much." She turned to go, and hesitated. "I'm sorry for the trouble we caused."

The commander watched her go, and sighed.

Walking through the camp, Kite felt all eyes on her, eyes which flicked away whenever she returned their gaze. She walked faster, staying well away from the grounded flyers and from anything else that looked important. The rain was gone, the clouds blown over, the sky grey to match the mood in the camp and in the farmhouse where Padraic, Lyra and Fiona were standing as though waiting for her. Kite paused in the doorway; Fiona looked sad, Padraic angry. Lyra simply looked away.

"May I enter?" Kite requested formally. "I need to collect our things. I'll leave once I've done that."

"Please," Fiona said, and behind her Lyra sobbed once. Padraic started out from behind his mother.

"What - are you both leaving?" His tone wavered between anger and disbelief.

"Saryth is sentenced to be executed tomorrow at sunrise," Kite said flatly. "Is that what you wanted to know?" Padraic glared at her and she met his eyes; he was the first to look away. Released, she headed for the stairs, and Fiona reached out timidly to touch her shoulder.

"Kite... I'm sorry." Then as Kite carried straight on without responding, she added, "are you just going to leave?"

In the basement, Kite packed her bags and wound her hair up into the two buns that kept it out of the way when travelling. She donned her cloak, picked up her precious, crucial staff, and gathered Saryth's cloak, the only thing he'd left behind. The warmth of the basement was a benediction after the cold outside, and she was reluctant to leave, but a strange sort of excitement was beginning to make itself felt. The same as when she had escaped Corwaith Keep with Saryth. She almost smiled.

Walking out of the farmhouse, she paused at Fiona's quiet, "Kite...?" On the doorstep, she turned and bowed deeply.

"Thank you very much for your hospitality," she said, and in answer to the earlier question, "I am, indeed, just leaving now."

She walked away without looking back, but she heard Lyra's plaintive question and Fiona's response.

"Why did he do it, mummy?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know."

Kite walked out of the camp, and the soldiers watched her go. She didn't think the commander would simply let her go without having a watch on her, at least for a little while, whatever his intentions actually were, so she carried on for over an hour before stopping in a small wood by the road. The ground beneath the young trees was mostly dry, and she curled up underneath the largest tree to drowse and wait for evening.

The camp was quiet by night but alert, and without the pouring rain of the night of their arrival, it would be much harder to penetrate without raising the alarm. Guards kept watch on the perimeter and at specific points throughout the camp. The snores of sleeping soldiers, muffled by their bedding and the tent canvas, accompanied Kite's careful approach in between two of the perimeter guards. Preserving her limited capacity, she did not try any magic to smuggle herself past the guards, but instead chose an area on the other side of the camp from which she'd approached, where bushes and shrubs grew close to the nearest tent. She waited there until the nearest guards were looking away, then slipped quickly beneath their combined inattention and concealed herself behind the tent. Taking her time, sneaking from tent to tent and occasionally going through the uninhabited storage marquees, she made her way to the centre of the camp, where Saryth was held, the tent guarded by the veteran who wanted so much to be at home.

It was easy to pick out, being one of two tents that were both guarded and situated near the centre, with the other the command tent. She ghosted as close as she dared then, gathering what small magic she could muster, she drew the sigil for sleep in the air in front of the guard. It was a weak spell, limited not just by her own capacity but also by her tiredness and worry, but it worked anyway, aided by the man's own weariness. It had been a long day for them all. He yawned, and crumpled gently to the ground. Kite regretted leaving him with his head in the mud, but he was at least on his back, so would not get a faceful of it. She hurried past and into the tent.

Saryth lay in the centre on a mess of sacking, fully clothed still, although they'd taken his boots off in order to get the shackles round his ankles. He had not, as she had feared, been beaten further, although Padraic's efforts had come up in deep red on his right cheekbone. A gentle probe of his side revealed further bruising where he had been kicked, but thankfully there was no indication of a broken rib. She pulled the gag from his mouth, but, trusting the commander's word, didn't bother trying to wake him. Instead, she tied his boots to her belt, shoved her staff through her belt as well, and bent down to hoist her unconscious friend onto her shoulders. He didn't weigh as much as he should have, but he was still heavy; she felt her knees buckle as she settled him as comfortably as she could. Finally, she laid the best obfuscation spell she could manage on them both, pushing away the heartfelt wish for even a small helping of Saryth's prodigious talent for illusion.

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The route out was tortuous, ducking behind tents as she had done on the way in, but with the staff and Saryth making everything twice as hard. The obfuscation spell helped, but it would not protect them from detection if a guard actually looked at them. She waited by the last tent for the guards to look the other way before bolting for the bushes as fast as she could, so burdened. Somehow it worked, despite the noise she couldn't avoid making. She sat in the bushes, Saryth dumped unceremoniously on the ground beside her, breathing heavily and waiting for the alarm to be raised, but everything was silent. Did the commander do that too? Surely not...

The stars wheeled overhead, the guards paced back and forth and exchanged quiet mutters, and the bushes rustled as startled animals resumed their cautious foraging. By her side, Saryth breathed steadily, and when she felt able again, she hoisted him back on her shoulders and crept away from the camp, protected from sight now by the bushes which edged into trees. She reached the treeline unchallenged, until -

"Stop!" A low command, a voice she recognised. Kite bit her lip, turned, and saw Padraic, coming up behind her and looking furious. His drawn sword was an unspoken menace, glinting bright in the moonlight.

"Padraic."

"Put the nyechist down, and I'll let you pass." He kept his voice quiet, probably because he, like her, was not supposed to be out here.

"What will you do with him?" She let the unknown insult slide.

"What do you think? I'll take him back. Or I'll deal with him now." His voice was horribly calm for someone apparently ready to kill an unconscious man. "What's a few hours?"

"You have no right to his life."

"I have every right!" Padraic shot back with a snarl. "After what he did -"

"Don't you ever think?" Kite snapped, exasperated.

"Put him down!"

"He did it because your sister cried!" Kite may have been annoyed with Saryth for not thinking about his actions, but she understood full well why he had done it. "Who was hurt by what he did? He stopped the fight!"

Padraic looked uncertain for an instant, then stepped forward, thrusting his blade to within striking distance of Kite's face.

"He has been sentenced to death."

"Padraic!" Lyra came running from behind him, to put herself between Kite and her brother.

"Lyra!" He sounded shocked. How long had she been listening, Kite wondered. What had she heard?

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" Lyra was crying. "Let him go. He made a mistake."

"But -"

"Davaith died yesterday. Saryth stopped everyone else dying." For now. Kite couldn't help the thought. How long will it take to get more firegems?

"He destroyed the firegems!"

"So what? They can be replaced. You can't. Please..."

Padraic hesitated, wavered. Then his blade dropped, and he lowered his eyes. "Very well. Because my sister asked." He gestured to the woods. "Go on, get out."

As Kite passed, he glared coldly at her, but she took the time to stop by Lyra and say, quietly, "Thank you."

"When he wakes up," Lyra said, "tell him I said thank you too."

"I will. Strength to you both."

Padraic and Lyra watched the foreigner walk away slowly, bearing her unconscious companion across her shoulders. As her form dwindled, Padraic consciously let go of his anger. Whatever the sorcerer had done to inspire it, his sister had requested his life be spared. He glanced down and said, mock sternly, "you should be in bed."

"Yes," Lyra agreed, smiling and crying, and let him take her home.

Two hours later, Kite staggered to a halt by the tree where she'd left the cloaks and her bags, and lowered Saryth to the ground with more care than the last time. She put him on his side, took the time to pick the shackle locks, threw his cloak over him and left him to sleep off the drug, while she sat drowsing by his side, wrapped in her own cloak and leaning against a tree. He woke as the dawn filtered into the small woods, way too soon as far as Kite was concerned.

"Kite? What...?"

"We need to get moving," Kite said, donning her bags again.

"My head..."

"They drugged you. Can you stand? We're still too close." She offered him her hand, and he staggered to his feet, swaying.

"What happened to the guard?"

"He went to sleep."

"The shackles?"

"I picked the locks. Come on!"

He pulled his boots on, balancing with one hand on the nearest tree. Kite flung his cloak around his shoulders and tugged the hood over his head.

"Are you -"

"I can manage."

He stumbled down the hill ahead of her, concentrating on where his feet went. It was Kite who spotted the wagon on the road ahead, and hailed it. It was a four-wheeled, low slung cart containing mainly hay, with some boxes of wrinkly apples on top, driven by a cheerful old woman accompanied by a dozy dog. She pulled up, and the shaggy pony in the traces immediately dropped his head and started munching the roadside grass. She scrutinised Kite, and her cloaked and hooded companion.

"You two need a lift?"

"Yes, please," Kite said with relief.

"To the town, right?"

"Ah, yes." She got in the back of the cart, and helped Saryth in. "Thank you very much!"

"You're welcome. Have a good party last night?"

"Something like that," Kite said, allowing the misunderstanding. Saryth groaned, inadvertently adding to the effect, and the old woman cackled with well-meant humour. She flicked the reins, and the pony raised its head and moved off, begrudgingly.

Kite eyed Saryth, bending over the back of the cart like he was about to be sick. "That'll teach you to interfere," she said unsympathetically.

"But -!" Saryth raised his head, looking offended.

"If you're going to do things like that, at least be more subtle about it! People don't seem to like it if you try and stop them killing each other."

Saryth sat back and rested his head against the damp, prickly hay.

"What was the war about, anyway?"

"I never did find out. Lyra didn't know."

"It seems stupid."

"If it is, you have to let people find that out for themselves. Otherwise, they just start fighting again." I sound like some ancient crone dispensing wisdom. But... that is correct. We were taught it, and history bears it out...

"Is it ever not stupid?" Saryth never seemed to mind being lectured by someone the same age as him. Kite wasn't entirely sure of the answer to that - it was too tempting to just say "no", but it wasn't that simple.

"What do you do if your country is invaded?" she tried instead.

"Run away? Die?"

"And if you're responsible for your people?"

"I... don't have a country. Or a people," Saryth said, dodging the question. From his tone, he knew what he was doing. Kite let it go.

"If I find the sun..." she said instead, "if someone has it and won't sell it or give it to me... then on behalf of the world that lost it, I have the authority to declare war." Her quiet words dropped heavily into the conversation without warning. She'd never said that out loud before. It seemed horribly final.

"Couldn't you steal it?" Saryth said, sitting up and turning to look at her. His expression was both dismayed and respectful at once.

"You can't steal a sun and expect it to work like normal." Although I don't know that. But it makes sense.

"Then surely fighting over it won't help, either." He had a point. The mission brief had stated no theft, along with the note of authority to declare war on behalf of Harien, and she had signed it in agreement, but now, she thought he might be right.

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But they think it's worth fighting for. A world without a sun is a world condemned to death." Above, the clouds began to spot rain down again, pattering on the hay. The old woman grumbled wordlessly, and flicked the reins, producing no discernible change in her pony's pace.

"Would you do it?" he persisted.

"I don't know," Kite said, staring up into the increasing rain. "I don't know."