It was a long time since the last time he had slept in the saddle, and it was not a pleasant experience. He felt like a dog tied to a post, but at least there were horses around him now to keep the wolves away, or at least keep them occupied. The last night's ride had been hard on his backside, too. If he did not feel so utterly exhausted, he might have worried about his lack of balance on horseback instead of just concentrating on keeping one step ahead of the next hill and worrying about how much farther until nightfall.

He knew they would find him eventually, though. They had sent scouts after Kieri before and found nothing. Now he knew why. He doubted it was the king who sent them. That had to be someone else in the palace; it would hardly make sense for the king to waste time hunting down an escaped noble, even if he was a fool and deserved being hunted. Besides, what was there to be gained by trying to capture such a useless piece of property?

There was nothing here but a handful of old, half-forgotten memories and some old friends who did not remember him. It seemed odd to think that he could have been so very far from home that he would never see Tormalin again, that he would soon be dead; yet somehow, knowing all this, still finding life worth living had been easy. Not easy because it wasn't hard, but easy because it felt right, as if he were supposed to be out here on the road with his fellow escapees.

He was looking forward to meeting the new king, whoever he turned out to be. There weren't many kings in this world. King Gaven was only a boy, really, and the other three he'd heard of—Duke Arisaydia, Duke Rethnall, and Baron Averran —were old men, and unlikely to be much use to anyone in the near future. They were probably not going to wait for their old leaders to die off to get a new leader, no matter how long that might take. In any case, it was obvious the old rulers wouldn't be allowed to continue ruling. Even if he was wrong and the new leader would try to make peace with Taurgash, there were going to be a lot of unhappy people.

And if he was right that the new ruler would be willing to make peace, then all those people who were unhappy might find hope enough to change their lives for the better. And maybe some young soldier who had seen too many of his comrades die might finally come home alive. And he could see his mother again, and hear her laugh. That sounded better than anything else.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

So that is what I should do, he thought. What did he need? To go south? That looked like it would be a lot easier than going north. But would he be safe in southern lands? No. He didn't believe so. He couldn't trust his own army; he had seen too clearly how easily they turned on each other. He couldn't trust the army he had fought for—they had tried to kill him and his family, after all, and the new king was bound to be in their camp. There was only one place he was going to feel safe, and that was back home.

The sun sank lower and lower into the western sky, casting golden light over the land. Soon he would start riding toward it; if he was lucky, the sun had reached its furthest point before he left, and it would set late, giving him a little extra time to move through the hills. He rode toward it, thinking these things, then noticed that the hills had stopped. They still rose sharply from the plain on all sides, but suddenly they were no longer rising up, they were dropping down, and he could see the plain stretching out far below.

This was where he was—his mind registered this fact slowly, reluctantly. The hills were falling away, opening up a view of mountains, and the plains and rivers beyond. He was in the foothills, he knew, and if he continued on down the valleys, he would find himself in the valley where the capital stood.

But that can't be right, he thought; there has to be some mistake. I'm on the wrong side of the mountain.

But he could feel himself falling, and he looked down into the great plain. It stretched out for what must be leagues, the hills rolling softly away behind the road he was riding. And then he saw it: a long ribbon of gray that cut across the plain, moving faster than all the rest, with a dark line of smoke rising from it.

That wasn't just a river, he realized; it was a train!

His heart leaped at the sight. His parents would be waiting for him. He looked around and saw riders ahead of him, men on horses and some on foot, all headed toward the train. He reined his mount toward them and urged her on. Soon he was among them, and they were welcoming him with cries of "Torm! My lord!" Then the soldiers in blue and white were on either side of him, escorting him along the train until he saw his family gathered before a platform where a pair of men stood.

His father and his brother were there, but not his sister.

She wasn't there at all.