Lila helped Idris to set the corpses alight, on a giant pyre Willard helped to construct. They stood side-by-side as the afternoon light faded, watching the smoke curl and coil into the sky. Willard sang a fae dirge under his breath. It complimented the arias still crying around the walls.

Idris sighed deeply and gestured for Lila to grab his small pack of belongings. They could not take the trunk or all of the books. Instead, she had his good boot strapped to her back and his travel magic bundle tied to her hip, and he had selected some clothes and texts that would be helpful. The court coats, he abandoned. If people knew who he was as they travelled, it would only draw unwanted attention. He took his writing tools and sealing wax and a handful of black clematis, and he had some crystals that would assist with any raising he might have to do. Although he was loath to leave the books, it was stupid to bring them.

Willard had already restocked his herbs and potions, and spent most of the afternoon preparing pastes and salves that could be useful. He wrapped them in a bindle and carried them over his shoulder; he looked like a travelling apothecary, except earthier. The second project he had worked on was a proper set of crutches for Idris. They were basic and uncomfortable, but he was moving faster than he had all day on them.

“It is an hour or so’s ride to the carriage,” said Lila as they turned their back on the pyre. “I have set up a small camp there. It should be comfortable and safe for the evening.”

“Three people cannot sit on one horse,” Idris said again. She and Willard had been ignoring this as a matter of principle. “It will take much longer than an hour.”

“Then it is good for us to start our journey now,” she said.

Idris’s feelings about horses changed the closer he got to them. From afar, he admired their sleek lines and graceful movements; up close, they were large and they stank and they were too strong for their own good. He had much preferred them as a boy, but the loss of his foot and the consequent embarrassment of being unable to ride anymore pushed him to avoid them as much as possible. The mare that Lila had acquired was clearly a war horse – tall and muscular, with calm eyes and a suspicious air – and Idris stood back a safe distance while Lila checked the tack.

“You don’t like ponies?” Willard whispered. Idris shook his head. “This is a good old girl, Idris, she’ll do you fine. Come on, with me.”

The hedge witch produced an apple, seemingly from nowhere, and winked.

“Master witch?” Lila called, satisfied with her work.

“Eh, I’ll walk,” he said, approaching the horse. Lila raised her eyebrows. “An hour’s ride for you will take me ‘til dusk, most like. I’ll collect herbs as I go. But your master, he needs the comfort, hmm?”

Lila pursed her lips, glanced Idris and nodded.

“I do not need to ride the horse,” Idris said, knowing it would do no good. Willard threw him the apple; he only just caught it, the crutches tucked tight under his armpits. “No amount of bribery will make that animal carry me,” he protested as Willard made sure his pack was steady.

“If you’re skittish, she’ll be skittish,” said Willard with a pleasant smile. “She don’t hold no ill will against you, Master Dead-Talker. Miss Lila, I’ll see you both shortly. I shall miss your sunny face.”

To her credit, Lila held her laugh in, and simply nodded in response. Willard started his walk, whistling as he went, nodding respectfully to the aria bells as he passed.

“Do you think he really thinks I’m pretty, or he’s teasing?” she asked Idris. Idris shrugged.

“He strikes me as a most sincere individual, truth be told.”

Lila scratched the horse’s neck fondly. “She’ll like that apple, sir.”

“Certainly.”

“Come. Don’t be shy.”

“You hold the apple.”

Lila took his left crutch instead and assisted him to the horse’s side. His heart pounded, sheer terror surging through him, but the mare hardly blinked at him. Carefully, he held out the apple on his palm.

“There now, girl,” he said, in the calmest voice he could muster.

“Her name is Noctis,” said Lila. “Like the river back home.”

“Noctis. It is a good name for a –“ He broke off, alarmed, when he felt the rubbery horse lips on his hand; Noctis snuffled up the apple and chewed noisily. Lila laughed. Idris swallowed the barely-held scream in his throat. “For a good horse,” he whispered.

“You’ll be fast friends,” Lila said.

“Black bells, do not lie to me. This is how I die.”

She helped him mount regardless, put his left foot into the stirrups on the pillion saddle and bound his stump to the side, and then climbed up herself into the front.

“Hold here,” she said, indicating two rear handles on his saddle, “or around my back.”

“Are you sure?”

“We don’t have the option of being formal right now, Sir Idris,” Lila said quietly.

“Then, if you do not mind, I will feel safer attached to the person with two feet in the stirrups.”

“Just try not to squeeze your thighs too hard on Noctis, or she’ll get confused.” Lila lifted her arms slightly, and Idris threaded himself around her. “Comfortable?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“We’ll go slow, to start.”

Idris nodded, resting his cheek on the back of Lila’s head, staring at the burning pile of dead soldiers, at his thralls standing behind, observing. He could not stop thinking about Kurellan’s rage, about how alone they were. Enemy of the state. After everything he had done for the kingdom, surely Cressida would let him explain himself? Two weeks ago he had been in court, thinking of spending the rest of his day sipping tea beneath the pear trees. Today, his only friends in the world were his attendant, a hedge witch and a black mare.

He had felt alone before – been alone before. But he had become so used to being someone, having a place and a purpose, that he did not know what to think, where to turn. His connections in court meant nothing. His necromancy meant nothing. He was once again a crippled, nameless nobody without a home to go to, and it stung every time he thought about it.

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“Sir Idris?” said Lila as Noctis began her journey out of the barracks.

“Hmm?”

“You seem sad.”

“I…” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. How could he tell her everything in his mind? “I am very tired, Lila. Truthfully, it is nice to just… sit here and be quiet with you. I missed you. I was worried.”

“You’ll make me blush going on like that, sir.”

“I am so grateful for you. Thank you for coming for me.”

He felt her tap the back of his hand fondly.

“I would never abandon you,” she said. “We are family. Remember?”

Idris nodded. “Yes. I remember.”

It was quiet as they rode out, slowly at first. Idris did not like the up-and-down jolting of the movement, especially not against Lila’s back, but he would not let go of her for anything; she was the only real anchor in his world and letting go of her would feel akin to drowning. They passed Willard, who waved his hat at them and laughed his earthy cackle, and Lila laughed and shook her head. Once Willard was behind them, Idris glanced out at the countryside.

Flattened grass, as if a thousand men had rolled on the pastures. A couple of shattered fences.

“They came through here,” Idris said. “The black figure and the faces.”

“I think so,” said Lila, “but nobody caught up to us at the inn.”

“Then where did they go?” He tutted, infuriated at his inability to figure out what had happened to them. “Surely the barracks at the border was not their only goal?”

“I hardly want to think where else they might be.”

“We would have news if they had attacked elsewhere,” he said.

“From who?”

‘From who’ was a good question. Cressida was too far to be able to send word quickly and Kurellan had made his position clear. That, and most people would assume Idris was dead when he had not attempted to reach the old judge, or worse, that he really was a turncoat.

“The carriage,” he said now.

“I think the green glow spooked the horses, and they left the road.” Lila sighed. “They’re both dead. The carriage is on its side. You’ll see.”

“Minimally, the dead horses will be useful,” Idris murmured. The aria they provided would be more than enough for him to work with, if he had to work.

“If I can be bold?”

“Of course.”

“Once we reach the carriage, we should go straight home,” said Lila. “If we get to the Queen first…”

“We need Kurellan,” said Idris.

“Why?”

“He has soldiers and influence. If we have to face the green glow and the black figure again, he will be useful. We need him on our side.”

The afternoon was waning when Noctis slowed and Lila tilted her head to speak to Idris again.

“We’re here.”

The farmlands gave way to a few rundown small holdings on the side of the road. Just beyond the crumbling stone fence, Idris finally caught sight of the carriage. It was tipped on one side, one of the wheels splintered. Beside it and the barn it had careened into were the two horses, dead, one with eyes wide and rolled. The carriage had smashed through the fence; probably the rocks had tripped one of the horses, and the other had suffered a cardiac arrest. The decrepit little farmhouse on the left side provided good cover for the wreckage, and Lila had clearly worked hard to make it a comfortable little camp – there was a fire-pit she had made, and his tent was pitched behind the woodshed and the well.

Lila did not speak as she rode them into the yard. Idris surveyed the spot, finally slid his arms off her waist.

“Did I grip too hard?” he asked softly. She shook her head, stopped Noctis.

“You rode well, Sir Idris.”

“You do not have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Lila.”

“Others may have given up on you,” she said, dismounting, “but I haven’t, sir.” He appreciated it more than he could say. She helped him down, fetched his crutches. “I looked into the house. It’s deserted. There was some wood left in the shed and the well is not dry, so we have fuel and water. No food, but I can hunt. I didn’t want to carve up one of the horses.”

“I would not recommend it,” said Idris, reacquainting himself with solid ground and only one leg to manoeuvre around it. “I should make sure nothing else has rotted before we attempt to drink or dine. The carriage?”

“Both of your other boots were still on the roof, alongside your tent and a change of clothes for the both of us, but that is all. Oh, and I left some things in your tent that I salvaged.”

After she had prepared the tent, Lila went to hunt while the light was still good, carrying a bow and quiver that she claimed to have ‘borrowed’ from Kurellan’s men. Idris hopped around the camp, investigating. The well was good, still producing clear water, and there was wood enough to cook with and warm the three travellers. In his tent, Lila had set out a prosthetic and some medicines, and to his surprise there were two clarifying crystals with the remains of his travel magic pack, minus bells. His cane lay beside his cot bed, alongside his folded work robe and a fresh set of peasant garments.

Next, he poked his head around the farmhouse, wondering why Lila neglected to set up inside, and realised that most of the roof had caved in and there was not a good view of the road. If she was anticipating another attack, being able to watch the trails was smart.

“She should have been a squire,” Idris mused, poking at a spiderweb with the end of his crutch. “I am the luckiest man alive.”

Finally, he settled beside the carriage and used the residual death aria to do a magical autopsy of the horses. As he had suspected, the first’s heart had given out through exhaustion and stress. The second’s leg had broken, and it looked like it tripped and got smashed into by the runaway cart; it had a punctured lung and several broken bones. The meat was fresh, though. The green glow clearly had not come through here.

Even that small foray into the aria made Idris feel woozy and disorientated. His casting hand throbbed and his throat was bone dry. Without the reassurance of the bells, diving into the music was confusing and jumbled, and he felt his way like a novice with no rhythm. Part of his initial training had been conducted minus bells, but it had been an age since he had last needed to work that way.

He had to rest. He was in no shape to travel or cast. He needed a week of recuperation if he was going to be useful in any way and he was not going to get that. He felt as spent as he did after raising six-hundred dead men to fight again on a single battlefield, soaked in rain, crying and gasping and afraid.

Still kneeling beside the dead horses, he closed his eyes and thought of the thick mud beneath his knees, the sweat he could taste running through the downpour on his skin, the sticking of the shirt to his back. At the time, he had thought that would be the worst he would ever endure.

But…

“Sir Idris?”

He turned. Lila had a brace of rabbits across her shoulders, but there was a quiet discomfort in her face that told him just how long she had been watching him sway on the ground.

“It will be some time before the meat is cooked,” she said softly, helping him up. “Time enough for a nap before Willard returns, hmm?”

“You are right, as always, Lila. I am glad to have a friend like you.”

“You’ll worry and fret yourself into an early grave if you’re not careful,” she said. It was likely meant to be a light-hearted joke, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“I must look worse than I thought,” he said as she opened his tent flap. “I have not seen a mirror for days.”

“I’ll fix it.”

She set him down on his cot and tugged the ribbon from his hair, then dangled the fraying silk in front of him. He laughed once.

“You can wear your hair long,” she said, tugging knots out with her fingers, coming away with clumps of burnt-copper strands. “It is such a pretty colour, Sir Idris. All the girls at home are right jealous of it.”

He smiled, tousled the back, feeling how long he had let it get. “It is the only family heirloom I was allowed to keep.”

“When you wake, you will feel better.”

“I know.”

She hesitated, as if about to say something she thought better of, and she sighed and lowered her gaze and placed his broken ribbon down on the bed. Idris frowned, concerned.

“Lila?”

“My loyalty,” she said, as if she had been holding it in, looking up and fixing him with a determined stare, “it is always to you. To the Queen and the kingdom, first, but that means to you, too. Because I know how much those things mean to you, and…”

“Did something happen?” he said.

“I will not participate in a course of action that will harm you,” she said, kneeling to below his height. “Sending you to Kurellan will harm you.”

“He really scared you,” Idris said quietly. She nodded, shame-faced. “That is quite all right, Lila. He scares me too, truthfully. He is a gruff old man who has seen much and trusts little. But Kurellan? His loyalty is to the kingdom, too. To Her Majesty and her work. We are all on the same side, here. If you trust anything I say, please trust that.”

“I… I will, Sir Idris.” She got up, taking her rabbits with her. “I will cook, and I will call when Willard returns.”

“I do not thank you enough,” he said as she was half-out of the tent, “do I?”

She smiled. “I do not need to be thanked for basic human decency.”

“If you do not want to sleep outside – either you or Willard – there is tent space for all three of us. He has seen…” He wriggled his stump, gestured to it. “There is no shame here.”

“I will tell him. But please rest.”

“I shall.”

He knew, then, what he had to do the next morning. It was not fair to drag Lila any further into this madness.