The king might be plotting his death in new ways within the week, but he was not yet an outcast, and he would see Karin again. The moon floated in a clear sky as the stallion’s long strides ate up the miles.

It was dawn when he came out of the dense woods at the top of the sandstone cliff, and Goldmane slowed to a walk for the narrow and steep descent among the ledges. Roric shifted his stiff fingers in the stallion’s mane, now matted with sweat. It had been a long run even for a horse like this, but after the first mile all sounds of pursuit had been left behind. King Hadros would not be expecting him unless he had had a raven-message, and Roric did not think Gizor One-hand was one who spoke to ravens.

The rising sun glinted on the sea, several miles off. But as the road reached the cliff’s base the sun was hidden again. Here oaks grew on sandy hills, with nothing but long grass between their massive trunks. Roric urged his horse into a trot for the final stretch through the trees and across the stream on the old stone bridge. Goldmane’s hooves rang hollow, but this morning there was no sign of the troll.

The hall of the castle and the walls that surrounded it were built of yellow sandstone from the cliff. The whole great mass, including the weathered oak outbuildings within the walls, seemed to grow naturally out of the hill. Smoke rose from the cooking fires in the kitchen as he clattered through the open gate and into the courtyard, then slid from his stallion’s back at the entrance to the stables.

Goldmane’s head drooped, and now that he had arrived exhaustion seized Roric as well. The man-if it was a man-who had spoken to him, four hours of tense waiting, the long ride, were all jumbled together. But he forced himself to stay on his feet long enough to rub down the stallion, put a blanket over him, and be sure there were oats and water in his stall.