Seya scrambled down the rocks and settled herself into the one niche under the overhanging boulders that provided both a view of the road and shelter from the biting winds. Four hours of guard duty had given Gil ample time to scout it out. 'It's anybody's guess what's in the river valleys now,' she said quietly. 'They'll have

enough problems with brigands and wolves and the Dark Ones.'

Gil resettled her sword belt around her waist. 'Where are they heading, do you know?'

Seya shook her head. 'Anywhere there was stored food. Deserted towns, well-known farms anywhere they can find stored corn or straying stock.' She laughed suddenly, wrinkles stitching her lined face like the folds in wet silk. 'That's the other thing they've been warring about all morning. Tomec Tirkenson and his people finally got on their way over Sarda Pass for Gettlesand.'

'I knew they were planning on leaving as soon as the snows let up.' Gil shrugged into her damp cloak, drawing its dark, heavy, smoke-smelling folds about her. 'Alwir should be pleased; it makes for fewer mouths to feed.'

'And fewer defenders.' Seya pulled the spare blanket over her feet. 'But what really stuck in Govannin's craw was that Tirkenson took all his own cattle with him. She forbade him to take them, since the people of the Keep had greater need; she threatened to excommunicate him if he did. He said she'd excommunicated him ten years ago, he was walking around damned anyway, the cattle were his, he'd bought them in Gae, and he'd break the neck of anyone who tried to stop him from taking them back to Gettlesand with him. He had all his cowpunchers lined up behind him, so there wasn't much her Grace could say, and Alwir wasn't about to start a fight with the only landchief still loyal to the Realm. When I left, the Bishop was burning candles in the pious hope that he fries in Hell.'