Rudy had said once that Minalde's crazy courage was equalled only by her

stubbornness. Gil saw now what he meant. 'At least don't go alone,' she said.

Aide flushed a little and began contritely, 'You don't have to...'

'Christ knows, somebody should!' Gil turned on her heel and started back toward the entrance to the Vale, cutting through the snowy woods. 'This way's quicker, and we can circle to avoid being seen from the watchpost on the road.' Aide followed in her wake without a word.

It took the girls a little over an hour to reach the camp. As Gil had surmised, the newcomers had taken over the Tall Gates, ancient watchtowers that in former times had guarded the principality around the Keep from the smaller, less organized realms of the valleys below. As the Realm had spread, the towers had ceased to be a frontier and had been allowed to fall into ruin. As ruins they remained, vine-grown cliffs of mortared stone dominating the narrow neck of the muddy road, strongholds only of bird and beast.

The girls were met on the road by a thin, grey man - who had once been very fat indeed, to judge by the sack-like wrinkles of his deflated chins - carrying a spear and wearing over a scarecrow assortment of rags a soiled cloak of gold-frogged velvet. Aide gave their names as Aide and Gil-Shalos, from the Keep of Dare, and asked to speak with his lord.

Ankle- deep muck pulled at their feet as they crossed the square before the northern watchtower. The place smelled like a privy, wreathed in a perpetual haze of woodsmoke. The pitiful flotsam of flight littered the ground. Meagre bundles of possessions, stray cook pots, and little heaps of firewood were scattered over the dirty snow. Men and women sat huddled miserably around their fires or moved among them slowly. The place seemed very quiet, except for the weak, persistent crying of a child. Gil felt ashamed of her cloak, her strength, and the marginal ration of food she'd wolfed down at noon. Beside her, Aide looked very white.