Running was easier now. More natural. She added speed, weaving between the thatchless hovels, following necessity, oblivious to the shadows, vaguely curious of the light that had kept pace and then was gone…

She broke out of the village into a clearing ringed with rock—an ancient corral, perhaps—the carved shapes of boundary markers towered, just beyond.

She raced across the opening, eyes on the markers, necessity urging her on. Her foot struck a hidden rock and she hurtled forward, catching herself on her hands, rolling up—and freezing.

Encircling her, not mere rock, but a crowd of rag-tag creatures. She saw a flash of dark blue—her cloak. And the woman who wore it held a stone.

All of them held stones.

She reached within, but her powers were gone to ash. She reached without and touched nothing but hatred. Necessity burned in her. Fear turned her legs to jelly.

The one who wore her cloak drew back her arm, grinning. Moonhawk braced herself.

“Make way!” cried a voice and the human wall broke as a thin man in a torn shirt burst through, bag in hand. He slammed to a halt and spun in a wide circle, rounds flashing from his hands.

“Gold! Gold for all!”

“Gold!” The crowd fell as one, scrabbling in the knotted grass.

Lute grabbed her arm and pulled her with him, nearly jerking her arm from its socket.

The villagers were still grubbing for the coins when the two of them passed the boundary stones.

* * *

“OF ALL THE STUPID—Why run this way? The eastern boundary was closer—and easier going beyond. Or am I to believe you came in this way?”

“No,” said Moonhawk absently. “I came in by the eastern way. Here.”

“Here what?” he demanded, but she was going away from him like a sleep-walker. Cursing under his breath, he followed.

In a moment he heard the voices of the recent prisoners.