After, with what was left of his eyes and hands wrapped in lengths of dirty cloth, Dark was taken out of camp, and left on the road to Pirie.

Ilsabet watched him walking slowly down the road, his head bowed, his feet scuffing along the ground feeling the way. At the rate he could travel, it would take him days to reach the town.

"If I had said 'let him go' would you have done it?" Ilsabet asked her father.

"You are my child. You never would have suggested that," he replied.

"What will happen to him?" Ilsabet asked.

"He may die before he reaches his family," Jorani said. "So much the better."

"He'll get help soon enough. That kind always finds it," Baron Janosk replied.

Her father's voice sounded uneasy, and Jorani looked at him with some concern as they walked back to the baron's tent. The tent was warmer now, heated by glowing stones carried inside from the campfire and collected in a pit near the table. A corner of the huge tent had been screened off and a bed made up for Ilsabet. She changed out of her gown and slipped on a warmer robe and boots and joined her father and Jorani at the table.

The light from the trio of oil lamps on it threw shadows on the tent walls, multiples of father, Jorani and herself, all flickering nervously.

For a few minutes no one spoke. Jorani opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. He held up his glass, cleared his throat, and addressed Baron Janosk. "Your daughter is right, my friend. It is over. I salute your skill." He drank. Ilsabet did the same, sipping the little bit he had poured her.

"And what do you advise I do next?" the baron asked.

"Go home to Nimbus Castle tomorrow and fly green banners from the walls as a sign of peace and reconciliation. Do what you can to restore prosperity to your lands so your people will know that you are a ruler who cares for them as well as one who punishes."