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unleash will —”
    “It will bring chaos unimagined,” Belgad interrupted. “It will be the end of times, or as bad as. In my own people’s stories, the king from the north will be triumphant.”
    “The Eastern Church teaches otherwise,” Adara said, “but I don’t know. We’ve both seen Verkain’s war demons, and we both know how touch and go the political situation has been between the East and West these sixty years. It’s kindling, ready to burn and spread like a wildfire.”
    Belgad shook his head. “All of this is speculation, difficult to believe.”
    “Verkain is crazy,” Adara said, “but you can help stop him.”
    “You have no evidence of any of this.”
    “I have Randall’s word,” the woman said. “I spent more than a month on the road with him. I’ve heard his story.”
    Belgad’s eyes turned to slits. “You are very clever, trying to talk me into helping you.”
    Adara kicked at the dirt with her tied feet. “Damn it! Listen to me!”
    Belgad laughed and motioned for two of his soldiers to approach.
    “Gag this one,” he ordered, pointing at Adara. “She has a slippery tongue.”
     
    ***
     
    Markwood’s eyes drooped as he swayed on his feet.
    “Maslin?” Randall asked, concern on his face.
    The wizard crumpled, a quick hand from Kron keeping him from falling into the gray dust at their feet.
    “Blanket.” Darkbow nodded toward his horse.
    Randall retrieved a course blanket from Kron’s saddle bags and stretched the cloth on the ground.
    Kron eased the wizard down onto the makeshift cot.
    The young healer knelt next to his friend. “He needs rest. Powerful magic is the most sapping. I should not have put him in such a situation.”
    “You didn’t put me into any situation.” Markwood’s eyes opened and he stared up at the two men over him.
    Randall smiled. “Thank Ashal.”
    Even Kron allowed a slight grin.
    “I’ll be fine once I rest,” Markwood said.
    “You should be home at the university, not gallivanting around Kobalos fighting demons,” Randall said.
    “Can you heal him?” Kron asked Randall.
    Markwood answered. “That would only weaken him, leaving Randall in my condition. I’m not in any danger, simply exhausted.”
    “You’re no longer young,” Randall pointed out to his friend.
    “I’m a wizard,” Markwood said with fire in his weak voice. “My body is used to this. I didn’t get to eighty years of age without a strong constitution.”
    Kron glanced around as if to be sure their foes had been vanquished. His eyes lingered over piles of bones and armor. “We can’t stay here. I know enough about magic to realize Markwood’s spells might draw attention.”
    “Verkain will have noticed,” the wizard said, closing his eyes again.
    “Do you know anywhere safe?” Kron asked Randall.
    “Piker’s Bay is a couple days away.” The healer gazed down at his drained friend.
    “What is it?” Kron asked.
    “A small coastal town to the northwest. There’s an inn, but there’s also a troop regiment stationed there.”
    “That won’t do. What about peasant farms, maybe with a barn?”
    “There won’t be any here near the Grave Lands,” Randall said.
    Kron sighed. “We’ll have to do the best we can. We’ll move a few miles and set up camp. With a night’s rest, maybe Markwood will be in better condition to travel.”
    Both men leaned over to hoist the wizard from the ground.
    The old man did not fight them.

 
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Kron lay on the dirt floor of the barn with his head against a saddle. He slept.
    Markwood also reposed, he on a bed of old, soiled hay covered with a horse blanket.
    Randall sat on a creaking wood crate in the open door of the barn made of stones. He stared at his two friends while the morning sun beat at his back, warming his white cloak and the skin beneath.
    They had ridden north most of the night, Kron leading them out of the Grave Lands and into dull farmland that seemed ill suited for growing