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and draped over her shoulders thick, heavy furs, warming her; she stood
and felt ten pounds heavier, but it shut out all the wind and took away the
chill down her back. He smiled back.
    “Your nights
will be long, and fires shall be far away,” he said, and gave her a quick
embrace.
    Her father
stepped forward quickly and embraced her, the strong embrace of a warlord. She
hugged him back, lost in his muscles, feeling safe and secure.
    “You are my
daughter,” he said firmly, “don’t forget that.” He then lowered his voice so
the others could not hear, and added: “I love you.”
    She was
overwhelmed with emotions, but before she could reply he quickly turned and
hurried away—and at the same moment Leo whined and jumped up on her, nudging
his nose into her chest.
    “He wants to go
with you,” Aidan observed. “Take him—you’ll need him far more than I, shuttered
up in Volis. He’s yours anyway.”
    Kyra hugged Leo,
unable to refuse as he would not leave her side. She felt comforted by the idea
of his joining her, having missed him dearly. She could use another set of eyes
and ears, too, and there was no one more loyal than Leo.
    Ready, Kyra mounted
Andor as her father’s men parted ways. They held up torches of respect for her
all along the bridge, warding off the night, lighting a path for her. She
looked out beyond them and saw the darkening sky, the wilderness before her.
She felt excitement, fear, and most of all, a sense of duty. Of purpose. Before
her lay the most important quest of her life, a quest that had at stake not
only her identity, but the fate of all of Escalon. The stakes could not be
higher.
    Her staff
strapped over one shoulder, her bow over the other, Leo and Dierdre beside her,
Andor beneath her, and all her father’s men watching, Kyra began to ride Andor
at a walk toward the city gates. She went slowly at first, through the torches,
past the men, feeling as if she were walking into a dream, walking into her
destiny. She did not look back, not wanting to lose resolve. A low horn was
sounded by her father’s men, a horn of departure, a sound of respect.
    She prepared to
give Andor a kick—but he already anticipated her. He began to run, first at a
trot, then a gallop.
    Within moments
Kyra found herself racing through the snow, through the gates of Argos, over
the bridge, into the open field, the cold wind in her hair and nothing before
her but a long road, savage creatures, and the falling blackness of night.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    Merk ran through
the wood, stumbling down the dirt slope, weaving between trees, the leaves of
Whitewood crunching beneath him as he ran for all he had. He looked ahead and
kept in his sights the distant plumes of smoke filling the horizon, blocking
out the blood-red sunset, and he felt a rising sense of urgency. He knew the
girl was down there somewhere, possibly being murdered even at this moment, and
he could not make his legs run fast enough.
    Killing seemed
to find him; it encountered him at every turn, on seemingly every day, the way
other men were summoned home for dinner. He had a date with death , his
mother used to say. Those words rang in his head, had haunted him for most of
his life. Were her words self-fulfilling? Or had he been born with a black star
over his head?
    Killing for Merk
was a natural part of his life, like breathing or having lunch, no matter who
he was doing it for, or how. The more he pondered it, the more he felt a great
sense of disgust, as if he wanted to vomit his entire life. But while
everything inside him screamed at him to turn around, to start life anew, to
continue on his pilgrimage for the Tower of Ur, he just could not do it.
Violence was, once again, summoning him, and now was not the time to ignore its
call.
    Merk ran, the
billowing clouds of smoke getting closer, making it harder to breathe, the
smell of smoke stinging his nostrils, and a familiar feeling began to overtake
him. It was not fear or even, after all