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finding the hamlet, grateful for the knowledge and expertise that might make the challenge before her possible. She held the door for the kishion, who exited silently behind her and followed them.
    Jon Tayt stopped them on the other side of the massive boulder. He raised his arm and pointed toward the jagged cliff face silhouetted against the sky. Stars painted the sky with their profusion of jewels, but as Maia followed his arm, she saw other spots of light descending slowly down the mountainside.
    “You did not mention, my lady, that you were being followed.” His expression hardened.
    “I am. By the Dochte Mandar,” she said softly.
    Jon Tayt cursed under his breath. “Ack, that is a fine kettle of fish,” he muttered. “They are not easy men to kill. Best we hurry then.”

CHAPTER FOUR

    Mountain Storm
    J on Tayt flung open a heavy wooden chest and began tossing different garments out of it haphazardly. The boarhound sniffed at several, its stout tail wagging vigorously as its master grumbled under his breath.
    “Fetch the tallest bow sleeve,” he barked to the kishion, gesturing to several hanging from pegs on the wall. “Several quivers as well. This is a good wool cloak.” He shoved it to Maia and continued rummaging. “Ah, a scarf, some gloves. You would be shocked to hear how many people lose fingers and toes, wandering these mountains. I knew a man who scratched his earlobe during a blizzard, and it came right off. By Cheshu, I do not jest you! Let me see.” He dug around some more and withdrew a long wool gown, dark burgundy in color. He snorted. “May even fit you. Put it on. We cannot waste time.”
    Maia looked around the tiny stone hut. It was hardly big enough for the three of them to remain standing upright in. Rather than a bed, there was a nest of bearskin furs shoved against one wall.
    Feeling ashamed to undress in front of the men, she turned around and began fussing with the lacings on the back of her gown, but the hunter rebuked her. “Put it on over your other gown, my lady. You will need more than one layer in these mountains. You can doff one of them later when the sun is blazing. Two cloaks is fine. If I could fit your feet into two boots, I would. Quickly now!”
    The kishion had fetched the bow sleeve from the wall and clutched two quivers. Jon Tayt scowled as he glanced around the tiny hut. “You have water flasks already. Dump the food platter in that sack over there. There is a large cheese in the cold barrel. Take it.” He went to the wall and grabbed two more hand axes, another long knife, and a sling with a pouch of pebbles. He snapped on two leather hunting bracers and a shooting glove. For a short, squat man he moved with efficiency and speed.
    Argus’s ears went straight up, and a low growl emerged from his throat. He stared at the door.
    “It’s either a bear or strangers afoot,” Jon Tayt groused. The kishion slid a knife from his sheath.
    “If you fancy a stronger blade, take what you can carry,” the hunter offered, nodding to the assortment of weapons suspended from the wall. He went over to a pack and began stuffing one of the bearskins from the floor inside it. He shoved it all the way in before grabbing a length of rope, a small iron skillet, a tinder stick, and several other strange devices that Maia did not recognize.
    The hound’s growl increased in pitch.
    Maia was securing the belt on the gown when Jon Tayt’s voice muttered, “ Fffft. Douse the candle.”
    The kishion squeezed the burning wick and darkness enveloped them instantly. Only the glowing end of the snuffed candle remained, like a tiny Leering’s eye, and then it too was gone. The sound of the hunter’s boots was muffled by the packed dirt floor as he approached the door and pulled it open a sliver.
    Moonlight cut a slit down his wary face, his gaze staring into the darkness of the trees beyond. He waited cautiously, standing still, listening to the hiss of the wind through the