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the highest order, or worse, a murderer. Ruddy, the stableman, would tell everyone about Mikahl’s late night preparations. Being the King’s squire meant that he would have had full access to the King’s private armory. Not only would he be blamed for poisoning the king, he would most likely be blamed for taking the sword as well. These things were forgotten, though, as he looked back at his home. He was on a journey to meet a giant he didn’t know, with an entire kingdom soon to be on his tail. He couldn’t imagine being any more alone than he felt at that moment. He took a deep breath and sighed at the sheer enormity of it all.
    The castle no longer looked inviting or homey. Its looming, massive gray bulk, with the half-dozen squat towers, and the few taller, narrower spires, suddenly seemed like a dark upthrust of teeth. Would he ever be able to come back? He took a few minutes to say goodbye silently to his mother, and then he wiped the tears from his cheeks. King Balton’s voice came to him gently and reassuringly. “Think, then act,” it said in his mind. It was one of the King’s favorite sayings. When indecision halted the progress of a situation, or things came to an impasse, he would say, “Think, then act.”
    Think, then act
. Mikahl repeated the mantra to himself.
    Reluctantly, he spurred Windfoot away from the stinking discharge stream and went deeper into the Northwood. He rode like that for a while, until he was sure that Castleview, the city that grew from the base of Lakeside Castle’s outer wall, was far behind him. It was dark, and he was surrounded by the thick of the forest, but he thought he knew exactly where he was. Now, all he had to do was figure out a way to reach his destination, without being caught.
    The distant sound of horses’ hooves, pounding on a hard-packed road, caused a nearby owl to burst into flight. Mikahl froze, trying to discern over the pounding of his heart, just how close to him those hoof beats were. He realized that he was very close—far too close—to the Northroad. He was relieved to hear that the rider was racing toward the castle, not away from it. It was probably just a messenger from Portsmouth or Crossington, nothing out of the ordinary.
    He had a choice to make. He could chance the road, make time, and risk being seen, or he could continue through the Northwood, and arrive at the Midway Passage road somewhere beyond Crossington. One way he would be able to enter the Reyhall Forest without being seen, but the other way would take him there a full day sooner. He didn’t want to be seen in Crossington. It was a fairly large town, but the people were always alert to late night travelers. Many a bandit roamed those roads, searching for easy victims this time of year. The Summer’s Day travelers were about, and most of them were as careless as they come. If he went through the woods and bypassed the town, there was the chance that Glendar, or more likely his wizard, Pael, would have people looking for him on the Midway Passage before he even reached it.
    “Think, then act!” the words sounded audible this time. Before he knew it, he had spurred Windfoot toward the road.
For the sake of the gods, you’re the king’s own squire and everybody knows it
, he told himself. No one outside of the castle knew that the king had been poisoned yet. If anyone tried to stop him, he could talk his way out of it. No one would doubt him; his saddle had the royal seal embroidered into it, and Windfoot was a destrier of obvious castle stock. Once Windfoot, and the packhorse, were on the hard-packed road, he gradually worked both animals into a steady gallop. He doubted anyone would have the courage to question him.
    He made the right choice. By dawn, Crossington was a few miles behind him, and he didn’t think a single soul had noticed his early morning passing. The cutoff road that connected the Northroad to the Midway Passage avoided going through Crossington proper, and