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the clans train when a messenger came to find him. The messenger was one of his demon-kind, and from the snow still on his shoulders, Nameless assumed he’d come from the mountains.
    “Yes?”
    “An envoy comes from the Three Kingdoms. It is a small group, ten strong. They are taking one of the game trails through the mountains we have been watching.”
    “Is it him?”
    The messenger shook his head. “We do not recognize any of the riders, and none of them are gifted. At least one is richly dressed though.”
    Nameless considered this for a moment. “How long until they are in sight of the People?”
    The messenger thought about the question. “They are making slow progress. The trail is hard. Perhaps two or three days. More if the trail worsens.”
    Nameless debated what to do. His gut warned him against letting them see the mass of forces arrayed against them. If an enemy envoy was to reach the clans, it might spread further dissension among the ranks. He was already concerned about several clans after the escape of the female nightblade. Best to meet them in the mountains. “Can you guide me there?”
    The messenger nodded, almost as though he was offended Nameless would ask the question.
    “We will leave immediately. Find two others to come who have strong bows. I will meet you here.”
    It took little time for them to gather. Nameless approved of the other demon-kind who had volunteered. He had known both for many cycles, and their skill with a bow was excellent. Their quivers were full and their clothes were warm. Without a word they took off for the mountains.
    The trail was hard, and it wasn’t long before they abandoned their horses. Azarians prided themselves on their horsemanship, but they were riders of the plains, not of the mountains. Demon-kind could move faster on foot over the narrow trails that wound through the heights. Nameless set the pace, a steady march that ate up the distance between him and the envoy. His side still ached from where the accursed woman had gotten the best of him, but he relished the pain. It was a reminder that for a moment he had let down his guard. He had beaten her, but not by enough. Never again would he give anyone the chance to hurt him.
    They ran through the day and night until they came to a place where they could see the trail for hundreds of paces. Nameless pointed to an outcropping of rock about a hundred paces ahead of him and about thirty paces above the trail. He spoke to the archers. “Go there. If needed, unleash your arrows. Stay hidden.”
    The archers nodded and trudged up the mountainside towards the rocks. Nameless saw their tracks and hoped the blowing snow would hide them by the time the envoy arrived. He turned to the original messenger. “Go further ahead and find a place to hide. You will be our last line of defense. If it turns to violence, ensure none of them find their way back home.”
    The messenger nodded and ran ahead. Nameless squatted in the snow and waited. If the messenger’s estimate of the envoy’s speed was accurate, he wouldn’t have more than half a day to wait.
    They came as promised, but when Nameless counted, there were only nine. His first suspicion was a trap, but when he studied their careful approach, he took a different guess. One had fallen on the trail. It was little surprise. The game trails existed, but they were dangerous, and for a group of ten, it was surprising only one had fallen.
    The envoy halted in front of him, and Nameless took their measure. The one richly dressed was the one in charge, but his eyes were full of fear. The man tried to mask it, but Nameless could smell it on him. The other eight were warriors, and they handled their mounts well enough. But Nameless agreed with his messenger. None were gifted, and none would be able to match him.
    The richly-dressed man spoke, “My name is Lord Tanak, Lord of the Southern Kingdom. Who are you, and why do you stand in our way?”
    Nameless stared curiously