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the Gods, light the way for Thy servants to stoop and strike in Thy name. Ani a bhota Anreulag , arach shae .”
    Celoren murmured the words with him, his baritone blending with Kestar’s tenor into one voice. But the words were incidental, nothing more than a gateway for the energy in the silver. A miniature star of power sprang into life through his fingers, driving the chill from his bones, and the pall of his premonition’s confusion along with it. Reverently he squeezed the silver a little tighter before releasing it to settle, still aglow, against his chest.
    Tenthim shifted, shuffling restively in contrast to Kestar’s own calm. He leaned forward to stroke the stallion’s head, but his eyes remained on the guardsmen’s leader. “Will that suit your purpose, sir?”
    The other horses, as sensitive to the presence of power as Tenthim or Pasga, edged back on the road. As unsettled as their mounts, the guard leader’s companions shot looks at the Hawks and then at each other, and one sketched the four-pointed star sigil of the Church across himself. Their leader, however, was unperturbed.
    “It’ll do, m’lord.” He dipped his head in gruff obeisance as the light from the amulets faded. “Forgive our hesitation, but there’s been an attempt on the life of His Grace the Duke tonight, and the assassins are still at large. My companions and I ride to Camden to alert the watch.”
    Kestar and Celoren exchanged alarmed glances. The comfort of his amulet’s power aside, the thought of his premonition signaling an assassination flooded Kestar with dread. “Is the duke unharmed?” Celoren demanded.
    “By the gods’ mercy and wisdom he was forewarned of the scoundrels’ plans, but they struck a blow against his lady wife.” The guard leader shifted in his saddle and gestured to his compatriots, though deference remained in his voice. “With your leave? Every moment we’re not riding is a moment wasted.”
    Snapping out of his shock, Kestar kneed Tenthim out of the guardsmen’s path. “Ride, yes, please.” He beckoned the trio onward. “Don’t let us keep you.”
    “We’ll ride to Lomhannor and offer our aid to His Grace at once.” Celoren guided Pasga alongside Tenthim. “Gods’ speed to your search!”
    The expressions Celoren won with that pledge weren’t quite smiles—the guardsmen were too haggard for that. But there was thankfulness in their faces as the leader said, “I’m Steffen Athorsen, m’lords. Give my name to the sentries at the gate, and tell them ‘red wolf standing’ for tonight’s password. The Anreulag’s blessings upon you for lending your eyes and swords to our hunt.”
    Once they’d thundered on down the road, leaving the Hawks alone once more, Celoren asked, “I trust you’ve no issue with this plan, Kes?” His brow furrowed, and his eyes brimmed with uncertainty. “Did you know what we’d discover?”
    “No.” The other Hawk’s look discomfited him. Such a stare from strangers was one thing, but another thing entirely from his partner. “I swear it. I just felt this was the right road to take.”
    “Then perhaps the Anreulag Herself guides us tonight.” Celoren didn’t star himself as the guardsman had done, but an uncharacteristic hesitance crept into his voice. “Perhaps She works through you.”
    Kestar’s brain shied from that concept as the horses had shied from their amulets’ light, and he dropped his gaze away. “You’re starting to sound like a priest! Where’s the maiden-charmer who’s been my friend all these years?”
    “Asleep in his bed back in Camden. I’d join him, except I’ve got a cloud-head to keep an eye on, so there’ll be no slumber for the virtuous for at least another few hours. Shall we see what’s befallen the duke?”
    “We shall,” Kestar said, pleased for Cel’s lopsided grin and relieved that he didn’t pursue that troubling explanation for what had sent them out on the hunt. Why would the Blessed Anreulag work