Elsewhere, the men-at-arms of the Duke had been called to stand for battle.

The men prepared to march on an encampment in the north, one of spies and villainy that had not been known since the days of war with Myr, so many years past. It was, they had learned, a place called Haven, wherein foul Hob and traitorous Men fraternized openly and exchanged knowledge, that the Hob might better do battle against the Northlands, already wracked by their advances.

It was located far into the Hob Mountains, on a river with no name, in a place not easily reached by armies of men conscripted from the villages. So the Duke called up a force of his most skilled Knights and warriors, men who had served him well in battle with Myr and the Hob there, to ride fast and hard upon the place, that they might be attacked swiftly. Without benefit of alarm raised, such a force could strike them down, unable to flee as they might from a larger force.

Among these men was a seasoned and noble Knight named Barnswell who knew at the signet-bearer’s first words of it that this place must be like that one where he was struck down by a trusted Knight he called friend so many years past. In the time between that day and this, he had grown in both skill and bitterness, fighting in many campaigns along the borderlands. Though he had been granted a fief, he neglected his duties to his house that he might travel the Northlands as a knight errant those times when there were no battles to be fought in service to the Duke.

Barnswell, it need not be said, was ignorant of the faraway plans of Gareth, in which he was a pawn. Knowledge of the place called Haven had come to the Duke’s court by the lips of spies, at Gareth’s behest. And among the Duke’s men, a spy in the sway of Gareth prepared to ride out to Haven, bearing a message that would have the girl known as Mara guided away from the place, just before the attack was to come.

Yet each plan was to influence the other in ways unexpected.

The cunning reached Haven on a night when the sweet breath of spring had finally banished the snow from the valley wherein the town lay. As Jaris returned, alone, from his duties as captain and head of the village guard, he was approached by a man with face unfamiliar.

The man bid him come, urgently, to a place in the hills, for Mara had been sent there on an errand by the town-chief and come to injury when her horse stumbled.

Not having laid eye on the girl since noontime and lacking reason to disbelieve the tale, Jaris climbed immediately upon the horse of the man and rode with him to a goat-hut that sat betwixt two hills overlooking the valley.

There, upon entering, he was accosted by three armed men, and struck a fierce blow to the head with a cudgel.

Then a Knight of the Realm, who was one of the three, pulled up his helm, and addressed Jaris thus: “Greetings, good friend and Knight. It has been many years since we last saw one another, so you have perhaps forgotten my face. ’Tis I, Barnswell, who you once called Pinion. But I have never forgotten you. Nay, the wound upon my back would not allow me to forget, for it pains me each time I bring my sword down upon the head of another foul Hob.”

Jaris did recognize the man, and hung his head. “I did call you friend, and would still, and I have wronged you greatly. But know that what I did then was only for the sake of an innocent, and I would inflict the wound upon myself if it could undo the betrayal I have committed upon you.”

The one once known as Pinion had long since abandoned any place where forgiveness held sway, as his cruel smile attested proudly. “The wound will be done to you, to be sure, and then more, but first I wish you to suffer a measure of the betrayal I felt. I have come here with a war party of skilled men in order to destroy this vile place called Haven.

“But your betrayal taught me well, and long have I suspected spies among us in the halls of the Duke. So spies of my own did I employ, and rightly so, for upon our orders to ride out for this place they did capture a man making for the Northlands on unknown business. Upon my inquisition he was found to be a spy in the employ of no less a person than the one who calls himself King of the Hob, and he bore this medallion in evidence thereof. He meant to give word to the village-chief that our attack was soon to come.

“This is treachery of the sort I have come to consider common, though their spies burrow deeper within the Court than even I suspected. I fear to think the Duke, perhaps, entertains them willingly. Exceeding strange was it, however, that the village was not to be spared the attack. Only the village-chief, and a few others, were to make their escape into Hob lands, and the rest were to perish.

“Such strange and cruel things these Hob do, forsaking even their own kind to the sword. But there was a thing more interesting still. One girl was to be taken away on an errand with them, uninformed of this scheme, to a place distant and safe. A Hob girl who speaks as does a Man, named Mara, who travels with a swordsman, whom she calls father and who must perish in the attack.

“I know not the purpose of this machination, but I shall not let it come to pass, and more perfect an opportunity to thwart it could not be. I have called you here in her stead, and the town and all in it will soon be put to sword and torch. Would that I could strike you down like the traitorous dog you are, but I shall present you whole to the Duke as a trophy of my conquest and the villainy afoot in this cursed place, that you may attest to it in your own words at the hands of the jailers.

“Would that the river was smaller, I would have it poisoned, as you so wisely did those many years past, but, alas, it cannot be so.”

Jaris overflowed with rage at this vengeful plan, but his sword was far from him and his arms were grasped tightly.

“Hear now,” said Barnswell at the sound of hooves approaching, “my rider has arrived. Let me embrace you once more, and then leave you with a wound to be brother to my own while you listen to the slaughter below.”

And Barnswell embraced Jaris, then took his parry-dagger from its place at his side and commanded Jaris be turned to face away from him by the two who held his arms.

But in this recreation of the scene enacted so many years ago, it was ordained by the Fates that every player would be present. With the role of child now held by Jaris, that of savior fell to the final player to mount the stage.

So it was that Mara, bearing the blade that had once belonged to the one Jaris called Pinion, thrust herself through the door and set her sword against the men there. So freed, Jaris took up a sword dropped by another and joined the fray.

The battle was swift, and brutal, and afore moments had passed the two heroes had put to the sword three of their foes and grievously injured the vengeance-blinded Knight Barnswell.

“Are you unharmed, father?” asked the girl, as was her custom.

“Naught but a scratch, Mara, with thanks to you. And you?”

“Aye, father,” said she. “The boy who seeks my attention o’erheard a man speak to you of my injury, and was greatly shocked, having met me not long before, and sought me out. Hearing the tale, I rode out, following the torch-light across the valley, to this place. Whence comes this deception, father?”

“This dying Knight is a man who I once called friend, and whose blade you now hold. His bitterness has corrupted his valor, and and he sought vengeance for the betrayal I inflicted upon him many years past. I regret not what I have done, but neither should you hate him for his acts, for he was wronged greatly.”

Mara knelt before the wounded Knight, and addressed him. “Sir Knight, I shall not hate you, for my father has said that I should not, and even pity you, I shall. But know that as long as I draw breath, no harm shall come to him, for he has given as much as any man could for my sake.”

The dying Knight cast a rueful, blood-painted smile upon the girl and said to her, “’Tis true, there is a Hob that speaks as a Man, and calls one father. Wondrous strange, this is. ’Tis I that shall pity you, Hob girl, for before this night gives way to day your home shall be no more.”

Retrieving for Jaris his blade, which she had brought for him, Mara asked the one she called father, “Is what this wretch says true?”

“I believe it so, for the Duke’s men ride upon Haven even now, and we must go, and quickly, to raise the alarm. Only one question do I put to you, noble Knight whom I called friend long ago. Do do swear upon your honor as a Knight of the Realm that the strange tales you told me were truth?”

“Aye,” said the Knight, “I swear it, may the tidings bring you to misfortune.” And as the two left the goat-herd’s hut, the Knight, left by the warmth of the fire to die, spat curses as them, and laughed most bitterly.

Taking two fleet-footed steeds raised for the Duke’s stables, the two rode down the hill, and through the just-planted field of hard mountain wheat to the town. The twin orbs of the moons hung above the mountain, casting their light upon the snowy peaks, and revealing the fearsome shine of polished armor flowing in a wave between shadowed hills to the south.