They didn't cross paths with anyone else that afternoon. At dusk, they stopped near trees to rest for the evening. Morghram cut saplings to use as a frame for a tent. It was welcome shelter in the drizzly weather that started at just before sunset, though it was nothing more than draped oilcloth. It kept the water off them at least, and their clothing was dry when they woke in the morning.

By midday they could see smoke rising from the horizon. By nightfall, a well-lit stone tower rose against the sky. The guard tower was a welcome sight for both of them and they hurried toward it in the growing dark. A flag bearing the colors of the Triad—bright stripes of blue, green, and gold—snapped in the wind; the light of the tower made it look as if it were dancing. There was music too, if little more than bawdy tavern songs, though the singing stopped as soon as the two of them arrived.

Morghram didn't know any of the half-dozen men at the tower, but he'd served with some of their fathers, and they welcomed him with hearty shoulder-thumps and laughter. They had plenty of food, and ale. They weren't supposed to have alcohol at guard stations, but some things never changed.

They exchanged news over the evening meal, and when the watchmen told them they’d seen a man that matched Eona’s description of her husband headed north, they both sighed relief at finally knowing they were headed the right direction.

There was only one room for the men to share as sleeping quarters, but it was spacious and there was straw to throw down beneath bedrolls, making it the most comfortable night they'd had since they left the small house on the coast.

Eona drifted off almost as soon as she lay down. Morghram sat up for a time, mulling over a mug of ale with one of the watchmen.

“I think you're in for more than you bargained for,” the soldier said, peering into his own drink. He kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake the lady, but his tone and face were grim.

Morghram sighed. “I think you're right. There were two men on the road ahead of us, looked as if they wanted a fight. That related to what you're saying?”

The soldier nodded. “The Triad spends more time fighting itself than fighting everyone around us. With all our resources split between the borders and settling things in the west, there's been no time to mind the problems up north. The mountains are rough. Lots of scum to be swept out of those nooks and crannies. If that's really the way your man was headed, I'd bet my teeth he's signed with them.”

Frowning more as the man went on, Morghram took a swig of ale to wash the dread out of his stomach. “We'll just have to hope for the best.”

“Still going after him?”

“I'm a man of my word.”

The soldier shrugged. “Suit yourself. We'll do what we can. We've supplies. And horses we seized from thieves a handful of days ago. No way of telling who they belonged to, but it won't be any skin off our backs if you want to take them.”

“Can’t offer much for horses,” Morghram said.

“Don’t need to offer anything. We’re limited on stable space and supplies. They’d just be sold anyway.”

“Well, if you’re certain, they’d be much appreciated. Might even catch up with the rat, if we're on horseback.” Morghram emptied his mug and passed it to the soldier as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I appreciate your help.”

The man chuckled and pushed himself up. “Just let us know if you find them. Any nest of them we can clean out is a scab we can stop picking.” He left without saying any more.

Outside, someone was singing again.

Morghram settled, staring at the ceiling. Once again, sleep didn't come easy. But morning came whether or not he was ready, and by the time they'd eaten breakfast, the watchmen had the horses saddled and their saddlebags stuffed with supplies for the rest of their trip.

Eona had never ridden before. Morghram was sure her inexperience in the saddle would spell trouble, but the horses were mild as milk. It was good fortune; anything friskier might have turned her embarrassment at having her dress hitched up around her knees into outright shame if she ended up on the ground with her skirts over her head instead.

They walked the animals the first half of the day and spent the second half alternating between a walk and an easy trot. By sunset, the foothills stood as blue shadows against the northern horizon. Morghram set up the oilcloth tent when they stopped. There would be no need to carry the cut saplings come morning, the foothills and mountains heavily forested, so he drove them deep into the earth with a stone as a hammer and used them as posts to tie the horses.

“Do you think we'll catch up with him tomorrow?” Eona asked as she cut food for both of them. After only rabbits and quail to go with their bread and whatever else Morghram could forage, she seemed delighted to have something else. The men at the watchtower had given them half a roast chicken for their evening meal and salt beef enough for the next few nights. It seemed generosity, but if they managed to make the return trip, any information they could offer would be worth more than a bit of meat.

Morghram shook his head and settled beside her. “We're still three days from the mountain trails, even with horses. It'll be slower going through the hills. If we're lucky, we'll catch up with him there. Their wagon will slow them down even more.”

“And when we do find him?”

“Shake him down, I suppose. And tie him up to drag him back to the coast.” It was all they could really plan for. It was impossible to say what they'd be up against, but they would know soon enough.