“Hold on,” Morghram murmured, reining his horse to a halt. Eona stopped behind him, clutching the pommel of her saddle. Four days of riding had made her more comfortable on horseback, but she still looked nervous any time her horse moved without direction, and her gelding pranced in place.

They'd reached the first rocky cliffs of the mountains the night before, but the heavy rainfall that preceded them made the footing unsure, so they had agreed to wait for sunrise before starting up the winding trails.

“What is it?” Her voice was high, her face pinched.

He slid from his mount and handed her the reins. She wouldn't be able to hold the beast if it spooked, but at least she could keep it from wandering off. He didn't reply right away. Instead, he followed the traces left in the mud for a little way before grumbling in displeasure. “We've been following ruts left by the wagon's wheels for a few days. Followed them right onto this trail. No wheel tracks any more. Only footprints.”

Blinking, she leaned forward to look at the muddy trail. “You can tell all that? All I see are our hoof prints.”

“They teach all soldiers a little tracking. Was never good at it, myself, but I got by.” Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he walked back the way they'd come. “There weren't any side roads. Nowhere to hide a wagon, either.”

“So where would they have gone?”

Morghram pursed his lips. His eyes drifted to the ledge to the left of the trail. It wasn't a terrible drop, perhaps twenty feet, but that was plenty to shatter a wagon and let the underbrush hide its remains. “They must've pushed it off. Probably means they couldn't take it up the road ahead, but didn't want to leave anything obvious behind.”

Eona fidgeted, peering at the ledge as well. “Wouldn't you have seen tracks from it being pushed off the cliff?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. I haven't been watching that closely, since there's no other way they could have gone.”

“Should we go back and find it?”

“No need.” He returned, taking his horse and dragging himself into the saddle again. His leg protested; he thought it fair in its objection, considering his history with horses. Though it would have complained just as much if they had walked the last four days by themselves. “As I said, there were no other trails branching from here. Wherever they've gone, it can't be far.”

The trail narrowed as they went on. Eona stayed at his back, though the path was still wide enough for them to ride side-by-side. They went slowly, Morghram leaning forward over his horse's shoulder to watch the traces left behind.

There were many footprints left where the earth wasn't so hard-packed, though the direction varied. But he couldn't tell if they were left by a few men running back and forth to unload supplies from their lost wagon, or many. Everything they'd seen alongside the wheel ruts indicated only two or three men, but if they had some sort of hideout in the mountain range, who knew how many might be waiting for them?

Abruptly the footprints veered toward the stone wall to their right, vanishing into a narrow path hidden by brush. Morghram raised a hand and slowed, turning his horse around.

Again Eona gripped the saddle, looking nervous. “What is it?”

He gestured toward the pathway before he dismounted. “In here. Path's too narrow for a horse.”

“What should we do with them?” She shifted to get down but he stopped her, passing her the reins to his horse once again.

“We'll decide after we see where the path leads. I'll scout ahead, you mind the horses. It might just be a shortcut up to the next path.” He figured that was most likely, with the way the trails switchbacked up the mountainside. “I'll only be a minute, but scream if you have a problem.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it again without speaking. He raised a brow but didn't wait. With one arm, he pushed back the low branches of the scraggly pine and slipped past.

The stone walls were close, barely wider than the span of his shoulders, and the soft carpet of dead leaves and pine needles beneath him took no footprints. Were it not for the grasses that were bent and broken, he wouldn't have known anyone had walked that path before him. Judging by the plants, they weren't far behind whoever had been leading the wagon. He'd thought it drawn by horses before, and hadn't realized until now that he'd never seen any hoof prints. A hand-drawn wagon, then; likely something small, just big enough to transport goods and not big enough for a man to ride. Which meant one of the men on foot had to be Dolbin. Another point in their favor.

The path was steep, but widened and flattened out before it met the wider mountain road. As he'd expected, it was a shortcut. What he hadn't expected was to find a pair of men sitting beside an old mine entrance, not thirty feet away.

They hadn't seen him, the two of them hunched over a barrel and shaking a dice cup, but Morghram ducked behind the brush at the mouth of the shortcut just the same. Neither one fit the description Eona had given him, which meant their fortune had come to an end. Either Dolbin was inside—and under guard—or he wasn't with these men at all. There was no doubt they were brigands; there was no reason to be sitting outside a run-down mineshaft otherwise. The old mines were places to store stolen and smuggled goods these days. If there were men sitting watch outside, it meant there was business going on inside. Frowning to himself, Morghram turned back down the trail.

Eona and the horses were in the exact place he'd left them, though she gripped the reins of both horses so tightly that her knuckles were white. She straightened when she saw him, relieved. “Did you find something?”

“Just a shortcut, like I said.” He dusted pine needles from his armor with a sigh. “And men by the mine ahead on the trail. If Dolbin is with them, he's in the mine now. Under guard, likely doing business with a smuggler of some sort.”

“That would be just like him, wouldn't it?” she muttered. “So we confront them?”

He hesitated.

“Morghram?”

“We’ll go up,” he said, taking his horse and walking it a few paces ahead to give him room to mount. “But we ride around the long way and start a conversation without startling them. Don't want them to think we're trying to sneak up on them. Surprises can make a man unpredictable.” And it gave them a chance to run if things went sour, besides. He made himself comfortable before he nudged his horse forward, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Eona followed without trouble.

The long way around took only ten minutes more than the narrow trail carved into the cliff. Both good and bad if they needed to flee. The first turn would be close by and shield them for a moment, but if the men in the mine shaft had arrows, racing down the mountainside beneath them would put them at a sore disadvantage.

The men at the mine's entrance came into view within minutes. Both sat upright when they noticed the sound of the horses, and both turned to watch them with suspicion. Morghram motioned for Eona to slow her mount, putting himself farther ahead at the same time.

“What you want, old man?” one of the men barked. He was a big fellow, broad through the shoulders and wearing scant armor.

Morghram kept his expression neutral, though the way the man addressed him made him bristle. “Looking for someone. Maybe you've seen them pass?”

The man scoffed. “Nobody's passed here.”

“A man,” Morghram continued, “with a pretty face. Flaxen hair, eyes like ash.”

The second man snorted a laugh and slapped his larger comrade's shoulder. “They're looking for the dandy! You missed him, old man. Passed him on your way up.”

Morghram's eyes narrowed. “Beg pardon?”

“He's dead,” the small fellow blurted. Stupid, Morghram decided, a label that seemed to fit when the man went on. “Didn't have a shovel, so we dumped him off the side of the cliff.”

“You killed him?” Eona choked.

Both men looked offended. “Of course not,” Big said. “We just took care of it after his business went south. Now get on, old man. We're in the middle of a game.”

Morghram slid to the ground and adjusted his armor. “Your game can wait. I'm not done yet. The man was in possession of something that rightfully belongs to the lady. You emptied his pockets before throwing him off the cliff, I'm sure.”

“They were already empty when they dragged him out here,” Stupid said. His companion shoved him, glaring.

Morghram turned toward the mine shaft's entrance.

“No one's allowed inside,” Big said.

“You going to stop me?” Morghram raised a brow.

The two men exchanged looks. Stupid shrugged. “They ain't paying us to stop people. Just to stand watch.”

“Lousy watchmen,” Morghram muttered. “Eona, you head downhill. I'll be along.”

“No.” She struggled down from her horse. “I'm coming with you.”

Big sighed. “Better head inside and tell the boss.”

“I'm not going in. I'm not getting sucked into fighting.” Maybe Stupid wasn't so stupid after all. He shook his head, scooped up the dice and put them into the cup.

His companion sneered. “He's just an old man!”

“An old man whose armor matches,” Stupid replied. “You go on, but I'm done. I got my gold.” He gave Morghram and Eona a sidewise glance. He shook his head before trudging toward the hidden path they'd discovered earlier.

Big hesitated, shifting on his feet.

Morghram rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, bracing himself as he slid an inch of steel from its sheath.

The big man eyed it uneasily. Then he snorted and shook his head. “Ain't worth the trouble,” he murmured to himself, starting after his friend. “Not for that pay.”

Morghram watched the two men disappear into the brush, frowning. Ruffians, nothing more, hired hands that weren't good at anything but dice. Still, two of them could have been more than he could handle. For the second time in their travels, he found himself breathing a quiet sigh of relief and being grateful for the king's steel at his hip. The sound of the men pushing through the undergrowth faded before he turned to face Eona.

Her silvery eyes were sad, the corners of her mouth downturned, though she wasn't frowning. It was a wonder she didn't. In a single turn, she'd been widowed and her fortune taken out of hands the law could retrieve it from.

He cleared his throat and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry,”

She tried to laugh. “What, for Dolbin? Don't be. He gets what he deserves.”

“But he was your husband, nonetheless.”

Sadness shone in her eyes. She looked away. “Yes, he was.”

Looking back to the shadowed entrance to the mine, Morghram smoothed his hair. “Shall we go on?”

“What choice do we have?”

He didn't want to agree, but what choice was there? They'd come all the way from the coast and were still empty-handed. But there was still a chance to change it. He gazed into the dark, squinting at the glimmer of torchlight far into the sloping tunnel. The wind still blew north. Just as it had when he plucked Eona from the sea, and when their journey began. Still beckoning them onward, urging them farther.