Torvin studied him with narrowed eyes. Slowly, a thin, reluctant smile crept across his face. “It is a terrible idea,” he said. “I like it.”It took an hour. They rode back, retrieved the carcass, strapped it across Elliot’s saddle, and rolled in the mud for good measure. When they returned to the ford, they looked like a ragged, filthy, fly-bitten family of poachers, with the stink of old blood trailing behind them like a flag. Maximus, who had wrapped his head in a scrap of sacking, slumped in the saddle with his mouth open, doing his best to look slow-witted.“Halt!” a Scribe shouted.“Aye, sir, we are halting,” Elliot said, in a thick, bumbling drawl. “Beg pardon, sir. Is there a toll?”“State your business.”“Selling a deer, sir. A fine one. A buck. Took us three days to track.” He patted the stinking carcass proudly. “My brother and my cousin and my uncle. We are bound for the market at Thistlewood.”The officer, a lean, narrow-faced man with a perpetually curled lip, rose from

“It is.” Torvin dismounted. “It belonged to Sorceress Melissa. We took it this morning, after the battle. It carries no malice now. It only floats.”Elliot and Sabrina exchanged glances. “We are going to cross a boiling river in a dead sorceress’s boat,” Elliot said, faintly.“She is not dead.”“That does not make it better.”“It does not.” Torvin held out a hand. “Come. We are expected.”They climbed in. The hull dipped slightly beneath their weight, then steadied, and Torvin pushed off with a long pole. The little vessel glided out into the current. Steam curled around it in thick white wreaths. The water hissed on all sides, black and bubbling, and Maximus gripped the rail and stared at the churning surface, his heart pounding.For a long minute, nothing happened. Then, as they drew near the middle of the river, the steam thinned. The bubbles stilled. The current slackened, and the black water grew smooth and clear, as if the whole river had drawn a breath and held it. A faint, war

“He said it was a good day for it.”A shaky, helpless laugh broke from Maximus, and then the laugh turned to weeping, and he folded forward over the table, his shoulders heaving. Sabrina put an arm around him. Elliot, on the other side, reached over and gripped his hand. Around the table, nobody moved. Cael Dross turned his face away. Breck wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.When the storm had passed, Maximus lifted his head, dazed, and looked around the table at the faces watching him.“Thank you,” he said. “For telling me. For keeping him safe.”“It was the least we could do,” said Corwin.“It was a great deal.”“We will bury him tomorrow,” Williams said. “At dawn. Under the old oak, if you are willing. He liked it there.”“I know. He told me about it.” A faint breath of a smile. “In his letters. He said the wine tasted better under that tree.”“It does,” said Adrian gruffly.“Then that is where he should be.”They buried him at first light.The morning was cold and clear, wi

They stood together beneath the old oak, the three of them, while the wind rustled the dry leaves and the long shadows crept across the grave. Then Maximus straightened and drew a deep breath.“I need to speak to Williams.”He found the old master in the garden, standing alone beside the broken wall with his hands behind his back, looking out over the river. Williams did not turn when he approached, but he said, quietly, “I wondered when you would come.”“You knew.”“I knew when I saw your face at the funeral. You have your brother’s look when you have decided something.”“What look?”“Like a man who has stopped asking permission.”Maximus almost smiled. He came to stand beside the old master, and for a moment, they both gazed across the steaming water, where the morning sun made rainbows in the mist.“I want to stay,” he said. “I want to join the fight. I want to be taught.”“I know.”“You are not going to say no?”“I would be a hypocrite.” Williams’s voice was dry. “I took a boy of