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N iam rode through the night, stopping himself from nodding off several times by reciting royal lineages in his mind. His six guards said nothing, merely kept a nearly impossible pace. The sturdy mules picked their sure-footed way over loose stone, through streams, and down steep slopes.

Once or twice, Willem surrendered his mule to ride with a soldier. Niam caught the man sleeping in a soldier’s arms once while riding. Neither looked unhappy with the situation.

Niam had taken this route not too long ago, leading a force to Renvalle to help Draylon and Yarif secure their kingdom and depose the evil emperor Soland. He never dreamed of needing their help, at least not so soon.

If only they’d found Whreyn when they first looked and had enough evidence to arrest him.

The disappearance of Niam’s cousin Bert, the only potential witness that they might have convinced to speak up, left them with no recourse.

Maybe they should have silently dispatched Whreyn, regardless of the uproar his death would have caused with his followers.

Fear clutched Niam’s heart for his mother and sons. Would the deities keep them safe ?

He’d gotten a good head start on his enemies. With luck, they wouldn’t even notice him gone until morning. The mountain passes should be clear, saving time.

They stopped, ate, rested, then remounted and continued riding.

On the third day, they reached the keep Niam’s family used as a retreat.

Two soldiers rode ahead to ensure the area’s safety.

Word hadn’t even reached the staff about the goings-on in the capital.

Good. No need to hide that they’d been here. Whreyn had to know Niam’s direction.

The weakest point of the journey would be through the pass. Several diverse routes waited on the other side, some a pampered noble like Whreyn wouldn’t know, and he’d have a hard time finding a local guide, as many villages beyond the pass lay abandoned.

They slept in shifts at the keep, ate heartily, and bathed. Niam donned simple clothing typically worn in the country while hunting or fishing. The stable yielded fresh mounts, and the kitchen staff packed provisions.

The pass loomed ahead.

Captain Casseign’s mount picked its way over rough terrain to the woods where Niam waited. “All is clear, Your Majesty.”

Two Delletinian brothers, recommended by Casseign, matched in height, breadth, and skills with a sword, led the procession across the pass. Casseign and Niam crossed next, in formation to give the misleading impression to anyone watching of Niam being a mere rider and no one of import.

All wore leather armor beneath plain cloaks, even Willem. Most of the company carrying themselves like soldiers couldn’t be helped.

A red-haired woman, roughly the size of Niam, rode alone, with the two remaining soldiers following behind. Anyone viewing from a distance might mistake her for Niam. Father had never encouraged military training for Niam, as the country enjoyed relative peace.

What colossal shortsightedness. He wouldn’t have the upper hand in any fight. If attacked, speed and cunning were better assets to him than skill with knife and sword. He vowed to do better with his own sons’ training.

An image flashed through his mind of Rufe teaching the boys to fight. The image vanished in the face of reality. Still, he’d enjoy the thought.

He urged his mount from the woods into the pass between Mt. Telaga and Mt. Frane. Traces of snow clung to patches of shade beneath the trees. Usually, winter snow made the corridor impassable. Maybe the gods smiled on the faithful.

Bones littered the ground from decades of unfortunate souls who’d died here.

Niam steered his mount around discarded saddlebags and horse carcasses, picked nearly clean by wolves and vultures.

No one spoke, all appreciating the solemnity of the area.

Perhaps the soldiers knew people who’d lost their lives here.

The world seemed quiet except for the footfalls of the mules, the creak of leather saddles, and…

Movement. There in the trees. Casseign snatched Niam’s reins, yanking his mule around.

Thwack!

An arrow flew past Niam’s head, burying itself in a nearby tree.

Casseign wrangled the mules behind an outcropping. “Attack!” he yelled. The soldiers formed ranks around the woman posing as Niam. Niam practiced the motions Casseign had explained, blending in with the others.

Two riders emerged from the trees, wearing Whreyn’s livery. Two more followed, their colors implicating another duke Niam wouldn’t have suspected. More riders came, dressed plainly, with inadequate armor and no helms. Either mercenaries or poor saps Whreyn hired to fill out the ranks.

Niam leaped from his mule, using its big body as a shield from the rest of the fight, pulling a boot knife from its sheath.

A wide-eyed man dashed for the woods. Niam wouldn’t follow.

Too easy to have others waiting. He whirled, ready to defend himself as best he could.

He might not accomplish much, but he’d be damned if he’d let others fight for him while he did nothing.

Shouts came from all around, the clang of swords, the screams of the injured, and screams of mules, though in terror or rage, he couldn’t say, as some of the creatures were trained in battle as surely as the riders .

Niam spared a thought for Willem. No, he couldn’t think such thoughts now. How could Niam protect Willem if he couldn’t protect himself?

Already, two of the plainly dressed attackers lay dead, another bleeding out on the ground.

One of Whreyn’s men went head-to-head with the red-haired woman.

Her adversary stared directly at Niam, mouth dropping open.

So, Niam had been recognized. The red-haired woman seized the man’s hesitation, striking a killing blow across the bastard’s neck.

The man fell in a heap, blood staining the ground.

The red-haired woman flung a dagger, catching another opponent in the shoulder. The enemy clawed at the dagger, leaving herself open to a sword thrust—right into her stomach. Niam wished for fighting skills to be of some help.

How many soldiers had Whreyn sent?

Casseign stood bloody over a fallen man, striking a killing blow with a double-handed thrust. The redhead took out another foe. A rearing mule came down hard on another, knocking him to the ground before reeling and striking out with both feet.

Two enemies remained. They turned and ran, but one of the brothers swooped down from atop his mule, making quick work of both.

Niam spun right, then left, seeking any other dangers. Six Delletinian soldiers stared back, one brother holding the other up, but the rest appeared unscathed.

Casseign held up four fingers and pointed toward the wood. All but the injured brother nodded, two mounting up, two on foot, sprinting into the woods. Niam approached the wounded brother.

“It’s nothing,” the man said. “Damned mule stomped my foot.”

Casseign smiled despite the blood splashed across his face. “Not the kind of battle wound to brag about in a tavern, eh?”

The man laughed. “You know my storytelling skills. The beastie’ll be a dragon after a few tankards of ale.”

Casseign approached the first body, lying face down on the ground, and rolled the man over with a kick.

“I recognize this man. It seems we’ve taken out one of Whreyn’s lapdogs, who no one will miss but Whreyn.

A nasty piece of work.” He kneeled, rifling through the man’s clothing, and came up empty-handed. The same held true for the next man.

The third man resisted when Casseign attempted to turn him, wrapping his arms around his head. Willem. Cass finally turned him, and Niam dropped to his knees, clasping his secretary in his arms. “I was so afraid we’d lost you.”

Willem cried, clinging to Niam. A soldier kneeled. “I’ll take him.” Niam gratefully handed Willem over.

Nine in all lay dead, four in the livery of dukes. The rest were likely hired for this job and weren’t too keen on fighting a losing battle.

The four riders returned. “Add four to the dead count,” the redhead said with a grimace, wiping a hand across her face, smearing blood. She spat on the ground. “The bastards.”

Another soldier led two mules. “If I’m not mistaken, Your Majesty, these came from your own stable.”

Casseign rose from inspecting the last body. “Bring them with us.”

“What about the dead?” the red-haired woman asked.

Casseign made the same gesture Niam witnessed Vihaan make. “The mountain keeps all kills.”

The woman’s mule had bolted, so she mounted a foundling. “Damn it. I liked that saddle, too,” she grumbled.

“Round up any mules and supplies, but be quick about it,” Casseign ordered. The woman and two others saluted and rode away.

They tended wounds until the woman returned, leading several mules.

Casseign climbed onto his mule’s back, his wince hardly noticeable. Had he been loyal to the commander who’d betrayed them? “Let’s ride out.”

They continued along their way, keeping watchful eyes. Niam breathed a sigh of relief when they exited the pass onto a little-known pathway. He’d long appreciated Delletina’s military forces, but never more so than today.

Recalling Casseign’s and the others’ moves, Niam couldn’t help but think of Rufe, his many scars, and how he’d never been a stranger to such action.

Niam was developing a whole new appreciation for him, too.