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Wheeee…eeeee…

“Yes, I know. I took too long,” I mumbled as I struggled to open the water bottle. The liquid helped, enough for me to realize that it would have been a lot easier to drink from the brook.

The brook water was colder, and Tamra followed my example, after I told her to drink.

Then I got out my meager store of food, mostly travel bread and the yellow cheese I didn’t like all that much. I sat on a small boulder by the brook to open the packages. My stomach didn’t seem to mind the taste of either, and some of the shakiness left my legs.

I offered a piece of bread to Tamra. She took it, looking at it blankly.

“Go ahead. You can eat it.”

She did, mechanically, those eyes still china-doll blank.

It was going to be a long trip back to Kyphrien, a long trip indeed. Slowly, I chewed enough of the bread and drank enough of the water that my head cleared and some of my strength returned—enough for me to touch that scar on Tamra’s neck and begin the healing process. She didn’t need any external scars. The ones inside would be great enough.

Tamra didn’t protest when I boosted her onto Gairloch.

Wheee…eeee… He objected, skittering aside, nearly pulling the reins from my hand.

“Easy there,” I mumbled.

Wheeeee…eeeeee…

“I know…but help me out…”

Long wasn’t the word for the ride back toward Kyphrien. Until close to sunset, when I finally found another brook and a semi-enclosed spot off the wizards’ road, Tamra and I had alternated riding Gairloch, except that he got nasty if I didn’t stay close by. She just looked blankly into space, whether riding or walking.

After we dismounted and struggled off the road, we ate—more travel bread and the bitter yellow cheese, plus some very dried sourpears that I had to wash down. Tamra didn’t even pucker her lips when she ate them.

As the light died, I put up double wards, which took most of my limited strength—wards against Tamra, and wards against any other outside intrusion.

Neither was necessary. When I woke the next morning, Tamra was looking blankly into space, sitting on my bedroll. So tired I had been that my cloak had been enough for me.

“Are you all right?” I asked. She wasn’t, of course, but I had to ask. She said nothing, china-blue eyes taking in whatever she faced, but seeing nothing.

She would eat if told, as well as do anything else, including rather necessary functions. That part was hard for me.

The second day was better, but only physically. Tamra remained silent, puppet-like. I could sense no active chaos around or within her, and somewhere deep inside was a coil of tight-sprung order that I dared not touch, though I could not say exactly why. I hoped Justen, the healer as well as gray wizard, could help. In some things, gall was no substitute for experience.

So we rode on, and on, past the narrow gap once guarded by the ghost knight. I saw only the greened copper of a lance tip lying on the left side of the wizards’ road, but not even dust or ashes of the knight. The bones and ragged fabrics from packs and clothes remained.

The second night, in the hills outside the Westhorns themselves, was worse. I woke more than I slept, and I swore Tamra just lay on the bedroll staring at the dark clouds overhead, clouds that never rained, never thundered, just shut out the stars.

Before mid-morning on the third day, after we had reached the old road to Kyphrien, a familiar figure appeared on the road, moving quickly toward the Westhorns. Two familiar figures—one on a charger, one on a shaggy pony, accompanied by an armed squad of the Finest. I didn’t recognize any of the other riders. They had two riderless horses, just in case.

“Yelena…Justen…” My voice was rusty, flat. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Justen, as if somehow seeing him meant I had failed somewhere.

“Congratulations, Master of Order-Masters.” He inclined his head as if he meant it.

Yelena did not meet my eyes, instead looking at Tamra. The subofficer’s hand remained close to her well-ordered