away their footprints, erasing any trace of where they had been
or where they were going. They had seen nothing of the Fed-
eration army since their flight began. Any pursuit was either
bogged down or confused. The Jut might be lost, but the outlaws
had escaped to fight another day.
It was now midaftemoon, and the ragtag band had worked
its way to a point somewhere above the juncture of the Menni-
don where it branched south to the Rainbow Lake and east to
the Rabb Plains. On a bluff where the mountain trails diverged
in all directions, they had paused to rest before parting company.
The Trolls would turn north for the Chamals and home. The
outlaws would regroup at Firerim Reach, another of their re-
doubts. Padishar would return to Tyrsis in search of Damson
and the missing Valemen. Morgan would go east to Culhaven
and keep his promise to Steff. In four weeks’ time, they would
all meet again at Jannisson Pass. Hopefully by then the Troll
army would be fully mobilized and the Movement would have
consolidated its splintered groups. It would be time to begin
mapping out a specific strategy for use in the continuing struggle
against the Federation.
If any of them were still alive to do the mapping, Morgan
thought dismally. He wasn’t convinced any longer that they
would be. What had happened with Teel had left him angry and
doubting. He knew now how easy it was for the Shadowen-
and therefore their Federation allies-to infiltrate those who
stood against them. Anyone could be the enemy; there was no
way to tell. Betrayal could come from any quarter and likely
would. What were they to do to protect themselves when they
could never be certain whom to trust?
It was bothering Padishar as well, Morgan knew-though the
outlaw chief would be the last to admit it. Morgan had been
watching him closely since their escape, and the big man was
seeing ghosts at every turn.
But, then, so was he.
He felt a dark resignation chill him as if seeking to turn him
to ice. It might be best for both of them to be alone for a while.
“Will it be safe for you to try going back to Tyrsis so soon?”
he asked abruptly, wanting to make some sort of conversation,
to hear the other’s voice, but unable to think of anything better
to say.
Padishar shrugged. “As safe as it ever is for me. I’ll be dis-
guised in any case.” He looked over, dipping his head briefly
against a gust of wind and rain. “Don’t be worrying, High-
lander. The Valemen will be all right. I’ll make certain of it.”
“It bothers me that I’m not going with you.” Morgan could
not keep the bitterness from his voice. “I was the one who
talked Par and Coil into coming here in the first place-or at
least I had a lot to do with it. I abandoned them once already in
Tyrsis, and here I am abandoning them again.” He shook his
head wearily. “But I don’t know what else I can do. I have to
do what Steff asked of me. I can’t just ignore …”
What he was going to say caught sharply in his throat as the
memory of his dying friend flashed through his mind and the
pain of his loss returned, sharp and poignant. He thought mo-
mentarily that there might be tears, but there weren’t. Perhaps
he had cried them all out.
Padishar reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “High-
lander, you must keep your promise. You owe him that. When
it’s finished, come back. The Valemen and I will be waiting,
and we’ll all begin again.”
Morgan nodded, still unable to speak. He tasted the rain on
his lips and licked it away.
Padishar’s strong face bent close, blocking out everything else
for just an instant. “We do what we must in this struggle, Mor-
gan Leah. All of us. We are free-bom as the rally cry says-
Men, Dwarves, Trolls, all of us. There is no separate war to
fight; it’s a war that we all share. So you go to Culhaven and