The night hid most of the world, the moonlight playing tricks on the eye and the mind, but it did reveal in clearly etched relief the lights of a building up ahead. Blaise crouched shivering at the tree line and looked at it. This was the countryside, so it had to be some sort of farm or barn. Unless it was an inn, but it did not look like an inn. Blaise knew farmers. There was no guarantee she would be welcomed, especially as someone from outside, but they probably wouldn’t kill her, either. And she was too cold to do anything else.

  Approaching the building, Blaise saw an outhouse and a barn, so it was certainly a farm. She moved sideways so the barn was between her and the house, then crept up close. Light came through the chinks in the wall. She put her eye up to one. Inside, a man was putting the animals to bed. This was a rich farmer, with chickens and pigs and a cow. He glanced around, nodded and blew out the lamp, then closed the big double doors. Blaise crept around the side of the building and was brought up short by the farmer, wielding a pitchfork.

  “Come out and show yourself! Come on.” Blaise stepped hesitantly into the light of the moon. The farmer lowered the pitchfork, some. “What are you doing there? Are you a thief?”

  “No,” said Blaise.

  “You look like a thief.”

  “I’m, I’m-“She actually had no word for what she was.

  He lowered the pitchfork the rest of the way. “No. The animals told me you were there. A real thief would know to sneak from upwind. And you have no weapons. No, you’re a beggar.”

  Blaise felt the word rattle around in her thoughts. Is that what I am? “No, I don’t think I am either of those,” she said.

  The farmer stood up from his crouch and leaned on the pitchfork. “Then what are you?”

  “I’m trying to find the Scarlet Knights, to save my people.”

  “Save your people from what?”

  “From the men who burned my village and, and killed my friend.”

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  “What village?”

  “Worthe.”

  The man shifted a bit. “If the village is burned then how can the people be saved?”

  “They escaped. A stranger helped. They won’t get far, though. We need the Scarlet.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t be fibbing, would you?”

  “Not fibbing,” she said. Blaise was having trouble holding up her end of the conversation. She felt like she might drop to the ground any moment.

  “Who can you name from Worthe?” he asked.

  “Well, there’s Bickert, she’s my grandmother, and my cousins Genell and Sarney, and old Stenn, but he’s dead now, and-“

  “Stenn of Worthe? How did he die?”

  Blaise began to tear up again. “He attacked from hiding and made a lot of fuss so the rest of us could get away.”

  The farmer roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the house. Blaise had no strength left to resist. “That’s enough of that, then. Souve! Put the kettle on and fetch some blankets! I bring bad tidings from Worthe, and a survivor!” Survivor. That was the word.

  Inside, she learned that the farmer, Emlin, and his wife, Souve, were distant relatives of hers. They sat her by the fire and gave her bread and broth and listened to her story with sad, kind faces. “…so you see I can’t stay,” she finished. “I have to keep on and find-“

  “-the Scarlet. Yes, you said so, but you must sleep a little,” said Souve.

  “I’m being followed-“

  “You told us that, too. You still need to sleep at least a couple of hours, girl. You won’t get anywhere otherwise,” said Emlin. He pulled back the covers on a chicken tick mattress. “He can’t track that fast by moonlight.”

  Blaise looked around. “Oh!” she said. “I can’t take your bed!”

  “We’ll sit up a while, said Souve. “My gods, we cannot sleep after such a story anyway.” They pushed and cajoled and insisted Blaise into the bed and she was asleep before they returned to their chairs.

  “Wake up!” Someone was roughly shaking Blaise. She awoke with a fright, but it was just Emlin and Souve. It felt like she had not slept at all.

  She sat up fast. “I have to go!”

  “That you do,” said Emlin. “Here now, take the cart track west. I think that’s where the Scarlet might be. Not for sure, you understand, but my best guess. Bear left at the fork.” Blaise nodded mutely.

  “Here is some bread and cheese,” said Souve, handing Blaise a little knotted cloth bag. Blaise gingerly accepted it. “And take this.” She took off her own knitted shawl and draped it around Blaise’s shoulders.

  “I can’t pay,” she said.

  “You don’t have to pay, girl,” said Emlin. “but you do have to save your own, if you can. Promise me that, now.”

  “I promise,” said Blaise. “How long did I sleep?”

  “It’s just past midnight,” said Emlin. “There’s a good moon tonight. It should take you an hour to get to the fork in the cart track. Bear left and if you’re lucky, they’ll find you.”

  Blaise put her hand on the door and stopped. Turning, she said, “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

  “Yes you do,” said Emlin. “Save them. Out with you. Gods speed your way.”