Iarius followed and watched as Jeskar burst from the caves into the bandits' mountainside community. He barked orders, called for every able-bodied fighter to prepare.

  "You have a chokepoint," Nessalir observed. "That gives you an advantage."

  "Aye," said Orla. "It's why we chose this position."

  "I would gladly fight alongside your men," Nessalir told her.

  Orla raised an eyebrow. "The Remurans would learn of your treachery. You would be a wanted woman by the empire."

  Nessalir's grin was fierce, savage. "They would learn no such thing. I would make sure of it."

  Jeskar, having heard at least some part of their conversation, whirled upon Nessalir. "You suggest we should give you back your weapons?" he demanded.

  "I could easily claim weapons for myself right now," Nessalir replied, "had I not vowed to protect this scribe's life."

  Orla laughed. "You speak of fighting the Remurans, yet you also speak of keeping your vow to them! You are indeed a fascinating woman."

  There was mirth in her voice, and adoration. Iarius thought he detected in her words a hint of yearning, and he recalled the sight he had glimpsed the night before, of the muscles of Nessalir's back, Toli's hands on her, the way she leaned forward and put her lips to Orla's…

  "Out of the question," said Jeskar. "If need be, we will use the two of you as hostages, to negotiate the escape of our people."

  Iarius laughed. He could not himself. The words that had just come from Jeskar's lips were simply too absurd for him to react in any other fashion.

  "You find this amusing, Remuran?" Jeskar demanded.

  "As I told you last night, the Equine Centuria is known to me, and I to them," Iarius told the bandit. "Their Pilus too is known to me, and I to him. Pilus Marcus Opaedes despises me, and has made no secret of that fact. I offer no value as a hostage, for he would be glad to be rid of me. And as for Nessalir, well, as far as the Centuria is concerned, she is just another barbarian like yourselves."

  Jeskar's expression darkened, and Nessalir nodded. "I apologize, Jeskar," she said. "When I offered us as hostages, I knew we would not make decent ones."

  "You simply wanted to save your own skin," Jeskar growled.

  "I wished to keep my promise to the Magus," Nessalir told him.

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  Iarius could not keep the shock off his face. That Nessalir had surrendered to keep them alive was no secret, but that she had done so to keep him alive, specifically, that she had been motivated by her promise to protect him, had not occurred to him.

  What honor, what valor, these barbarians possessed! How was it that these savages conducted themselves more honorably than any Remuran soldier he had known?

  "You sought to save both your skins," scoffed Jeskar.

  "No," said Nessalir. "I could have killed every single one of you myself, should it have come to that. You are skilled, Jeskar, but you are undisciplined, and your men even less so. I have felled many foes far deadlier than you. Trust me when I say that, had I willed it, this entire mountainside would have been painted in Paeliig blood."

  At first Jeskar appeared dismissive, but then he must have seen something in the virem draconem's face, for his own face paled.

  "I will fight the Remurans," said Nessalir. "If there is any way we can cut them off from escape, then all the better. I will fight them, but your people must flee as well. The Remurans will keep coming for you, and should a Centurian escape to bring word back to Paeliig, then tomorrow you will have to face the siege of a Remuran Legion."

  "How can we possibly flee?" Jeskar asked. "Even if I accepted this plan, the Remurans would block our means of escape."

  "The aislaith," said Orla. "As you said before. Is that what you're suggesting, Nessalir?"

  "It is," said the mercenary.

  "Though we are ailefwari and have the right to traverse the Dream Roads, I do not know the way," Orla said. "We were, neither of us, ever taught. I can not open the path to the aislaith. I do not know how."

  "It is not so difficult," said Nessalir. "I can show you, but I cannot open the path for you. Only your blood can do that."

  "This is absurd," said Jeskar. "We should be preparing to fight, not to flee!"

  "Would you put swords in the arms of children?" Orla asked her brother. "Would you demand that old Grela pick up a bow, that Fornir with his bad back wield a spear? You would see our people destroyed! Nessalir is correct. I'm sorry, Jeskar, but our only option is to run."

  The chief of the bandits scowled. For a terrible moment, Iarius was certain he would fly into a rage, that he would forbid all talk of opening the aislaith and instead insist on his people making a desperate final stand.

  But then his shoulders sagged, and his scowl left his face, and in the place of the savage bandit, Iarius saw only a tired, weary man, beaten down by the woes of the world and the weight of the responsibility upon his shoulders. "But to where should our people flee?" Jeskar asked.

  "Years ago," said Nessalir, "the Winter King descended upon my homeland. I fought, and I struggled, and in a span of a single afternoon, I saw all who I had come to hold dear annihilated by the giant's wrath. I left my home a ruin, a kingdom of ghosts and memories, which to this day has lain fallow and forsaken.

  "I offer your people this: go to my homeland, go to Lost Lorveg, and upon its bones build something new. Let it be that I might live to see my home flourish once more. Do this, and I swear to you, I will strike down any man fool enough to interfere with your flight."

  Jeskar and Orla shared a look. Iarius thought that in that instant, some unspoken communication passed between the twin half-elves. Then Jeskar extended his arm toward Nessalir.

  She clasped his hand in their own, and their eyes met, and Jeskar nodded.

  "Thus shall be our pact, Nessalir the Red."