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All the Gorhautians attending the fair had been assembled in an enormous room in Barbentain； Thaune remembered； and after the countess of Arbonne had ordered them out of the country and confiscated their goods Blaise had spoken to them with a cool precision that had been genuinely impressive。 Because of the Treaty of Iersen Bridge； he'd said…a treaty that was a betrayal in itself…King Ademar was about to embroil Gorhaut in another war here in Arbonne。 It was a war they did not need； brought on by a treaty that should never have been signed。 He invited those assembled to think about his words； and he promised they would be allowed passage north through the mountains unharmed。
They had even contrived a pretended assassination attempt； an arrow landing carefully short of Blaise as he walked out from the castle the next morning。 The tournament melee had been cancelled； in the wake of the events at Aubry and in the watch…tower south of the pass： they had found the three maimed guards by then。 The court of Signe de Barbentain had collectively attended mourning services in the Temple of Rian； and in their midst…walking beside the countess； in fact…had been Blaise de Garsenc。
Thaune was instructed to claim responsibility for that attempted killing of the pretender； both on the road north through the pass and again when he arrived home at the castle…a Garsenc coran would need such a story； Blaise had told him。 Thaune； remembering the fears that had led him to kill the animal…trainer； had acceded gratefully。 It was strange； actually； to be working for a leader who thought of so many details concerning his men。 Thaune had even； after hesitating； told Blaise about that killing in the alley。 He didn't want hidden things between him and this man。
Blaise had looked regretful； but not judgmental。 〃You were afraid；〃 he'd said； 〃and doing your duty out of fear。 That is how things have always been at Garsenc。 I hope you will do what you see as your duty now； but without the fear。〃
Thaune remembered that。 He had done what he could； which； as it turned out； was quite a bit。 He'd more of a knack than he would have guessed for such intrigues。 There had been only a dozen soldiers in his party on the ride north…Gorhaut corans seldom went south to tournaments in Arbonne； they hadn't done so for years。
There were no rules about such things； but corans of reputation usually waited another month and went east to Aulensburg for the tourney there。 Gotzland was seen as better than Arbonne； it was acceptable to fight there。 Only the younger ones； and a handful of spies sometimes； went south to Lussan in the autumn with the merchants and entertainers。 There were no spies in this small party； though； Thaune was certain of it。 The young men listened； a little awed； to his snarling tale of wind pushing a long bowshot short。
They were probably wishing they had tried the same thing； he had mused that first night in the roadside inn among the falling leaves of autumn。 Probably even dreaming of having done so； and having succeeded； and riding back to King Ademar in triumph unimaginable。 Young men had such dreams。
Two of the corans on that ride； he'd decided； might be thinking； or dreaming； along somewhat different lines。 He'd taken a chance and spoken to one of them before they parted ways。 Turned out he had judged rightly； taking careful chances was what he'd been sent back to do。 Before their roads divided； his to Garsenc； the other coran's towards the palace in Cortil； Thaune had won his first recruit to the cause of Blaise de Garsenc's rebellion。 The accent had been what decided him。 You could almost always trust a north…land man to be unhappy with King Ademar。
On the ramparts of Garsenc he leaned forward； suddenly tense； peering blindly into the fog。 It was thick as the mist was said to be above the river to the land of the dead。 He could see nothing； but he thought he'd heard a sound from the grassy space beyond the outer wall and the dry moat。
The sky above another castle； beyond the mountains to the south； was brilliantly clear that same night； the stars like diamonds； the two moons bright enough to lend shadows to the trees bending in the path of the sirnal…the north wind that swept down the Arbonne Valley with the bitter force of winter behind it。
Fires were burning on all the hearths of Barbentain； and Signe had dressed herself in layers of fine…spun wool with fur trim at the collar and sleeves and a fur…lined hat covering her head； even indoors。 She hated the winter； she always had； especially when the sirnal blew； making her eyes stream and her fingers ache。 Usually she and Guibor had been south by this time； in Carenzo with Ariane and Thierry； or in the winter palace in Tavernel for their sojourn there。 It was always milder in the south； the depredations of the sirnal less harrowing； tempered by the shape of the land and the influence of the sea。
This year was different。 She needed to be in Barbentain because this winter would not be the customary time of sheltering behind castle and village walls while the wind whipped down the valleys and empty roads。 Events were taking place this season that were going to define the future for all of them； one way or another。 In fact； they were taking place tonight； beneath the brightness of these two moons beyond the mountains； in Gorhaut。 She wondered what Vidonne and blue Riannon were seeing there as they looked down。
Almost unbearably anxious； unable to keep still； she paced back and forth from one fire to another in her sitting room。 She was disturbing her waiting…women she knew； and almost certainly doing the same to Rosala； who sat calmly nonetheless； hands busy at needlework in her chair drawn close to one fire。 She wondered how the woman could be so placid； knowing…as indeed she did know…what was at stake tonight in the north。
It had e down to Blaise de Garsenc； as Beatritz had said it might almost a year ago when they'd first bee aware that the new coran in Baude Castle was rather more than he seemed。 Rather more。 A very great deal more； in fact。 The countess wished； again； that Beatritz was with her now； instead of on the island so far to the south in the sea。 Images of the past year had been with her all evening； dancing in the flicker of the fires。 It sometimes seemed to her that she spent half her life now walking with images of the past。 But she wasn't thinking of Guibor now。 She was remembering Bertran at the challenge ground as the northerner stood before the Portezzan pavilion offering a red rose：
We may have all found more than we bargained for in this man； Bertran had said。
Another image rose up then； a memory from within this castle； in autumn as well； when they had summoned all the merchants and corans of Gorhaut the morning after Aubry and told them they were confiscating their trade goods and sending them home from the fair。
Urté de Miraval had wanted to execute them all； and Signe； a hard rage running through her； had had to resist the same desire。 There were even precedents for such a thing。 Every citizen of a country was personally responsible for the truce…breaking of their lords。 It had been Blaise wh