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hear. Eanrin and Glomar shuffled their feet and looked about, but a glance from Iubdan quieted them again, and they stood like statues.
    Suddenly Bebo smiled. It was strange, considering the dire events. But she smiled, her face lighting up with unexpected joy that radiated down upon the two would-be heroes.
    â€œGo to Lady Gleamdren’s aid, both of you!” she cried. “Seek out Etalpalli, storm its gates, and demand the prisoner freed. But—” Here she laughed outright and shook her head as though disbelieving what she herself was about to say. “But I tell you this, my little darlings: Only one who truly loves will at last break through the Flame at Night’s defenses and bring my cousin safely home. True love! Only true love . . .”
    The poet raised his eyebrows; the guard lowered his. “My feelings forLady Gleamdren are well known throughout Rudiobus,” said Eanrin. “Did I not sing just last night of my undying passion?”
    â€œUndying rot!” snarled Glomar. “The truest love is that least spoken.”
    Eanrin shrugged. “Time will tell, my friend. And time enough have I!”
    But Bebo said no more. She smiled at her husband, who watched her with keen eyes and suspected much, though he could make no final guesses.

    In the Wood Between, the girl by the River dreamed.
    The sun is hot upon her back as she follows the winding path. Spring has met a swift end, giving way to a brutal summer. But though her body is drenched in sweat, she shivers with a cold that freezes her from the inside out.
    Up the path into the mountains flows a long, fluid line. Warriors head the procession, solemn torchbearers armed with stone daggers. Next come three men in robes of deerskin dyed brilliant scarlet, their faces smeared with black streaks like streaming tears. Behind them walk the elders of the united tribes, the Red Feet, the people of Black Rock, the North Walkers, and more. The Eldest follows these, and his is the face of a man who died long ago.
    Behind the Eldest march twelve maidens to represent each tribe. They are hooded in black, and their feet are bare and bleeding, marked with intricate cuts. They weep silent tears.
    In the midst of these maidens walks one in white. Her black hair is her only hood, hanging over her face, shielding her even from the eye of the sun, who watches her progress. Her feet are bare but uncut. In her hands she carries a wooden bowl filled with blood and struggles to spill not a drop even as they climb the uneven pathway up the mountain. Starflowers adorn her head, a circlet of red blossoms.
    Following the maidens march the people of the Land, members of every tribe and village. The girl feels their eyes upon her as they climb higher and higher into reaches where the air is thin—people she does not know who look to her for salvation. When she dares cast a glance behind her, she sees that they all wear the same face. In that one face is sorrow and pity butno mercy, for they have no hope. They are a beaten people. But they are determined to survive.
    The girl turns her eyes upward again, up that long, winding path. For the first time since this endless journey began, her eyes fill with tears.
    The girl by the River moaned and stirred. And the River fed her enchanted sleep and suffered her to go on dreaming.

5
    G LOMAR CALLED on every ounce of honor in his brawny being to wait on the far shore of Gorm-Uisce while Órfhlaith carried the poet over. The last thing he wanted was to make this journey in the company of Bard Eanrin, and only the strongest of all the vows he had made to King Iubdan kept the captain rooted to the spot as the mare trotted across the lake with her scarlet burden.
    But honor is honor, however inconvenient. After all, had not Queen Bebo declared that the two must venture out together and fetch her cousin? That was as good as an order, and Glomar always followed orders. He could not, in good conscience,