WE WERE GUESTS OF HONOR in the Rangatira’s keep, and our quarters were more than comfortable. Mag distributed our possessions between the bedrooms we had been given. Dryleaf smiled broadly as I walked him about the place, letting him run his fingers along the bookshelves and push them into the deep, plush cushions of the furniture.

“We have gone from comfort to comfort the last few days,” he said. “Why could not the road from Bertram have been this gentle on my old bones?”

I laughed. “If only it had, friend. Let yourself relax. You will remain here while we set forth tomorrow.”

“Naturally,” said Dryleaf. He gave a sigh. “I never thought I would rest inside noble quarters again. It has been some years since I resigned myself to dying in Lan Shui.”

“It was our pleasure to change your fate,” said Mag.

Dryleaf chuckled. “Oh, I do not know if anything can do that. It depends upon whether you believe in fate or not, I suppose. But I certainly never suspected that I was destined to embark upon another adventure so late in life. The Birchwood was all I ever wanted, for a good long while.”

At that moment, a knock came at the door. Supper had been brought for us, though the sun was still well above the horizon. We would go to bed early that night, so that we were well rested when they came to wake us up before dawn. Servants set the dishes out for us, and we began to tuck in. The fare was nowhere near so fine as the meals at Victon’s had been, but it was still better than anything we had had upon the road.

“What was it about the Birchwood you so loved?” I asked Dryleaf as we ate. “Why there, and not any of the other wondrous places you must have visited in Underrealm?”

“A fair question,” said Dryleaf. “The Birchwood is a place of small wonder, but great peace—which is a wonder in itself, if a less obvious kind. There was something about the trees. Not the sight of them, mind you—that matters little to me, especially now. But there was a feeling to them, a peace beneath their boughs. Four branches of magic there are, wizards will tell you. Yet I have often found myself wondering whether there are other, older magics in the world. It seemed there was always a spell of tranquility upon the Birchwood—something that relaxed your muscles, that made you wish to dip your feet in the cold, clear water of its rivers. I was happy there.”

His expression darkened. “Though others were less fortunate. The other reason I wished to return was to look after some friends.”

Mag’s face twitched. I noticed it, though I did not understand it.

“Old friends?” said Mag.

“Not old the way I am,” said Dryleaf. “They were only children, and I had known them for most of their lives. I was mostly concerned with the girl, though there was also a boy who loved her. It has been … well, it has been many long years since I was last able to visit them, and when last I was forced to leave them … well. The girl, Loren—”

Mag and I had both frozen, her with a bite of food halfway to her mouth. A dawning realization had been creeping upon me as Dryleaf spoke, and when he spoke Loren’s name to confirm it, I nearly choked.

“—she had parents with evil hearts,” Dryleaf went on, not noticing our sudden silence. “I always worried for her, and as time went on, I would return to visit her more and more frequently. The boy, Chet, was moonstruck for Loren from a young age, and I worried it might get him into trouble with her parents. Particularly her father. I did not know exactly how to help them, but I thought, if I could be there when she came of age, I could somehow … some way …”

He fell silent. Still I could not move, could not speak. But now Mag was looking at me from across the table.

“Albern,” she said quietly.

I stared at her.

Dryleaf frowned. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

Mag turned to him. “Dryleaf … this girl from the Birchwood …” She fell silent, seemingly unsure what to say.

He pursed his lips. “Yes?”

“We told you of our friends who rode from Northwood,” I said. “The ones who delivered word of the Shades to the High King.”

Dryleaf went very still. His sightless eyes brimmed with tears.

“It was Loren,” said Mag. “And Chet was with her.”

His jaw quivered as the tears spilled down his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Loren is alive?”

We told him everything. Everything we knew, that is, which was not, in fact, everything there was to know. Loren had told me only bits and pieces of what had happened on the long road between her departure from the Birchwood and our meeting in Strapa. But I told Dryleaf everything that had happened after that, and he asked me many questions, so that no detail was missed. He went very pale when we told him of the attack on Northwood, and gave a great sigh of relief when we told him how Loren had escaped the fighting. That was the end of what we had seen, and as my tale subsided, Dryleaf asked me another question.

“Her parents,” he said. “Do you know what became of them?”

“We do not,” said Mag. “She was not very willing to speak about her home, or her past.”

Dryleaf sighed. “No, I suppose she would not have been. Something evil lurked in their souls, and they took it out on their only daughter. Theirs was always a house of secrets—secrets, and pain. I feared that if she remained in that home, she would not survive it.”

“You should be happy, then,” said Mag. “She escaped, and if I know anything about her, she will never again fall under their sway.”

“No,” said Dryleaf. “That seems clear. And my heart sings to know that Chet is with her now. He has loved her a long time, and though I suspect Loren never felt quite the same way—or at least not to the same degree—it will be good for her to have a reminder that not everything in her past came from suffering.”

“And she has the children as well,” I said. “She may not have known them as long as Chet, but they are a great source of comfort to her. She thinks she protects them, and I suppose she does. But they are better for her than she realizes.”

“Good, good,” said Dryleaf. “It sounds as though she went through many hardships on her road—and she may still face hardship even now. But as long as she has Chet, I am confident she will be well cared for.”

“How did you first meet Loren, anyway?” said Mag. “Why did you keep returning to the Birchwood to see her?”

Dryleaf tilted his head. “You have met her yourself. You know how remarkable she is. She was always that way, and I knew she could do great things, if she could only escape her horrible home. It was always something that just seemed to happen to me: finding the lonely and the lost, and trying to make their lives somewhat easier, if it was in my power to do so. Loren was not the only one, though she was a particularly urgent case. I knew an orphan girl in Cabrus, who has run away now, and is lost in the nine kingdoms. A merchant boy in Idris, who finally broke his family’s shackles and lives on his own now. A child of nobility in Hedgemond, who needed more love than her mother felt she could spare. She is a Mystic now, and a fine officer of that order.”

My expression darkened, and I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. I was not from Hedgemond, of course, but Dryleaf’s words would have been most apt for my own mother.

“But these others had already managed to escape, sometimes with my help, sometimes on their own. Loren was the last. She never knew me as Dryleaf, by the by. In the Birchwood, they call me Bracken. But after Loren, I had thought I would be done. My bones were already getting too old for travel, and the Birchwood seemed a good place to live out the end of one’s life. I had only just resigned myself to do so in Lan Shui instead, when you arrived.”

“But Dryleaf,” said Mag. “Or, wait. Should we call you Bracken?”

He waved a hand. “No, no. One name is as good as another after all these years, and I will not say the name my parents gave me, for there is a reason I left it behind so long ago.”

“Very well,” said Mag. “My question is: what now? You know Loren was making for the Seat, and you are free from Lan Shui. Do you wish to run off and find her?”

“We could make arrangements,” I said.

Dryleaf settled deeper into his chair and sighed. “I will not lie to you: I greatly wish to go. But no. For now, at least, it is enough for me to know that she escaped her parents. I am content to remain with you for a while yet.” His lips curled in a smile. “You may need my help, after all. And besides, it seems likely that you shall cross paths with Loren again, and mayhap sooner than later.”

“That is my wish,” I said.

“Then until that day,” said Dryleaf, “I will happily ride by your side, if you will continue to have me. But wait!” Suddenly his face lit up, and he gave a broad grin. “We must write her at once.”

I blinked. “Write her?”

“Why not?” he said. “We know where she is.”

I looked to Mag. Writing to Loren had not even crossed our mind on all the long road since Northwood—but then, we had no idea that she had succeeded in her mission. And with that came a chilling thought. “Mag,” I said quietly. “She thinks we are dead. She must.”

“Sky above,” breathed Mag.

“And I doubt she thinks I am still breathing,” said Dryleaf. “Had I thought her parents would let her read a letter, I would have written one long ago. As far as she knows, I simply disappeared.”

That settled it. We asked one of the stronghold’s servants for paper, quill, and ink. Together we sat down and drafted a letter, which Mag rendered in a firm hand. When we were done, I folded the parchment up and handed it to Dryleaf.

“I will see to the arrangements tomorrow, while the two of you are off on your adventure,” he said. “Someone should be willing to walk me to the constables’ station to send it off.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I only wish I could see her face when she reads it.”

“As do I,” chuckled Dryleaf, “though that chance passed long ago.”

“At least she will know we are alive,” I said. “And if we should meet her upon the road, and you wish to go with her then, no one will begrudge you that—least of all me.”

Mag gave me a careful look as I said it. I thought she must be wondering if I, too, would ride off with Loren, were I given the chance.

But now it was time for bed. We had spoken a good long while into the night, and we had to rise early for tomorrow’s hunt. I helped Dryleaf to his bed and retired to my own room, undressing by moonslight.

Sky above, let our hunt end tomorrow, I thought to myself. Let it be over, so that we can find the children again, and see that they are safe.

But of course, you know enough about the Necromancer’s War to know my hopes were in vain. And even today, part of me wishes I had not waited.