My Indians, silent and morose, their vengeance unslaked and now indefinitely deferred, moved at a dog trot through the forest, led by the Sagamore, whose eyes saw as clearly in the dark as my own by day.

And after a little while we noticed the stars above us, and felt ferns and grass under our feet, and came out into that same glade from whence runs the trail to Yndaia through the western hill cleft.

“People ahead!” whispered the Sagamore. “Their Sorceress and six Eries!”

“Are you certain?” I breathed, loosening my hatchet.

“Certain, Loskiel. Yonder they are halted within the ferns. They are at the stream, drinking.”

I caught Lois by the wrist.