Miccola brushed off my story about Yadwiga in the mayhem that any long march becomes. She galloped down the road screaming at someone to 'break it off'. Phedoxia, however, listened with a deepening frown.

After that, she stewed in her misgivings. It sounds like a quiet, inoffensive activity, but unfortunately, she glued her black stallion to Breva's flank for its duration. She muttered on and on. Then she asked me questions. Then she reworded the questions and asked them again, as if she suspected I was hiding something from her. Or that I was dim, so her trick would make me reveal some crucial detail. All the while Breva snorted at her unwanted equine companion and flicked her ears.

Why she troubled herself, I wasn't sure, since she already had an explanation for everything. All was the Bhutas' work.

"She even called you Ishmara!" Phedoxia ranted. "They were one of the most formidable Bhutas in the Primordial Strife."

"You wouldn't say!" I was only teased a thousand times about it growing up...

My sarcasm was lost on Pheodoxia. "They were," she said ponderously. "So, it follows that Yadwiga worships the Drowned Ones and wields black magic."

It was almost noon when she left me alone and went to accost Ondrey. No, she didn't have the designs I would have found understandable. She was in the grips of the other passion, no less powerful than sensual urges. She was in the grips of religious zeal, hoping Ondrey would convert and give up his adopted grandmother.

Ondrey darted pleading glances at me, but I couldn't immediately rescue him. Miccola rode back the moment Pheodoxia departed with a suspiciously long list of tasks to check off. And she needed me continuously, endlessly after that. So much so that I grew a little suspicious. However, I didn't confront her about it.

Finally, Miccola got called up to settle a dispute over a lame horse.

I put my knees to Breva and hurried to deliver my lumbering strategist from the clutches of a tiny crone.

When I caught up to the comic pair, Phedoxia was saying, "And these translations of the Scriptures, how can you be sure they are accurate? Are you lettered?"

It looked like at some point, Ondrey had transformed in her eyes from this untrustworthy peasant into a source of local knowledge. Maybe he was both.

The bitter twist to his mouth was the only opinion he allowed himself to express about either of those roles. "Your Luminance Phedoxia, I was taught my letters, but I didn't study the Mother of All Tongues, so I simply don't know," he replied.

Ondrey saw me coming and his face lit up with hope. The gap between us was too large for initiating a polite conversation, so he hollered with all his might.

"Haida! Your Grandissima? Do you require help?"

I racked my brain. "A wheel came off a wagon. They can use your help there... down there column. Way down. Right over there--" I pointed forward.

Ondrey whirled his stallion, a beast of a fitting size for his bulk. "Vivat, Grandissima!"

He took off at a clip, head bent low to hide a smile, thankfully in the right direction.

I steepled my hands around my mouth and yelled at his retreating back, "Just keep riding! You can't miss it."

It wasn't really a lie. I'd be astounded if no wagon had a broken wheel. If Bhuta's had cursed us with anything, it would have been fragile wheels.

His happiness was almost worth being stuck with Phedoxia. Almost. "Phedoxia, could you set up for taking dictation? I have an urgent message for the Captain-Commander."

She peevishly informed me that the chance of a bird making it through in this weather was slim.

I glanced at the witches' brew of thunderclouds and snow the Bhutas were mixing above our heads in the sky-cauldron.

"It'll clear up by the morning," I pronounced with an air of authority.

The weather was fickle in Nortlungen. If I wanted to, I could produce ten local crones to support my optimistic forecast against ten that didn't. Part of me wished my blatant lie would prove true. While our lines of communications were cut, save for using an undead bird for urgent reports or a mounted messenger, I was completely autonomous. It worried me a little.

Fortunately, nothing I would dictate to Captain-Commander that night would be vital for our success. After Phedoxia sullenly obeyed, I turned to see how far Ondrey had to ride to find a broken wagon—

And Miccola whistled from the opposite direction for me. "Haida, Ismaaaaar! Grandissimaaaa!"

Mythra's fangs! Apparently, she called me to present me with a rag. I took it gingerly. She must have used this piece of rough spun cloth to clean the hooves of her horse when inspecting them for sores and cold damage.

"Why are you giving me... this?" I pinched the nasty thing in two fingers, holding it as far away from myself as possible.

"To wipe the drool off," she explained with an insufferable grin.

"Aha. Well, I know a better place for it." I stuffed the rag into her knee-high riding boot of supple leather. Miccola treasured those boots more than Ratne and Tverizh combined.

She pursed her lips to show this was exactly the unworthy behavior she came to expect of me, then extracted the rag and let it fall. Horses' hooves trampled it into the freezing muck.

"Tell me, Grandissima, how long has it been since you've lied about not being hungry?"

"That's easy. Never," I said.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Because you weren't pinching coppers, so Kozima eats his fill?"

I wish she'd stop bringing money up every time I spared a second glance to a well-built man. "I had a few bouts of summer chills. They made me so queasy, the last thing I wanted was to eat. That's all."

"The chills! Silly me. I thought you had flushes."

I ignored her jape. "I'll have you know, the relics trade keeps Kozima fed just fine! My sweetheart has a bit of a talent for commerce."

I clicked my tongue for Breva to get around Miccola's chestnut, but she blocked my pass. She glanced at those surrounding us and lowered her voice. There was little privacy in a marching column. "Then why do you owe to half the money-lenders in Palmyr?"

How did she find that out? How did she even know about those sharks? I didn't think she had once in her life talked to one! And, anyway, even if she had socialized exclusively with the money-lenders, they had assured me that their help was completely confidential.

But she knew, and I couldn't invent anything believable on a spot. I sighed. "Fine. I must find Parneres." And any scrap of information about the Scorpia Cult's doings cost dearly. Most of it was intriguing, but useless. It was like Parneres dissolved into thin air.

Miccola spat to the side. "Men will be your downfall. I wouldn't care, but I made up my mind to throw in with you, because you have Bhuta's own luck in war. So, Mythra's fangs, Ismar, stick your thinking parts in a snowbank! There's no shortage."

I stopped nudging Breva. The troops flowed past us. The river, to our right today, flowed in its ice sheath. There was nowhere for me to run, nobody to come to my rescue.

"It's not just Parneres, Miccola. I feel like someone is watching me. There were incidents..."

"Go on."

"I found a viper in my blankets. Then a stray arrow near shot me through. If Breva didn't rear up, I'd be dead."

"Hmm."

"Then there was that sealed amphora of wine. I didn't like the taste and poured it out after one sip."

"No! Wine!"

"I got violently sick right after."

"Mythra's fangs... why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged. "I can't find the Scorpia, Miccola, but she knows where I am. And she hadn't forgotten. If I find Parneres, I find her."

And Parneres was the most beautiful man in the world.

She chewed her lip. "You should have told me.... But don't for a second think I approve of you eyeing that Tverizh he-bear. If you miss Kozima's hot lips, come with me to the wagons tonight. There're a few men with the camp followers there, not bad looking either."

"The camp-followers are alright with you, but not Ondrey? You make no sense."

"I make solid sense. My way is cheaper than your way."

"My way?" The backdrop of frozen sky, frozen ground and a black ribbon of the frozen forest went well with my tone.

It took more than cold words to force Miccola to stand down. "When a man catches your eye, you want to own, lock, stock and barrel. That's pricey. You can't afford it, Your Grandissima, no matter how deftly Kozima sells the relics."

"Yes, yes, whores are cheaper than husbands. That's why you'll never have to befriend the money-lenders. Now, by Mythra's fangs, let's apply ourselves to taking Ratne. It's been waiting for too long already."

She snorted as loud as any horse. Breva neighed in response, which I deemed an appropriate conclusion to our chat. I touched her flanks, and we rode to the head of the column. In the opposite direction of Ondrey's last known whereabouts.

"My treat!" Miccola called after me. Wow, she must have been more worried than I had realized! I squinted at the sky, expecting a bolt. It didn't come. Apparently, Miccola offering to pay was all the miracles we could hope for that day.