Of all in the Old Ones Sir Grippan was wildest,

And first to be slain in the Cleansing.

Most hated was Bannus, the vilest despoiler,

Who fled to the Isle of Phyrosi.

—From Oral Histories of the Cleansing,

Willard urged Molly from the beach onto the foot of the Hanging Road. In his left hand he held the ponies' leads, so they would follow near the cliff wall, and so he could leave them in a crisis without untying them first from his saddle. The ambassador rocked in his saddle beneath his blanket, but Willard knew he was alert as a cat, the knots binding him to the saddle set to untie with a single tug in emergency. In his right hand Willard cradled Belle, the massive greatsword balanced over the front cantle of his saddle.

"This ought to be fun."

Brolli chuckled. "Remind me to ask what in your language means fun."

Iron-shod hooves rang from the stone as they climbed.

They were ants now, insects tickling the ankles of the mighty granite wall, tiny motes on a scratch above the water.

"Sun has set, yes?" Brolli said. "Your night hex is with us."

"Yes. But that is no guarantee it will wake tonight. Can't be sure until it gives a sign."

"A sign?"

"A victim. We won't proceed until we have one."

The ponies strained up the steep-cut incline of the road, pulling against their leads in Willard's hand. Even Molly snorted with exertion. Willard halted them some sixty paces below the Sapphire, and waited. Ought to be close enough. He'd seen his hex reach men from twice as far.

The nobleman's company maintained their disciplined stillness, lances standing tall in the holders attached to their stirrups; Willard saw no drawn swords flashing. As he anticipated, the nobleman was not planning to attack. Not here, or now. Not yet, anyway.

Molly tossed her head, impatient.

"Soon, girl. We need a sign."

Like Kogan, Willard had a healthy fear of his hex. It struck out randomly, often at him, or his friends. But unlike Kogan, he also recognized that, in a pinch, it could be a valuable ally, for it was generally as destructive to his enemies as it was to him. Generally. That was the problem. It was unpredictable. It might not wake at all, or it might strike him, which could scuttle the whole moon-blasted thing.

Roll the dice, old man.

"Ever wonder why this damned hex never strikes you, ambassador?"

"There is no hex curse among my people." Brolli shrugged. "We are not human. Another sign of Kwendi superior, I think."

Willard heard the humor in his voice, and smiled. "As far as hexes are concerned, it'd be damned hard to argue with that."

The Sapphire stirred. He signaled his men with a wave of his hand, turned his horse, and rode away northward, with his men in tow.

"Ah, they leave," said Brolli. "Is the hex not waking?"

Willard said nothing, his gaze still fixed on the place below the gallows where the Sapphire had been. He counted thirty heartbeats, and was on the brink of giving up when a trio of riders appeared again beside the gallows: a knight and squire, both armored, accompanied by a groom.

Willard smiled. "A silver says these men bring me my sign."

"Make it two silvers, and you have a bet."

"Done." Willard dropped the ponies' leads, and urged Molly into a slow walk up the steep shelf. "Wait here. It could be a trap. In any case, things could get messy, so stay alert. And remember what I said about my people's opinion of magic—even so-called good magic—as there may be other witnesses up by the gallows."

"I remember. I use it only if dying."

As Willard neared the waiting trio, the harsh light of silhouette diminished, and he was able to ascertain the knight's armor was enameled in an azure blue, a color signifying one of the highest blood ranks. Though not quite as high as Sapphire, Azure was considered "royal" blood by Westies, blood descended from an ancient prince of that isle. The knight wore an open-faced helm. Deep-set black eyes flashed above a neat black beard and fierce grin.

Willard did not hang back to parley, though the man held up his hand for it. Instead, he brought Molly almost nose to nose with the waiting riders. The trio's horses stepped back and shied sideways in dismay, giving Willard time to glance around the corner to verify the Sapphire had not waited there in ambush; he found the lord already halfway across the mile of Hanging Road to Gallows Ferry. From his position he could see the entire expanse, including the sun-bleached buildings of the outpost, but there was no sign of Kogan's caravan. The priest had made good time and already entered the settlement, so he'd be well past it by the time the Sapphire arrived.

That was good. Kogan would be in position to execute their plan. Whether or not he has the brains to pull it off is something else entirely.

"The famous Sir Willard," sneered the Azure, who had finally got his horse under control. "So it is true after all. You're mortal, like the rest of us. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my eyes. You truly have gone mad."

Willard raised his visor, and spat. "Think you can defeat me, then. Is that it?" He nudged Molly so she danced a step closer, then reined her back in a way that always made her toss her head and roar. She did not disappoint, howling out a challenge that nearly blew the mane back on Sir Azure's stallion. "Of course, Molly's as immortal as ever," Willard said. "But you knew that."

The knight snorted. "Molly won't give a damn when you're gone." He hauled a heavy crossbow from his side and aimed it at Willard's chest, the armor-piercing bodkin glinting dully. "She'll probably eat your sorry carcass."

His squire and groom produced short-stocked spitfires with flint-wheel triggers and flaring mouths like trumpets. The squire wore a leather blast mask in the shape of a hawk's head. The groom wore none, and bore the pockmarks of prior misfires on his cheeks.

"At this range you haven't a chance." The Azure's grin showed the purple teeth of a blood-painter. "One bolt, down you go. Molly walks away, and I take the Queen's wedding ring from your stinking pockets. Or you can hand them over now, and I let you go back to your ferry."

"Ah! So you know of the ring, do you? And you know their power. I took you for a glory hunter, looking to slay the great Sir Willard, but now I see now your aim is much higher. You wish to use the ring to force the Queen to marry you! You wish to be king! I think your Sapphire friend will not like that you came back here to take them for yourself."

"Tut! He is a fool. He will wait for orders. But I, too, am a prince. I, too, of royal lineage."

"Not as high as sapphire."

"High enough! Hand them over."

Willard shrugged. "You're too late. They could cause quite a lot of mischief in the wrong hands, you know. I flung them in the river as we crossed."

The man's eyes faltered. "You lie."

"But why stop with the ring?" Willard continued. "Why not take the ambassador too? That's what your sapphire friend intends, is it not? If he can, he will take the ring, and attempt to force the Queen to marry. But that plan is flawed, if the ring is lost or destroyed. Surely he also plans to capture or slay the Kwendi ambassador in order to provoke the Kwendi into war. A war in the north would drain the Queen's armies from her position in the south, and set the stage for your precious West to rise again and seize the throne."

The Azure's lip curled. He spoke through grinding teeth. "I give you to the count of five to save me the trouble of searching your corpse. If you do not hand them over, I shall kill you both and take the ring. One..."

The squire and groom shifted in their saddles, grinning like idiots, their spitfires held steady on Willard. All three of them had the signs of the hex upon them. Rash fearlessness. Wild eyes. Impetuous speech. The hex seemed to take all inhibition from its victims, unleashing their inmost selves in all their purest follies. Like Tam, Gods leave him. Squire Tam had charged ten knights, alone, in some hex-addled heroic sortie, before Willard had noticed the signs of hex in his eyes. How many squires, friends, allies had he lost that way? Much better to lose enemies like Sir Azure.

Willard waved the count off at three. "Come, Sir Azure. You will have to slay me. I have no ring, and your counting is tedious. But may I not know the name of my slayer? West Isle knights once had courtesy: they said please and thank you as they raped our dogs and children."

"Enough! Four, and—"

Willard turned Molly so her massive head and neck shielded him from the bow. Without a perceptible signal from Willard, Molly lunged, seizing the man's face in her teeth and shaking him like a dog shakes a rat. His armored legs flailed into the face of the squire, whose horse shied sideways into the groom. The squire launched a sizzling spitfire wad, but his aim was wide, and the wad screamed past Willard's ear, peppering his armor with flaming resin. Sir Azure's scream cut short with a wrenching crack of his neck. The squire turned his horse down the harbor road and spurred it for Brolli, sword in hand, and groom in hot pursuit.

"Brolli, they come!" Willard shouted.