“At midnight, there will be blood, and those you love will be demonsfest,” she announced, turning her gaze on the gathered men, and then she left the hall.

  The lord turned to his people, donning his helmet as he did so.

  “The ogres will prepare for the ceremony,” he said. “By the time we reach the caverns they will be distracted.”

  “They will post a watch.”

  “You rescue the villagers,” he said, ignoring the caution as though it had no bearing. “I will kill their leader.”

  “But w—”

  “You have ridden all day,” their master said, looking at the speaker. “If you are too tired to come, then stay and guard the seventh son.”

  Seppelitus wanted to protest, but could think of nothing to say, so he remained seated, when the others stood and followed their lord into the night. The steward handed the two young people off to the staff, who had been hovering in their wake, and walked over to where Seppelitus sat.

  “Seventh son,” he began, approaching warily, his brown eyes assessing Seppelitus’s clothing and condition with a practiced sweep.

  Seppelitus waited.

  “Seventh son, you are a guest of the Lord Bright.”

  Aydbyorthbjergen, whispered around him, and Seppelitus pushed back his chair, his gaze darting left and right. The steward watched him with concern.

  “Seventh? There is nothing to fear. Lord Bright extends his protection.”

  Again, the name whispered around him, and Seppelitus pushed the chair aside, reversing away from the table, until his back touched stone. The steward stepped toward him, and extended a hand.

  “Seventh—”

  “You did not tell me he was a dragon.”

  “And who told you?” The steward’s hand dropped to rest on his sword hilt.

  Seppelitus followed the movement with his eyes, felt the presence of the seer returning.

  “I hear his name,” he blurted, standing and stepping clear of the chair.

  “His name?” the steward asked.

  “Every time you say Lord Bright, I hear another name, a dragon name.” Seppelitus stepped away from the steward, away from the newly returned, and oncoming, seer. He glanced around the hall, finally noticing the shield centered above the fireplace, the swords crossed between them.

  “Stop!” the steward cried, as Seppelitus leapt onto the table, and slid across to the other side.

  “Stop!” the seer ordered, as he reached the fireplace, and reached for the first blade.

  Seppelitus stopped, but not because he wanted to. The seer’s voice rolled across him, dropping its spell so that his limbs froze, and the weight of her command held him to the spot. He couldn’t even turn his head.

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  “You are not a knight,” the seer said, coming into view. “What were you going to do with weapons such as these?”

  Seppelitus wanted to tell her that he planned to go after her lord, that the ogre raid had been a trap to draw out her master, that the demon was waiting. He wanted to tell her that he owed the man his life, and that he would not stand aside to watch her master die. He wanted…swift fingers riffled through those surface thoughts, and the old crone laughed.

  “You know, only Andremus and I know of Lord Bright’s true nature?” she asked, and paused as the word Aydbyorthbjergen echoed through his mind. “Oh my, you do have it bad.”

  Seppelitus agreed, and she cocked her head to one side, wrapping him in her sapphire gaze.

  “Never been called by a dragon, before, have you?” she asked, and Seppelitus stared at her.

  His body began to ache from the position he held, but the spell kept him from relaxing. He didn’t want to think of what her words might mean. Never been called by a dragon?

  Aydbyorthbjergen. He winced.

  “Why don’t you let him loose, Lilian,” the steward suggested. “I’m sure he won’t be going anywhere.”

  That last was more an instruction for Seppelitus, than reassurance for the crone. The woman glanced at her captive, a moment longer, and then loosened the spell, until Seppelitus felt he could move again.

  “Sit,” she said, and Seppelitus stopped reaching for the sword, and pulled out the nearest chair, instead.

  She hadn’t released the spell, he realized; he could still feel it, loosely coiled around him, allowing him enough room to move, but easy enough to pull tight once more. She was the most cautious seer he’d ever met.

  “No use spending the energy twice,” she told him.

  “I cannot let him die,” he said.

  “He won’t die,” the steward protested.

  “But he is walking into a trap.”

  “If so, then it is one of which he is aware,” Andremus admonished. “And one that’s been set for you.”

  “For me?”

  “How else are the ogres going to get you to walk into their lair when you’ve already escaped them? What else would have brought you?”

  “But how would they know?” Seppelitus asked.

  “Maybe they didn’t know,” Lilian said, “but they’re not calling the shots, remember?”

  “You think the demon put them up to this?”

  “He’s the one demanded you in trade.”

  Seppelitus stared at him, thought about walking into a trap set for him, rather than the lord knight, and decided.

  “I need boots,” he said, “and weapons.”

  “Or what? You’ll go after him barefooted, with nothing in your hands?”

  “If need be.”

  Andremus raised an eyebrow, and the seer tilted her head the other way.

  “What makes you think we’d let you?”

  Seppelitus pulled the magic to his hands, and the seer laughed. An instant later, Seppelitus was on the floor gasping for breath, the seer’s magic tight around him and growing tighter. She looked down at him, sheer mischief on her face.

  “You were saying?”

  There really was no reply to that, so Seppelitus settled for a stern glare—and trying to breathe. He was going to have to come up with something particularly clever, if he was going to reach the lord knight in time. He was staring up at the seer, trying think of what to say, when Andremus dropped a pair of boots on his chest.

  “These are the closest to your size,” he said. “She knew help was coming, just not exactly how big it would be.”

  A heavy woolen tunic, breeches and hose landed beside his head, and Seppelitus watched as the seer turned to glare at Andremus.

  “Well, that’s spoiled the surprise,” she said.

  “We don’t have time to drag it out, Lilian. Either, he’ll bring the master back safe, or he won’t.”

  Lilian glared at him a candle flicker longer, and then turned to Seppelitus. He felt the spell drop away from him, and drew in a long breath as he sat up. Ignoring both seer and steward, he shucked the breeches and tunic he’d travelled in, and dressed in the clothes Andremus had brought, sliding his stockinged feet into the boots and strapping on the sword belt last.

  “Where do I need to go?” he asked.

  “We can get you to the start of the trail leading to Myall’s Chimney. There’s a passage, leads down to the caverns. You’ll know it. It’s the only path nearby. Lord Bright’ll have ridden hard to reach the ogre caves, but he’ll slip away to get inside.”

  Seppelitus stared at the seer.

  “And how does he know to do that?”

  “Because these old eyes see far more than anyone can know,” she said.

  “And because Lord Bright won’t put his troops in any more danger than he needs. He’ll let them take on the ogre soldiers, but he’ll want to take down the ogre lord on his own,” Andremus added, then shrugged. “It’s a dragon’s job, anyway. The men would only get killed, if he tried another approach.”

  “And you think it’s a trap for me?” Seppelitus asked, remembering.

  “Yes, we’re certain.”