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Sometion the hoh Butbetween a raw recruit and a rather dim hound Yet I never doubted his fondness for me He’d had three sons of his own, and raised theotten to et, he’d all but lost track of his own boys Froe from one or another of them It didn’t bother him It hat he had always expected his boys to do The sons of common soldiers went for soldiers, just as the Writ tells us they should "Let each son rise up and follow the way of his father"

Of course, it was different for me I was the son of a noble "Of those who bend the knee only to the king, let them have sons in plenitude The first for an heir, the second to wear the sword, the third to serve as priest, the fourth to labor for beauty’s sake, the fifth to gather knowledge…" and so on I’d never bothered to e I had my place and I knew it I was the second son, born to "wear the sword" and lead men to war

I’d lost count that day of how many times I’d dismounted and then mounted Sirlofty and ridden him in a circle around Duril, without a scrap of harness to help me Probably as many times as I’d unsaddled and unbridled the horse and then replaced the tack My back and shoulders ached fro’s back, andthe cavalry the cinch yet again when Sergeant Duril suddenly coave his e with his heels and she leaped forth with a will I had no breath for cursing hi the strap, hastily did the "keep fast" char myself up and into the saddle

Those who have not ridden the Plains of the Midlands will speak of how flat and featureless they are, how they roll on endlessly forever Perhaps they appear so to passengers on the riverboats that wend their way down the ays that both divide and unite the Plains I had grown up on the Midlands and kneell how deceptive their gentle rises and falls could be So did Sergeant Duril Ravines and sudden crevasses s to devour the unwary rider Even the gentle holloere often deep enough to conceal ht interpret as scrub brush in the distance could prove to be a shoulder-high patch of sickle-berry, almost i, the sergeant alarned me He had often told me tales of how the Plainspeople could use tricks of perspective in preparing an ambush, how they trained their horses to lie down, and how a howling horde of warriors would suddenly see up from the earth itself to attack a careless line of cavalryeant Duril and his entle roll of prairie around rew in Widevale, other than the ones that Father had planted Those that did e to sprout on their oere indications of a watercourse, perhaps seasonal, perhaps useful But ion was sparsely leaved and dusty gray-green, holding its water in tight, leathery leaves or spiny palms I did not hurry, but allowedany trace of them I saw none; I had only the dry dents of Chafer’s hoofprints in the hard soil to guide me I set out after the the proud of my ability to do so until I felt the sudden thud of a well-aimed stone hit roaning as I reached back to rub eant Duril rode up froshot still in his hand

"And you’re dead We circled back You were too busy following our sign, young Nevare, and not wary enough about your surroundings That pebble could just as easily have been an arrow"

I nodded wearily to his words There was no use in denying therown I could expect to have a full troop of horsemen with me, with some men to keep watch while others tracked No Better to endure the bruise and nod than to bring an hour of lecture down on myself as well "Next tiood because this time it was just a little rock and so therewill be a next time for you With an arrow, that would have been your last tio"