“What now?” Ceara asked. She and Nyssa had hung the squire’s cloak from the trees near the place where they routinely left the large pentacle. He slept, but no doubt would be discovered by morning.
They had heard the song and laughter from the Silver Wolf’s camp and noticed that the fire blazed high. They had circled the camp to the south and lay now on the hill, looking down at what had to be a celebration.
“A wedding feast,” Nyssa murmured.
Ceara spoke with disgust. “The entire village is in attendance. Look! There is Jeannie, gorging herself by the fire.”
“They must have pledged fealty to him,” Nyssa said, bracing her chin on her fists. “He would not have fed them a meal otherwise.”
“And so he makes an ally of every soul within the valley.” Ceara was clearly outraged. “With every p
