Alusair’s trail ran toward the ruin as straight as an arrow. Tanalasta did not have the courage to voice her thoughts, but there was little need. After four days of dodging gnolls and ghazneths in the dusty vastness that separated the Stonelands from the Goblin Marches, she and Rowen had developed an uncanny instinct for what the other was thinking. The ranger removed the saddlebags from his shoulder and opened the flap, then passed the princess her weathercloak and bracers. “I wouldn’t worry,” said Rowen. “If Alusair thought she was in more trouble than she could handle, she’d put on her signet and call Vangerdahast.” “And how many times have you seen her do that?” It was a rhetorical question, and Tanalasta did not wait for an answer. “Besides, what good would Vangerdahast be? With so many ghazneths, his magic would be useless.” Rowen regarded the distant specks for a moment. “I still think there is good reason to hope. If the matter were decided, why would they still be in the sky?”
