Jareen sat on the same mossy log in the center of camp, her head in her hand, suffering another dizzy spell. She needed to eat and drink more to regain strength—and blood—but she felt nauseous. They'd been at the same camp for nearly two weeks, and she had done little but try to cure the afflicted, search for food, and sleep in exhaustion. Some of the stricken were so far advanced by the time they reached her that the cure had not saved them. A couple had suffered seizures and died. Her blood may help the infection, but it did not miraculously repair the damage to the blood vessels or drain the heavy fluid in the lungs. She hated remembering the hope on the faces of their loved-ones as they'd arrived at the camp carrying the suffering on litters made of branches and torn strips of silk. They thought they had made it in time.

What was worse, more kept coming. In small groups and large, from both Findeluvié and Isecan, they somehow followed the marks left for them. Surely, they were the fortunate and strong. She hated to think of those too weak, or who became lost on the Mingling's trails. Jareen herself was too weak to move on. The nights grew cooler, and food was scarce without relying on the power of the Isecan Current—a practice those from Findeluvié found repugnant. Some would not eat such food at all. Oreann had suggested dividing the camps, so that the Canaen and the Findelvien need not interact. While the groups already stayed on separate sides of the camp, she had not yet assented to establishing two camps, though she questioned the wisdom of her refusal.

Nearby, Coir and the council sat in deep discussion, but Jareen was not listening. Some of the Findelvien had formed their own council, and tensions were high. If she did not move them toward Vah'tane, she feared something terrible might happen. Only their gratefulness for the cure and their belief in Vah'tane held them back from a greater rift, and likely a violent one. The responsibility was too great. Sometimes, Jareen fantasized about slipping away with Coir to seek Vah'tane alone, but he could not traverse the Mingling on his own legs, and surely chaos would descend if she went missing.

When the sentinel pipes sounded in the distance, she lifted her head. More approaching. She was weak. She could not keep doing this. Yet the pipes kept sounding, rapid and urgent. She didn't know all the signals and their meanings, but she sensed something different about this. The council and others around the camp rose to their feet, staring southward. Something was wrong.

She did not bother standing. No doubt, before long a sentinel would come rushing through the dead trees to breathlessly relate the news, and the council would come to her for guidance. Rising would make no difference. She put her face back in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees.

The sentinel was flushed from the run.

"There is a contingent of Nethec riders following the path!" he cried. "We must fly from here! They come quickly!"

"How far?"

"Three miles at most, and they ride at the gallop."

"They have led them to us!" Oreann exclaimed.

"We must scatter. Let the weakest be carried," Selu said. "Get the Daughter of Vah east, to Elth. Let the sentinels be gathered.

"Trust none of the Nethec ilk!"

Jareen glanced to the far side of the camp where the Findelvien had gathered. Many stared in confusion. It would hardly take any aid for the hosts of Findel to find them. The afflicted of both Isecan and Findeluvié found them readily enough. No doubt the trails were well trodden. If the Synod wanted to destroy them, they would not be safe in the Mingling. There were hundreds of ragtag vien and vienu, including children. Why could no one let them be?

Everyone had heard the sentinel's out-cry, and confusion already began to break out in the camp. The able-bodied Canaen hurried to grab their few things. Vienu called for their children and tried to tie their meager bundles.

"Daughter of Vah, we must flee," Liethni said.

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Jareen shook her head.

"No," she said. "I am done. I am tired."

"We will carry you," Liethni said. There were already vien standing to each side, and she realized they had come for that purpose.

"No," Jareen said. "I command you to leave me be. Take Coir and go."

The riders of the Nethec would search for her. If she fled, they would hunt the refugees and cut many down, but if they found her at once, they might consider their purpose accomplished.

"I'm sorry," Liethni said. "This command I cannot follow. You will come with us." Vien lifted Jareen up beneath her armpits.

"Stop!"

The sound of whistles rose to the south, the strange notes of Findeluvié's companies. She had heard it as a child when a company departed Talanael, and she had seen the whistle hanging at Tirlav's neck, but in the wilds of the dying Mingling, the piercing calls chilled her. It was the music of death, coming from nearby. The riders had drawn far closer than three miles.

"Follow me!" Liethni commanded the vien. Others had gathered around, armed with a hodgepodge of knives and bows.

The whistles cried out again and again, but they did not sound closer.

"Jareen," Coir called, shuffling to keep up. He wore an oversized robe against the cold, and its tattered hem dragged on the ground.

Other sounds mingled with the whistles now, cries and shouts.

"What is happening?" she asked.

Liethni and the others had stopped, staring southward.

"Take her and go," Oreann shouted. With Selu and a handful of others, he raced down the trail heading south toward the sounds. They looked a tattered cadre. She even saw harvesting hooks among them, serving as weapons. On the other side of camp, the Findelvien huddled together, uncertain, while some of the Canaen scattered north and east into the trees.

"It sounds of battle," Coir said.

"Battle with who?"

"I do not know."

"Set me down!" Jareen commanded the vien. Even Liethni had turned to face south, squinting and listening. The vien did not obey, but they did not move, either.

Across the camp, a group of the Findelvien appeared to come to a decision and started south at a jog, carrying knives, sickles, and a few bows.

"They will attack ours!" one of the Canaen said.

"Don't be foolish," Coir answered. "If they were against us, they would come for the Daughter of Vah, and Oreann and Selu have left her in their hands, undefended."

Liethni looked alarmed at this revelation, and stared at the remaining Findelvien. They were mostly vienu and children. Even those who had run south were not warriors. None of them would stand against an assault of Findel's riders.

Jareen tried to shrug away the hands that held her, and they set her feet upon the ground. She felt another wave of dizziness and might have toppled were it not for them.

Another blast of a whistle pierced the forest and ceased, cut off mid-blow.

Someone in the camp screamed. It was a vienu from among the Findelvien. She clutched her child to her breast and pointed. Emerging from the trees was a score of quthli females. A young Findelvien stepped in front of his mother and sister, a little paring knife held in his hand. He was only fourteen years old—Jareen had saved him from the Malady.

"Do not fear!" Coir yelled in Vienwé, his voice straining. "Do not fear!"

The quthli females eyed the scared child, but when Coir raised his voice, they turned to him and grunted, ignoring the frightened Findelvien. Hurrying to the old human, they grunted and gasped in their strange tongue, gesticulating to the south. One of the quthli females started picking at Coir's beard as soon as she reached him. Others gathered around, pawing at him and speaking all at once. Coir waved his hand as he spoke back, huffing their speech back at them.

To the south, the shouts continued, and the screams of vaela carried clearly over the distance. Jareen shrugged herself free and approached Coir and the quthli.

"What is happening?"

The quthli paid her no heed, but Coir answered.

"This is Vireel's tribe," Coir said. "Her old tribe, I mean. They have joined with others to hunt west of here. They have known of our presence and saw the approach of the riders. Their males have ambushed the contingent from the Nethec."

"Why?" Jareen asked.

Coir spoke a bit more in quthli. He received a flurry of answers from all the quthli. He looked back at Jareen, blushing.

"To protect me," he said. "And the hunting has been poor. The contingent's vaela will feed them for many months."

"They eat vaela?" Jareen asked. She hadn't known that, but she should have figured.

"Oh yes," Coir said. "It is excellent."

"Have you eaten vaela?"

Coir smiled at her. She noticed he'd lost a tooth.

"They have invited me to the feast."

"Do you think they will win the fight?"

Coir pointed south, and then to his ears.

"I am either deafer than I thought, or they already have."

Jareen listened. The commotion had ceased.

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