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Being thrown was not how Soren wished to
start her attempt to fulfil the role of Champion. Just starting was bad enough.
    "She don't buck," put in the stableboy, apparently
delighted to witness the Rathen Champion setting out. "She'll see you halfway to the Tongue
before you know it."
    And save the kingdom before afternoon tea? Perhaps, if she'd just stop still long enough
for a horse-clumsy Champion to get on board.
    To Soren's surprise, the boy proved right. Though peculiarly sensitive to anything which
rattled, Vixen was well-trained, with an even gait kind to riders long out of
practice. Her worst fault was an
inclination to try and work open saddlebags left too handily in reach.
    The first thing Soren did, once through the palace gates,
was thrust her surcoat to the very bottom of those bags. She had no intention of riding about the
countryside in clothing which announced her identity to every passer-by. The charcoal-grey shirt and leggings would
serve her well enough, and she could purchase other clothing along the way.
    After that, Soren tried to deal with the sword, but it
refused point-blank to stay settled on anything but Soren, falling loose or
poking stubbornly from every other place she tried to fasten it. She eventually gave in and used the harness
Lady Rothwell had provided to strap it across her back, feeling boastful. It was heavy, but at the end of the first day
she found herself reluctant to take it off, despite how little she liked its
continued insistence that it was hers and that she was terribly glad to have
it.
    Planning for the future became a matter of working out
everything she should do and then drawing a line through the things which she'd
be stupid to attempt. The first item
she'd eliminated was returning to Tor Darest. Soren was tolerably certain she wouldn't be able to protect herself in
the capital, let alone a child with a claim to the throne. Even if she credited Aristide Couerveur with
every virtue in the world, he was not the only interest at Court with a stake
in a Rathen child's sudden death. The
few allies she thought she could count on – Lady Rothwell and possibly Aspen –
would not be enough to ensure the child saw its first birthday, let alone
twenty and the Crown.
    Which meant the best thing Soren could do was find this new
Rathen heir and then somewhere to hide. For a very long time.
    Going home was out of the question: she would not bring
Court intrigue to a scholar's retreat, and Carn Keep was the first place anyone
would look. For a moment she amused
herself with the thought of descending on Tscharen ,
babe in arms. But Tscharen had a son of her own now, and would hardly welcome an old lover with a
kingdom's worth of enemies in tow. It
would have to be some anonymous place where a young woman and a child could
lose themselves, in a crowd or a wilderness. A crowd would probably be better. She would have to leave Darest.
    The prospect was both exciting and appalling. So many places she'd never seen, so many
things which could go wrong.
    There was a great deal of choice to the West. Sax and Ceria, Darest's nearest neighbours
and probably too close. Jutland, beyond
the northwest mountains, was out of the question. Raising the next ruler of Darest as a nomadic
plainsman was surely not a good idea. Korm was too clannish, Skrem too violent. Perhaps Cya? But Cya and Sax were pushing hard against each other and Darest. She'd be mad to take Darest's heir into their
territory.
    South across the ocean would be too risky during the next
few months, when every port would be watched. To the north and east, Darest was bounded by The Deeping, where few
humans were permitted to live. Even if
she could gain permission, there would be little safety to be found in the
sprawling realm of the Old Race, called the Fair or the Fae or elves or a
half-dozen other things. They had their
own games of politics, and enchantments which made the Rathen Rose seem
tame. And for all their rules and laws,
she'd