(title hidden — not yet read)

(summary hidden — not yet read)

John, Ealstan, Sefawynn, and an undeterred Thokk move out of Yazad's storehouse toward the reeve's manor. The whole plan hinges on John, again, and the wizard pitch he has read three different ways in the book. He hopes this time it goes better than the burning words on the Hordaman ship. Ealstan's bearing and a less-trafficked path keep them invisible enough in the dusk; he looks like a man on official business, and no one calls him on it.

Wellbury is, again, smaller than John expected. The whole compound around Wealdsig's manor would barely fit a football field. The manor itself is the local long-low-wooden pattern, with a hearth glowing through the open windows. In its courtyard stands a runestone — *the* runestone, larger than Stenford's, jagged-topped, perhaps four feet across and three times that tall. Its symbols are glowing a soft blue.

John can't deny it this time. He whispers to Sefawynn: is the stone stronger than Stenford's? Yes — built to protect a bigger region, to expel bogs, to soothe helpful wights, to call any resident wight to the city's defence in an attack. And his wight? It might weaken it, she says. The stone wants the wight following him either to settle and protect, or to leave. It is doing neither. It is staying bound to John. Whatever has attached itself to him — nicor, draca, or something the skops have no name for — is, by her measure, frighteningly strong. He asks how she can even *see* it. *It's a thing of skops,* Thokk answers — how could they know a wight was bound or loosed if they couldn't see the signs? John doesn't ask Sefawynn, in particular, to elaborate.

A serving-woman finishes setting offerings out front of the manor and steps inside. Thokk, who has not been talked into staying behind, mutters cheerfully, *so why are we sneaking again?* Ealstan tries one more time to peel her off. She tells him she is probably only a few months from death, has nothing to risk, and asks again what they are doing. The plan is repeated: John will charm and distract the reeve; Ealstan and Sefawynn will use that window to free her brother. Thokk gets it; she still wants to watch. *Runian wishes to,* Sefawynn says drily, *make an entrance.*

They slip across the dirt path to the side of the building. An alley runs between the manor wall and the city wall, dim, perfect, with a window glowing orange ahead. Inside is the usual long-hall layout: central firepit, big log-legged tables along the walls, a handful of guards posted around the space, and only one table actually in use, just inside on the left. At that table sits a tall, dark-haired woman beside a thin, scraggle-haired older man with one eye, drinking deeply from a frothy mug. Thokk leans in to whisper that he reminds her of her brother. The door John has been told to use is on the north side of the manor — the way out to relieve oneself — and is reliably locked.

Sefawynn asks if he can do this. *Nope,* he says. *Just be ready. And pray.* *Pray?* says Thokk. *I doubt you want Woden watching this.*

He rounds the building's north side past a latrine trough whose smell he tries not to register, and approaches the door. He had taken a thin knife and a bit of wire off Yazad to pick the lock; the lock turns out to be no slot and no bar he can see, just a hole. So he switches plans. He sets a berry on the dirt and asks his wight politely to open the door. He turns and counts to a hundred; the berry hasn't moved. He pulls a white cloth from his pocket and sets the berry on top of that — *better presentation* — and tries again. This time the berry is gone, and the door is loose. He won't want to eat off this ground either.

He picks up his apple-wood staff, takes a breath, and bursts in. He slams the butt of the staff and announces himself: *I am Runian. I am here to tell you of your future.* Wealdsig gapes around his mug. John raps again and uses his vocal augments to fake a clap of thunder — the book had pushed the proprietary True Wizard staff that did this on its own, but for now augments will do. He waits for an objection. Wealdsig laughs and slams the table several times in delight. *Delightful! Woman, fetch my best drink. Stranger, what other tricks?* The woman is sent off; John, thrown by the immediate buy-in, tries to pivot to the foretelling pitch and is cut off — *Tricks. Now.*

Fine. He calls for a hearthman to hold up a cloak to obscure the table. Wealdsig slaps the table again with the hand whose fingers don't bend — the one he nailed to a tree — and a guard hops over and improvises with his cloak. John tells the reeve to pick an object on the table and point to it behind the cloak; he will read his mind. The book had recommended a drone wired to his optics. John has gone analogue: he amps up his hearing until the firepit roars, splices out the noise, and Sefawynn's whisper carries through the window. *His knife — slipped from the sheath at his side. Wolf's head on the pommel.* John, eyes closed, sleeves rolled, runs a flame effect along the skin of his forearms (which had cost him hours that afternoon to script), and intones: *Midfather, you have chosen your own knife — marked with the sign of the wolf.* Wealdsig hurls the knife up, catches it, slams it into the table. *Again.*

Round two: Wealdsig is pointing, with a wide grin, at his own crotch. Thokk snickers. John improvises: *I see — a mighty member, source of great creation. Midfather, you have chosen your source of heirs and heritage.* Wealdsig kicks his chair over with delight: *Ha! You're far more fun than the other outlanders, spindly one.* *Spindly?* John cuts in for one more thunderclap — and this time he forgets to damp his own hearing first, and winces at the volume.

He uses the silence after to push for the information they came for. *I must give you a terrible warning about your future, but first — the other outlanders. What did Ulric tell you before he left?* *Ulric Lordslayer.* *Yes.* He had to get to Maelport, the reeve says; he was expecting *visitors from another world* in three days. John locks that in. *Did he leave a youth with you?* *Yes. I threw him in the pit near the compost heap. Why? What does this have to do with my future?* John pivots: *he is a changeling.* He hears a whispered *thank you* from Sefawynn outside. Ealstan and Sefawynn now have the location they came for; he has to hold the reeve here long enough for the rescue.

One of his plans, *finally*, is going the way he had drafted it. He turns his hearing back down. He walks toward the fire to set up his next trick — picking up coals barehanded, thanks to his platings, which the book had earmarked as a reliable wow.

And then, in the doorway from the front of the hall, the woman who had been sitting beside Wealdsig is back. Standing beside her, looking right at John, is Quinn — Ulric's right hand.

*Johnny?* Quinn says. *What the hell are you doing here?*