"I found Bran in the courtyard below. Two fresh, mettlesome horses awaited us, and Bran had a bag at his belt. Shevraeth himself was there to bid us farewell--a courtesy I could have done without. Impatient to be gone, I stayed silent as he and my brother exchanged some last words. Then, at last, Shevraeth stepped back. "Do you remember the route?" Bran nodded. "Well enough. My thanks again--" He looked over at me, then sighed. "Another time, I trust." I realized then that he actually the Marquis--that in some wise (as much as a Court decoration and an honest man ill trained in the niceties of high society could) they had become friends. Shevraeth turned to me, bowed. There was no irony visible in face or manner as he wished me a safe journey. I felt my face go hot as I gritted out a stilted "Thank you." Then I turned in my saddle and my horse spun about. Branaric was with me in a moment, and side-by-side we rode out. And in silence we began our journey. The horses seemed to want speed, which gladdened my heart. I turned my back on the terraced city with its thundering fall; faced west and home."