Thick shocked me when he halted and suddenly took my hand. Even through my Skill-walls, I felt the steady warmth of his regard. “I always got angry at my mum when she washed my ears,” he told me. “But she knew I loved her. I love you too, Tom. You gave me a whistle. And pink sugar cake. I'll try not to be mean to you anymore.”

The simple words caught me off guard. He stood, lips and tongue pushed out, his round little eyes peering at me from under his knit cap. He was a toadish little man, and his nose was running. It had been a long time since I'd been offered love on such a simple and honest basis. Strangely enough, it woke the wolf in me. I could almost see the slow, accepting wag of Nighteyes' tail. We were pack. “I love you too, Thick. Come on. Let's get out of the wet.”

The rain turned colder and was sleet by the time we staggered into camp. Chade came to meet us. As soon as he was within earshot of a whisper, I warned him, “Keep your walls up. Someone tried to fog us with Skill, much as Verity used the Skill to confuse and confound our enemy during the time of the Red Ship War. It . . . they sought to turn Thick and me against each other. And very nearly succeeded.”

“Who is behind it?” Chade demanded, as if he thought I would actually know.

“The bad-dream people,” Thick told him earnestly. I shrugged at Chade's scowl. It was as good an answer as any that I had.

Camp that night was a miserable place. Everything was either wet or damp. The tiny fires we could have allowed ourselves from our precious fuel wouldn't burn. Peottre once more set boundaries for our camp and then risked himself to reconnoiter to select tomorrow's route for us. A dim glow, as from a single candle, came from the Narcheska's tent. The Fool's was a gorgeous, beckoning blossom in the night, and I longed simply to go there, but Chade had demanded my presence and I recognized the need for my full report to him.

The Prince's tent was made smaller by the spread of wet clothing. No one even pretended it would dry by morning. Chade and the Prince had already changed into fresh clothing. A fat candle in a metal cup tried sadly to heat a small kettle of snow water. I took Thick's coat and boots outside to shake the wet clumps of snow from them while he put on a long wool shirt and dry socks. Somehow, stepping outside again made the bite of the wet wind worse. I took Thick's garments back into the tent and found drying space for them on the floor. Tomorrow would be a miserable hike when we had to redon our damp garments. Well, there was no help for it, I thought bitterly. Still, “This is not like any quest to slay a monstrous beast for a fair damsel that I've ever heard a minstrel sing,” I observed sourly as I reentered the tent.

“No,” Thick agreed sadly. “There should be swords and blood. Not stupid wet snow.”

“I don't think you'd like swords and blood any better than the wet snow, Thick,” the Prince observed glumly, but at the moment I tended to agree with Thick. One savage battle already seemed preferable to this endless slogging. With my luck, I'd probably get both before the end.

“We have an enemy,” I announced to them. “One that knows how to use the Skill against us.”

“So you said,” Chade observed. “But Dutiful and I have conferred and we've felt nothing of that.” He poured the lukewarm water over tea herbs, scowling skeptically as he did so.

That confounded me for a moment. I had expected that if anyone chose to attack us, they would make an attempt against the whole coterie. I said as much and then added, “Why would they target only Thick and me? We appear to be amongst the lowliest of your servants.”

“Anyone aware of the Skill must be aware that Thick is not what he seems to be, nor you. Perhaps they realized Thick's strength and sought to get rid of it by having you two destroy each other.”

“But why not strike immediately against the Prince and his trusted adviser? Why not turn you against each other, and sow discord at the top of the command rather than work from the bottom up?”

“It would be nice to know that,” Chade conceded after a moment's pondering. “But we don't. Indeed, all we have is that you and Thick felt you were under attack. The Prince and I felt nothing, until you two turned on one another.”

“That was rather impressive,” Dutiful added, rubbing his temples wearily. He suddenly gave a huge yawn. “I wish this was over and done with,” he said softly. “I'm tired, I'm cold, and I have no real heart for the task I must do.”

“That could be a Skill-influence, subtly applied to you,” I warned him. “Your father used the Skill that way, to confound the steersmen of the Red Ships and send them onto the rocks.”