Half an hour later, Chiannala was ensconced comfortably in the back of a wagon, wrapped in blankets, with a half-devoured chicken leg in one hand and a mug of warm taillin laced with honey in the other. As she felt warmth and strength creeping back into her body, her fighting spirit began to return, although she still had no idea what she was going to do, or how she would face the future.
Her rescuers were already starting to make her sick. She despised this smiling, pie-faced moron who had, by his own admission, thrown away all