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. Yet, for some reason that made no
sense to him, he was reminded of Morgion. Rennard grew
more cautious, even drawing his sword, just in case.
Ahead of him now, the Knight of the Rose suddenly
reined to a halt. The flatter land gave way again to hills.
There was a campfire in the distance.
The refugees? Those he pursued? Dornay evidently
thought so, for he moved with more stealth now.
Rennard debated with himself. He stared at the not-so-
distant flame and decided it would be wise to take a closer
look. Erik would not reach the camp for several minutes,
whereas the ghost could flit in and out in less time than it
took to draw a breath.
It proved easy to pick out a spot near, but not too near,
the encampment. As a precaution, Rennard was careful to
hide behind a gnarled oak, on the off-chance that he was
visible to all, not merely Erik.
In the dim light of Solinari, the ghost saw the terrible mob
that had murdered the knight Lucien.
These wretched people looked little more alive than
Rennard. They hardly seemed like a dangerous lot: sick old
men, desperate young men, worn down women, crying
children. With not enough to eat or wear, they were lost,
with no knowledge of surviving off the land.
They will not survive their journey. If Erik doesn't kill
them, they will wander around in circles until they all fall
from disease and exposure and starvation.
Without raising a finger, the knight could sentence them
all to death. With Erik's help, the group could survive
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