‘Oh, that too. But best of all it explained things. About the Westfolk, I mean, why you always come and go on the border and live with your horse herds instead of in towns and duns. I’d always wondered about that. When Dar talked of the old days, it was like clouds rolling back, and you could see a strange new sky.’

Carra seemed about to say more, but Elessi woke with a complaint, wailing and throwing her arms into the air. Carra wrinkled her nose.

‘Oh what a stink! I know what you need, my beloved poppet. Dalla, please hold this picture for me while I change her?’

Dallandra took the bone plaque and laid it on her knee while Carra took the baby to the far side of the room, where a table stood with a chamber pot ready and a pile of rags for nappies. As she listened to Carra croon and chat to the bahy, Dallandra felt ashamed of herself. Have I ever really looked at Carra before? she wondered. She had seen what everyone else had seen in her: a young lass, besotted with love - pretty little Carra, with her heart-shaped face and blonde hair, her enormous blue eyes that stared up at her husband in limpid devotion. None of us ever thought she had a brain in her head, Dalla thought. More fool us!

I’ve got a legacy to deliver to you,’ Rhodry said.

‘A what?’ Jahdo said. ‘And who would be leaving a lowly lad such as me a thing?’

‘Jill, of course. Here. Tbis is to take the place of your grandfather’s knife, the one I made you lose.’

Jahdo pulled the silver dagger from its sheath and stared at it for a long long time without speaking. They were standing outside in the late afternoon sunlight, not far from the stables, where Jahdo had been shovelling snow with one of the flat mucking-out shovels.

‘Oh, it be so splendid!’ Jahdo held the dagger up, and the blade caught the light and flashed like a mirror. ‘Here, I could never be taking this!’

‘You can, and you shall,’ Rhodry said, grinning. Though I think you’d best keep it up in Dallandra’s chamber where the other lads can’t find it.’

‘True spoken.’ Jahdo ran a fingertip down the blade. There be a device on it, a little falcon, like.’

‘That was Jill’s father’s mark, and she used it too, of course.’

‘He were a sorcerer, then, such as she?’

‘He wasn’t, but the greatest swordsman in all Deverry.’

‘Ah.’ Jahdo sheathed the blade, hefted the dagger for a moment, then handed it back to Rhodry. ‘I do hate to give it up, but truly, it had best wait for me up in the tower.’

‘I’ll take it. And talking of Jill reminds me, lad. I made you a promise, didn’t I? About teaching you letters. It’s a fair way to spring yet, so let’s make a start.’

‘Oh, my thanks! I did wonder, my lord, but I did hate to vex you or suchlike —’

‘No harm in reminding me, and I’m no lord,’

‘Well, you be so to me, as generous as any man could be.’

For a moment Jahdo thought Rhodry was about to cry, from the way he turned away with a toss of his head.

‘My thanks,’ Rhodry said, and his voice was unsteady. ‘Here, I’ll hunt up a slate or suchlike. Cadmar’s scribe should have one. And we’ll start today.’

Rhodry turned and hurried off across the ward. Jahdo watched him go, then went back to his work before the head groom caught him slacking.

Jahdo was just leaving the stables when he saw a small procession coming from the broch complex. At its head trotted Carra’s dog, with Carra and Lady Ocradda just behind, and two pages following along after them. Jahdo felt himself blush. Here he was, with his clothes filthy on top and sweaty inside, and the princess was heading straight for him.

‘Jahdo!’ Carra called out. ‘It gladdens my heart to see you.’

‘And mine to see you, your highness,’ Jahdo said, stepping back. ‘But er, I be a bit mucky right now, and so -’

‘Do you think that bothers me?’ Carra smiled at him. ‘I’ve come to see how my horse fares. I thought I’d fetch him out for a bit of sun and walk him round the ward.’

Ocradda looked as sour as if she’d bitten into wormy meat. Jahdo could guess that the princess had fought a battle to be allowed to come to the stables at all.

‘I’ll bring Gwerlas out for you,’ Jahdo said. “You’d best not be going in there with your long dresses and all. Some of the men, well, they be careless when they do muck out their mounts’ stalls.’

‘Oh here! I’ve always cared for my own horses, all the years that I -’

Your highness!’ Ocradda interrupted. ‘The lad’s right. Let him wait upon you! Er, I mean, if you please.’

‘Oh very well. But be careful. Gwer can be a bit bitey.’

More than a bit, or so Jahdo knew from the earlier times when he’d cared for the horse. Still, the big dun gelding seemed to be in a good mood that afternoon; he allowed Jahdo to tie a rope onto his halter and lead him out without showing so much as a tooth. Out in the sun Gwerlas snorted and tossed his mane, then spotted Carra and headed straight for her with Jahdo trotting along at his side.

‘There you are!’ Carra crooned. ‘My darling!’

When she threw her arms around his neck, the horse snuffled at her cloak and nudged her. Lady Ocradda rolled her eyes heavenward in something like despair. For their walk around the ward, Carra insisted on leading the horse herself, but she did allow Jahdo to hold onto the loose end of the rope for appearances’ sake. A disgruntled Ocradda and the pages trailed behind as they followed the exercise path, a broad swathe next to the dun walls that had been cleared of the usual sheds and clutter.

‘It’s good to see you, Jahdo,’ Carra said. ‘How do you fare these days?’

‘Well enough, your highness.’

‘The servitors seem to be finding you lots of work to do.’

‘Oh, working be no bother to me. It does make the time pass quicker, like.’

‘You must be looking forward to going home.’

‘That be ever so true.’

For a few moments they walked in silence. Carra kept laying her hand on Gwerlas’ neck, making sure that he wasn’t raising a sweat in this chilly air from lack of exercise. Jahdo barely felt the cold, as if walking next to the princess were in some mysterious way warming his blood. If only he could think of witty, courtly remarks that would impress her! Instead, he found himself searching desperately for conversation.

‘Ah well,’ Jahdo ventured finally. ‘I did have a bit of news. I were talking with Rhodry, and he did offer to teach me how to read.’

‘How splendid! I wish I could learn.’

‘Well, why not ask him, then?’

Carra risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Ocradda and the pages were picking their way through the snow a fair distance behind, but still, Carra lowered her voice. ‘I fear me that the good women of the dun would scream at the horror of it all.’

‘What? Why shouldn’t you learn —’

‘Not the reading. It’s Rhodry, he’s a silver dagger. Lady Labanna classes him with the dogs and the pigs, lower even than the men in her husband’s warband.’

Jahdo considered this as they walked past the cookhouses.

‘I did forget about things such as that,’ he said at last. ‘But here, I know! Why not ask our sorceress if you mayn’t learn? If the lady Dallandra does approve, no one will dare say a word about it.’

It was late in the evening before Dallandra went up to the women’s hall. By the light of candles the gwerbret’s wife and her serving woman were leaning close to their embroidery to finish one last patch before their eyes grew too weary to continue. Dallandra joined Carra at the hearth. Elessi was awake, propped up against her mother’s stomach.

‘Elessi loves the fire,’ Carra remarked. ‘Not for the heat, I mean, but when she’s awake, she’ll stare into it for hours.’

‘Well, it is a pretty thing, fire.’

Carra smiled and stroked her daughter’s thin strands of pale hair. In the fire Dallandra could see salamanders, crawling along the logs, dancing among the embers, or rubbing their backs on the iron grating. No doubt Elessi could see them, too. The Wildfolk would flock to a being such as her, one of Evandar’s kind and born into the world flesh for the first time.

‘I can hardly wait to show her the spring,’ Carra went on, ‘the flowers blooming and the trees coming into leaf. Her first spring!’

‘That will be lovely.’

‘And then we’ll be able to travel. The gwerbret and his lady have been so generous to us, and I shall miss them, but I’m so eager to meet Dar’s people and see the grasslands.’

‘It’s not an easy life out on the grass.’

‘It’s not an easy life here, is it?’

Well, that is most certainly true.’ Dalla lowered her voice. ‘I’ll be glad to leave myself.’

‘No doubt.’ Carra smiled, briefly. ‘I’m just so glad Elessi got herself born, and we both lived. Whilst I was carrying her? I truly did feel half-mad.’

‘It was worrisome to watch. Everything seemed to frighten you.’

‘Well, there was that small matter of the Horsekin army. I think me I had good reason to be frightened.’

‘The best in the world. No one could blame you.’

‘Jill did.’

Old pain shivered in Carra’s voice. Dallandra considered her answer carefully.

‘Unfortunately, that’s true,’ Dallandra said. ‘But Jill demanded their absolute best from everyone she met, you know. It wasn’t only you. She was a warrior in her soul, but not all of us can live up to that.’

‘I can’t, certainly. I’m a coward.’

‘Truly?’ Daliandra smiled at her. ‘You left your brother’s dun behind forever and followed Dar.’

‘Oh, but I was frightened the whole time.’

‘So? Do you think warriors never feel fear”? Ask Rhodry about that, and see what he says.’

Carra paused, thinking.

‘Well, I know what you mean,’ Carra said at last. ‘But sometimes I remember the way Jill used to look at me, and I cringe all over again.’

‘I can understand that. Still, you have your own strengths, and the older you grow, the more you’ll know them.’

‘I suppose. You know, that reminds me, in an odd sort of way. I was talking with little Jahdo earlier, and he told me that Rhodry was going to teach him to read.’

‘So I understand.’

‘And well —’ Carra hesitated for a long moment; then her words came in a rush. ‘Could I learn too? I know it’s above a woman’s station, but I do so much want to learn.’

‘Above your - oh hogwash! Of course you may learn, if you’d like. I’ll speak to Rhodry for you.’

Carra turned to her and smiled, a bright steady joy like sunlight that was exactly the same smile she got when she saw her husband walk into the room. That Carra burned with a passion to learn how to read shocked Daliandra all over again, though as she thought about it she realized that anyone with a strong interest in history would no doubt wish to read about the past. Daliandra had laboured so long and hard to get Elessi born into the physical world that in her mind Carra’s role as Elessi’s mother had absorbed the actual person that Carra was. What an awful thing to do to someone! Daliandra told herself. She made herself pay strict attention to the girl as she talked on.

‘It’s just so wonderful,’ Carra was saying, ‘to be able to think about things like books and letters now. Sometimes I dream about Alshandra still, and the Horsekin army at our gates. When I wake up, I have to tell myself that we’re safe at last.’

Dallandra started to make some pleasantry, but a dweomer-warning like a sudden blast of cold froze her lips, or so it seemed. She felt fear run down her back like the stroke of an icy hand. Carra turned to her in alarm, but fortunately the baby woke, stretching tiny arms, and began to cry. Dallandra murmured an excuse, got up, and left.

As she hurried up to her tower room, the dweomer cold went with her, hugging her so tightly she found it hard to breathe. Twice on the staircase up it forced her to stop and rest. While she leaned against stone walls and gasped, she heard a strange rustle or murmur, so loudly that at first she thought it was sounding in the physical world. The sound, however, followed her into her own quarters, swelling to a roar and babble of voices.

Safe at last? Far from it, far far from it! Dallandra nearly fell onto the bed. She had just the presence of mind to grab the blankets and pull them over her before she sank into trance. It seemed to her that she was awake in the tower room, but she lay paralysed in a light transformed into the silvery blue of the etheric plane. All around her swirled voices in a babble of languages; some words she could understand, others escaped her entirely. The voices seemed to come from a dozen speakers, some male, some female, others strangely ambiguous. Whatever they were trying to say rang with urgency; she could hear anger and terror, both, as they babbled on and on, louder and louder.

Suddenly the harsh shriek of a raven silenced the voices. The raven cried again, and it seemed its huge black shadow covered the room.

Abruptly Dallandra woke, lying in sweat-soaked clothing in an icy dark room. She got up, staggered to the window, and leaned against the wall while she fumbled with the leather covering. Finally she managed to pull up one corner. Cold wind and a flurry of snow slapped her in the face. Night lay over the dun, but how deep or early, she could not say. She let the hide fall again. Heat, she thought. I must get out of here, go where it’s warm.

On her table stood a pitcher of water. She cracked the ice on top and drank straight out of the spout. The water brought enough sensation back to her body to allow her to walk across the room and open the door, but the dark landing and stairwell beyond made her hesitate. She called upon the Wildfolk of Aethyr, who materialized to surround her with a silvery glow. In their safe light she went down and reached the great hall at last.

Apparently the evening meal had just been cleared away. In firelight and torchlight the household lingered at table, from the gwerbret and the noble-born at the table of honour to the servants sitting by their fire and eating the left-over bread. Although Dar kept Carra company at the table of honour, his archers sat together with Rhodry among them on the far side of the hall. Although by the courtesy of the thing Dallandra should have gone to the gwerbret’s side, she wanted her own kind around her. She started toward the archers’ table only to find walking difficult. Half-afraid she’d fall, she stopped again, swaying like a drunken woman, but Rhodry had seen her. He swung himself free of the bench and hurried over.

‘Dalla, ye gods!’ Rhodry spoke in Elvish. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No. Just exhausted. I did a working of sorts.’

Rhodry caught her arm and steadied her. Yelling for a servant lass, he steered her across the great hall and over to a table near the honour hearth, where he made her sit with her back to the roaring fire. When Carra and Labanna started to join them, he hurried over to warn them off. Dallandra propped her elbows on the table and supported her head with her hands whilst she watched him, speaking urgently.

‘My lady?’

The voice made Dallandra yelp, but it was only a servant girl with a basket of bread in one hand and a tankard in the other. When Dallandra took the tankard, the yeasty scent of watered ale cleared her head.

‘My thanks,’ Dallandra said. ‘My apologies if I startled you.’

The girl gave her a wan little smile and ran for the other side of the hall. Reing a sorcerer in Deverry must be a lonely sort of life, Dalla thought. She tore a chunk of bread off the loaf and bit off a mouthful. The taste made her realize that she was ravenous. Rhodry came back along and sat next to her, watching while she stuffed in the bread like a beggar child.

You’d best wash that down with a bit of ale,’ he remarked after a while. ‘Or you’ll choke.’

She nodded and had a long swallow.

‘That’s better,’ Rhodry said, in Elvish this time. ‘Now, what by the Dark Sun happened to you?’

‘I was overwhelmed by a visio.’ Dallandra paused for another long swallow of ale. ‘No, that’s not the right word, but I’m too tired to think of what you’d call a lot of voices, all speaking omens.’

‘Can I ask what they were telling you?’

‘I couldn’t understand them, actually.’ She sat the tankard down and considered him — if anyone in the dun could keep a secret, it would be Rhodry. ‘It didn’t matter. I also heard a raven caw, and that was the heart of the omen. It had to be your old friend, Raena. She means to harm Carra somehow, or more probably the child.’

Rhodry swore in a mix of several languages. Dallandra winced.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Raena takes me that way. Why would she want to hurt them? Her wretched false goddess is dead.’

‘Does she believe that?’

“Well, I was assuming she would.’

‘Why?’ Dallandra paused for another swallow of ale. ‘She carried out Alshandra’s orders to raise an army. If it weren’t for Arzosah, that army might have won, too, with Raena at their head. She’s had glory and excitement both, a thousand times more than any other woman, probably. What makes you think she’ll just meekly go back to her needlework now?’

‘True enough.’ Rhodry hesitated, thinking. ‘Well, if she tries to harm either of them, shell have to go through me first.’

‘Oh, I’m sure she knows that. Why do you think I keep renewing the wards over you?’

‘Now there’s a thought. In my vanity I was thinking she hated me for myself, but if she knows I’ve sworn to guard the lass -’

You did swear a vow like that? Right out loud, I mean.’

Yes, when Yraen and I met Carra on the road. I saw her, and I knew I was bound to her in some strange way. So I hired myself out to her for a guard.’

‘Oh! You mean you swore to guard Carra, not the baby.’

‘Well, I suppose I meant the baby as well. I was stinking drunk at the time, and I don’t remember the details.’

‘No doubt.’ Dallandra yawned, stifled it, then gave up and yawned again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.’

‘You’d best get some sleep. You still look pale as death. Ill come upstairs with you.’

Ye gods, I’ve slept all day!’

Yet Rhodry insisted, and once she was tucked up in the blankets with him beside her, radiating welcome warmth, Dallandra fell asleep straightaway.

For some while she slept in a normal oblivion, but eventually she woke and remembered the wards in the Gatelands. This time when she slept again, her mind went straight to the etheric and her stars. After she tended them, she stood in the tall grass and considered the swollen purple moon that hung, huge and menacing, over the meadow. She wanted to talk with Niffa, but since she knew only the girl’s dream image, rather than her physical presence, she could no more scry her out on the etheric than she could in the material world. Fortunately, Niffa seemed to want to talk with her, as well, because in what seemed a brief space of time, Niffa joined her. As they sat in the tall grass and talked, Niffa’s lack of rational control over her sleep-visions made it difficult to hold an organized conversation, but a bit at a time Dalla pieced together the girl’s story of her murdered husband and of Councilman Verrarc.

‘But here,’ Dallandra said at last. ‘You didn’t truly see Raena murder your man, did you?’

Niffa shook her head.

‘And so you can’t be sure she —’

‘That be what they both say!’ Niffa snapped. ‘My mam and da, I do mean by that.’

‘Well, who do they think killed him, then?’

‘Evil spirits,’ Niffa said. The councilman, he did say this, and even our herbwoman and our Spirit Talker, they do believe him now.’

‘What about the rest of the town?’

‘The town? Well, the folk do be terrified and talk of witchcraft and dark things. They do but wish it forgotten, so they might pretend that naught were amiss,’

‘I see. You’d best be careful, you know. They might turn on you eventually.’

‘My mam, she do say the same. She be powerful frightened.’

Niffa’s image was growing thin, stretched out like a figure painted on cloth held against the landscape. Dallandra had to think quickly.

You’re right to mistrust Raena,’ Daliandra said, ‘but be careful! She’s very dangerous, and -’

Niffa’s image winked out. I wonder if she heard me? Dallandra thought. Well, no doubt I’ll see her here again.

When she woke that morning, Niffa heard voices out in the great room - her mother’s and another woman’s. That best not be that miserable Raena! As she dressed, she snarled like a ferret. She found her clogs, slipped them on, then stomped into the other room, only to see Emla, Demet’s mother, sitting comfortably by the fire.

‘Well, there you are,’ Emla said. ‘I did come to see how you fare, lass. We’ve not seen you since —’ Her voice choked with tears. ‘Since the funeral rites.’

‘I’ve not been out much,’ Niffa said. ‘Going out into the town does ache my heart.’

Niffa sat down on the bench next to Dera, who slipped an arm around her shoulders. Despite the grey that grew in her blonde hair, Emla looked so like her son that seeing her made Niffa’s grief double in her heart.

‘Sooner or later,’ Dera said, ‘you’ll have to begin living again. I doubt me if Emla would begrudge you.’

‘Not in the least.’ Emla leaned forward in her chair. “You be young, Niffa. In time there’ll be another man, and I’d not have you thinking I’d take offence at your happiness.’

‘I’ll never marry again!’

The older women exchanged glances — sad-eyed, but with a hint of a smile. Niffa got up, took a wooden bowl from the table, and busied herself with filling it with porridge from the kettle by the hearth.

‘And there be another matter,’ Emla went on. ‘Your mam and I did discuss this matter of Councilman Verrarc’s woman. He does wish to marry her, all right and proper like, but Werda refuses to perform the rites.’

‘No doubt she kens what’s best,’ Niffa snapped. ‘She always does.’

‘When it comes to spirits, no one would argue with that,’ Emla said, smiling a little. ‘But flesh and blood — well, that be another matter, bain’t? And we all ken the history of the thing. Verro would have married his Raena years hence, had his wretched fool of a father but allowed. It does seem right to put it right, as it were.’

Niffa sat down on the bench at the far side of the table and concentrated on her porridge. How could Emla think such a thing, that Raena should be allowed into the citizenry as a redeemed woman and a proper wife?

‘I do wonder, though,’ Dera was choosing each word carefully, ‘what sort of influence Raena might have on the councilman, if it be wholly good, that is.’

‘Now that be a true question.’ Emla nodded her agreement. ‘But once they were married, he would have the dominion over her, bain’t?’

‘True, true.’

‘I do think she be the sort of woman who does need a firm hand to guide her,’ Emla went on. ‘And Verrarc, he be a stubborn sort of man.’

‘That too be a true speaking.’ Dera hesitated for a long moment. ‘You do know well that Verrarc, his happiness does mean much to me, ever since he did run to me for refuge when he were but a tiny lad. I do wish naught but the best for him.’

Niffa caught her mother’s eye and scowled. Dera turned away and looked only at Emla.

‘Just so,’ Emla said. You do doubt, then, that Raena would make him a proper sort of wife?’

‘I do,’ Dera said. ‘Here, she be barren for one thing. It be no fault of her own, but a man like Verrarc, with property to leave — he does need sons, bain’t? Or a daughter to dower at least.’

‘Huh! I’d not thought of that. But truly, she did stay with her husband for a year, and then she and Verrarc did give the gods plenty of chances to bless them.’

‘Just so.’

Emla sucked her teeth for a thoughtful while. ‘Verrarc be a stubborn sort of man,’ she said at last. ‘He’ll not be giving her up easily.’

‘True spoken.’

‘But you know what they do say, Dera. Sometimes a man must needs get what he wants before he can see that he wants it not.’

‘Now that be a very true thing,’ Dera paused, considering. ‘The more that the town speaks ill of her, the more loyal he’ll be.’

Niffa looked up from her bowl and glared. Emla waggled a long finger in her direction.

‘That porridge must be sour stuff,’ Emla said, ‘if I were to judge by the look on your face. What does ache your heart so badly, lass?’

Caught - Niffa could hardly tell Emla about her visions and suspicions. She laid her spoon down in the empty bowl,

‘Ah well,’ Niffa said at last. ‘Never have I liked Raena, truly. She does seem so sly, and who can ken where she’s been hiding herself this while past? She did show up in winter out of nowhere, bain’t?’

‘Oh, that be simple enough.’ Emla was smiling. ‘She did return to her father’s farm when her husband cast her out. No doubt the old man’s rubbed her raw with the shame of it. He always was that sort, all long nose for the looking down.’

‘That be enough to drive anyone out into the snows,’ Dera put in. The poor woman!’

If her mother’s compassion had been kindled, Niffa knew, there was no use in arguing further.

“Well, Mistress Emla,’ Dera went on, ‘if you go to speak with Werda, then I’ll be going with you to put in a word, like.’

‘My thanks. The more of us, the better. I’ll be off to speak with some few others of the women here.’

When Emla was leaving, Niffa managed to force out a reasonably pleasant farewell, but she spoke not another word. Dera shut the door behind their departing guest and latched it for good measure. She sat down opposite Niffa.

‘Mam! How could you!’

‘Hush, now! You do think that Raena had somewhat to do with Demet’s death, but I be not so sure. Werda did say evil spirits, and would you be telling me that you do ken more of these matters than Werda?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t. But she laughed, Raena I mean, laughed at him lying dead.’

‘Be you so certain of that? There be times, when a woman or a man too for that matter, when she does see some great horror, and while it does seem that she laughs, truly there be no mirth in it, just a ghastly sort of sobbing without tears.’

Niffa started to answer, but her mother’s quiet voice caught her and made her think. What if she were accusing Raena falsely? That would be a terrible thing.

‘Whatever you say, Mam. Mayhap you and Emla have the right of it.’

‘My thanks.’ Dera allowed herself a small smile. ‘And I’d not worry just yet. Changing Werda’s mind about any matter be a long hard task.’

It was a few days later that Dallandra heard the truth of Demet’s death, when she met Evandar on the crest of Market Hill. They found each other just at nightfall under a sky so clear and cold that the stars seemed chips of ice, glittering in the silver fire of the rising moon. Wrapped in his blue cloak Evandar glowed to match the moonlight.

‘And how does Salamander fare?’ Dallandra asked him.

‘Who? Ah, Rhodry’s brother.’

‘Indeed. I asked Rhodry if he knew anything about a curse Jill put on him, and Rhodry swears up and down that she’d never have done such a thing. He did say, though, that she might have sworn like a silver dagger at him, and in his madness he might be remembering it and misinterpreting.’

‘Now that makes a great deal of sense. I’ll try to visit him again.’ Evandar frowned up at the stars. ‘I’ve not had a moment to spare, my love, what with the trouble Shaetano’s causing.’

‘In Jahdo’s city? I’ve heard another nasty tale myself, about Raena and the way she murdered a man there.’

‘The young militiaman? It wasn’t her who killed him. It was Shaetano.’

Dallandra found herself with nothing to say. Evandar laughed at her shock, then sobered fast.

‘It’s an evil thing,’ he said, ‘And I’ve no idea how he did it. Worse yet, neither does he. He’s been calling himself Lord Havoc, and he seems to be living up to his name.’

‘Things are even worse than I thought, then. I’d better go have a look at all of this in the spring.’

‘If you wanted to go straightaway, I could take you there by the mothers of all roads.’

‘I can’t leave Carra and the baby.’

‘We could all go, Jahdo and Rhodry too.’

‘True, but Rhodry won’t leave until spring, because he’s waiting for Arzosah. Not that she’s likely to return.’

‘It was foolish of him to break that binding spell, truly. The great wyrms have devious little hearts.’

‘But here, he knows — we all know, truly - her true name. Shouldn’t that —’

‘It’s not enough. I don’t care what the old tales say, but merely knowing a dragon’s name is no protection for an ordinary man. Someone who can put dweomer behind speaking the name — well, that’s different.’

‘I see. Well, dragon or no, in the spring I’d better get myself to Cerr Cawnen.’

‘Shall I bring Rhodry’s brother there to meet you?’

Dallandra considered this for a moment.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said at last. ‘I think he’d be better off in the Westlands, nearer his father. But for the love of every god, don’t bring him anywhere just yet, will you? I’ve got enough on my mind as it is.’

‘True spoken, so I’ll leave him be for now. It’s not like his poor wife has to handle him on her own.’

‘That’s one good thing about all those wretched acrobats.’ Dallandra glanced around and realized that ail the houses she could see had gone dark, ‘Ye gods, I’d better get myself back to the dun! The gatekeeper won’t wait for me forever.’

‘I’ll walk with you. I don’t trust these streets at night. Which reminds me. Does Rhodry still have that bronze knife?’

It took Dallandra a moment to remember which knife he meant.

‘The ancient one?’ she said. The one that has some strange dweomer on it?’

‘That’s the one. He might need it with Alshandra’s pack still on the loose.’

‘He keeps it on his belt with the silver dagger.’

‘Good. Tell him to stay on guard, too.’

Together they hurried back to the dun, but at the iron-bound gates Evandar left her. Dallandra gave the old gatekeeper a coin for his patience, then walked into the main ward, where torchlight danced and threw fitful shadows on stone. Not far from the back door to the great hall she saw a crowd of the gwerbret’s riders, all arguing about some incomprehensible thing. Out of curiosity she drifted over and found a place to stand on the steps of one of the side-brochs.

From there she could see the trouble. In the centre of a ring of Cadmar’s sworn men stood a man of the Westfolk and one of Cadmar’s riders, both of them trembling with fury while Cadmar’s captain and Prince Daralanteriel talked urgently together. Nearby a blonde servant girl stood weeping into the hem of her apron.

At the edge of the crowd stood Rhodry, his hands dangling easily by his sides. The sooty torches cast more shadow than light, but she could see him smiling with a tight twist of his mouth. When a torch flared and washed his face with light, the look in his eyes turned her cold; they were as blank and hard as a hawk’s. All at once he stepped forward; it seemed the argument between Prince Daralanteriel and the gwerbret’s captain was heating up. Someone in the crowd yelled, ‘Filthy thieves, all of you - thieves and silver daggers!’

Rhodry moved, struck, had the fellow by the neck with both hands.

‘Rhodry!’ Dallandra screamed. ‘Don’t!’

Rhodry threw his prey to the ground and twisted free. Hands reached down and hauled the fellow to his feet; he was choking and shaking but mostly unharmed. Rhodry turned toward her and laughed in a high-pitched shriek of merriment.

‘My thanks!’ he called out. ‘I would have killed him if it weren’t for you.’

‘So I thought,’ Dallandra muttered, but too quietly for him to hear. “You berserk bastard.’

The riders all turned to look at her, and she saw most of them holding up crossed fingers in the gesture of warding against witchcraft. Some stepped backwards into shadows, then turned and ran; others slipped away more slowly, hut they got themselves gone nonetheless until only Rhodry and Draudd, one of the gwerbret’s sworn men, stood alone in the smoke-stained torch light.

‘I’m blasted glad you came along.’ Draudd bowed to Dallandra. Ye gods, the little slut’s not worth a man’s life!’

‘That blonde lass - she was the cause of this, then?’ Dallandra asked.

‘She was,’ Draudd said. ‘Keeping two hearths warm at once, if you take my meaning, like.’

‘Will there be more trouble over this?’ Dallandra said to Draudd.

‘Not from any of us. Since it never came to drawn steel, the gwerbret doesn’t have to know. Well, unless he heard the scuffle?’

When Dallandra went to the door of the great hall and looked in, she found the gwerbret’s chair safely empty. Jahdo came running and told her that his grace had gone early to bed.

‘His leg’s bothering him,’ the boy said. The twisted one.’

‘No doubt, in this cold and damp,’ Dallandra said. ‘Well, I’ll brew him up some poultices in the morning.’

For a moment she stood watching the men filing back into the hall. When she turned back, Rhodry had gone.

She found him up in their tower room, feeding twigs by candlelight into the charcoal braizer. She shut the door, but he ignored her and bent down to blow upon the coals. Finally the tinder caught; he added a few thin twigs of charcoal, then some bigger chunks.

‘I think that’ll take,’ he said.

‘Looks like it, truly.’

In the candlelight and faint glow from the brazier, his face was unreadable. With an irritable snarl, Dallandra called on the Wildfolk of Aethyr. A silver ball of light appeared, hovering over the table. Rhodry looked up. His eyes seemed huge, his dark brows straight above them, but his soft mouth hung slack; he could have been thinking murder or nothing at all.

“Would you really have killed that fellow?’ she said.

‘Most likely.’ With a shrug he turned away from the brazier and wiped his hands on his brigga. ‘I’ve never been a patient man. And it’s been too long since I sent my Lady Death a courting-gift. She’s even less patient than I am.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t go on like that about your Lady Death. It’s such a daft fancy!’

‘Is it? Why?’ All at once he was grinning, his eyes narrow with delight. ‘Haven’t I served her faithfully all these years? You’d think a true lover would have had his reward by now, wouldn’t you?’

She could only stare at him. Ye gods! she thought. Is this the evil Wyrd that Jill saw? That he’d go mad - if it is madness? His smile faded.

‘What is this?’ Dallandra said suddenly. ‘Are you saying you want to die?’

‘Who wouldn’t, after the life I’ve led?’ Rhodry turned his back on her and walked a few steps away.

When she walked over and laid her hands on his shoulders, she could feel hard muscle, tensed and ready to spring. She let her hands fall.

‘There’s naught you can say to that, is there?’ His voice was low and level. ‘There’s naught anyone can say.’

‘True enough.’

Around them the Wildfolk began to appear, sprites and gnomes, and in the glow of the brazier, she saw a salamander lounging on the coals.

“You’re not thinking of killing yourself, are you?’ Dallandra said.

‘I’m not. Not while the raven woman lives, at least.’

‘Ah ye gods! Promise me you won’t -’

‘Won’t what? Take a knife to my own throat or suchlike?’ Rhodry turned around at last, and he was smiling. ‘I won’t. I’ll swear it to you on my silver dagger. That’s the one oath you know I’d never break.’

‘How can you smile like that?’

He cocked his head to one side and considered her for a long moment, then wiped the smile away.

‘True enough. It’s no jest, is it?’ He grabbed his cloak from the chair’s back. ‘I’ll not be able to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.’

He strode out of the room with the Wildfolk following him in a swirl of little lives. She sat down on the chair and held out her hands. She wasn’t in the least surprised to find them shaking.

Although the gwerbret had seen nothing, Prince Daralanteriel proved unwilling to let the matter drop. When Rhodry walked into the great hall, the prince rose from his chair at the honour hearth and hailed him. Rhodry stood where he was and waved vaguely in Dar’s direction. For a long moment, while every man in the great hall watched, the stalemate held; then with a shrug Dar grabbed his cloak from his chair and strode across the hall to join Rhodry at the door.

‘You wanted to speak with me?’ Rhodry said. ‘What about?’

‘Things.’ Dar busied himself with draping his cloak over his shoulders. ‘We’d best talk outside, anyway.’

Around back of the main broch they found a spot out of the wind, where flickering light from the fires inside spilled out onto the frozen mud. Both of them could see in far less light than any ordinary man, but the glow seemed somehow comforting against the night.

‘That fellow called me a thief,’ Dar said abruptly. ‘Should I challenge him to an honour duel?’

‘Do you want to?’ Rhodry said.

‘I don’t, no. It would be stupid, and you ve already given him the scare of his life. But what will the men here think of me if I don’t?’

‘Ah. You’re starting to think like a Deverry lord.’

Dar flushed scarlet. Rhodry looked him in the face and refused to flinch. After a moment, Dar looked down.

‘Maybe I am. I wish to all the gods that we could just ride out of here, but in this weather —’

‘We’d never make it home. Your men are getting worried, Dar. They look at you sitting with the gwerbret and wonder if your head’s getting too big for your helm.’

Dar stared at the muddy ground for a long moment, then turned on his heel and strode off. Rhodry followed him as ducked back inside the great hall. Dar hesitated briefly, then walked over to the table where the other men of the Westfolk were sitting. He spoke a few brief words to Vantalaber, then sat down on the bench at his captain’s right hand. Smiling to himself, Rhodry strolled over and joined them.

In the morning Dallandra woke to find Rhodry still gone. When she went downstairs, she found him rolled in his cloak and asleep in the straw near the riders’ hearth, with a couple of dogs at his back and Jahdo asleep nearby. As she hovered there, wondering whether to wake him, he solved the problem by sitting up and yawning.

‘Good morrow, fair sorceress,’ he said, grinning. ‘I got too drunk last night to manage the stairs, Dar had squirrelled Sway some mead in his chamber, and he brought it down for us.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Yawning, shaking his head, he rubbed his face with both hands.

‘I need to shave,’ be said. ‘I hate getting shaggy, winter or no. Have you eaten yet?’

‘I’ve not.’

Rhodry got up, shaking out his cloak.

‘I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself, haven’t I?’

‘Not truly.’ Dallandra spoke in Elvish. ‘No more than the rest of the men have, at least, and I’m including the prince in that. You know, you should all get out of the dun more. Go hunting, maybe — the gods know we could use the meat if there’s any deer left to bring down.’

‘Good idea,’ he answered her in Elvish as well. ‘I’ll talk with Dar. You’re right. We’re all going more than a little mad, shut up like this.’

With that he bowed and wandered off, muttering about finding hot water to wash in. While Dallandra waited for a servant to bring her bread, the man whom Rhodry had nearly killed came hurrying over, a narrow-eyed blond fellow with a freshly split lip and bruises on his neck just the size of Rhodry’s fingers. When he bowed to her, she could see him trembling.

‘I owe you my life,’ he blurted. ‘My thanks, my lady.’

‘Well, most welcome you are. I’m just glad Rhodry listened to me.’

‘Listened?’ He laid a hand over the bruises. We all figured you cast a spell. Naught else could reach him, we figured, when he has one of his fits.’

Dallandra started to tell him otherwise, then decided that long explanations of how Rhodry’s mind worked would lie beyond him.

‘You seem to bear him no ill-will,’ she said instead.

‘Of course I don’t. He’s one of the god-touched.’ The rider shrugged, hands out as if he were holding some truth before him. That trial by combat he fought — remember? It showed all of us how much the gods favour him. So it’s all my own fault, what happened last night. I was drunk, I don’t remember what I said, but it’s no matter. You don’t prod one of the god-touched.’

‘I see. Well, I’m glad you came to no real harm. But you know, you’d best apologize to the prince for the things you called his men.’

‘You’re right. I’ll do it the moment he comes down.’ By the noontide the squabble had smoothed itself over, and as far as Dallandra knew, the gwerbret never heard of it. She hoped the spring would come early that year. The sooner they were all out of the stone tents once and for all, the better.

For several nights Niffa tried to return to the meadow under the purple moon and talk with the woman who called herself Dallandra. Her dreams, however, like ill-trained horses wandered where the road looked easiest and avoided the city that once had appeared so faithfully. Finally Niffa realized that mere hope would always fail her. She began trying to picture the purple moon and Dallandra as she was falling asleep, and this technique brought success. One night when the winds howled round Citadel and shut out the world, Niffa fell straight asleep and found herself walking across the meadow toward the great warding stars, burning red and gold. Dallandra sat waiting next to them.

‘It’s good to see you,’ the sorceress said. ‘I was afraid you’d decided not to return.’

‘Oh, no such thing. It were the dreams that turned stubborn when I did try to force them. Tonight I let the moon rise in my mind, like, and it brought me here.’

‘Very good indeed! Now, I need to talk with you about somewhat important, but it won’t make much sense at first. Tell me - you see the Wildfolk, don’t you? The little creatures in the air, or in fires and running water?’

‘I do, truly. How were you guessing that?’

‘Jahdo told me you always watched things that no one else could see.’

‘Ah,’ Niffa smiled, remembering, ‘He did tease me over that until at times I did feel like giving him a good clout. There be not much that our Jahdo does miss.’

‘He’s a sharp lad. Well, there are other spirits in the world, bigger ones, much more like men and women, and very much more powerful indeed. They appear here and there and look just like ordinary people until of all a sudden they do somewhat strange or just disappear.’

‘Be those gods?’

‘They’re not, but a race called the Guardians.’ Dallandra hesitated and seemed to be considering what to say next. ‘One of them has made a bargain with Raena. He’s teaching her magicks, and she’s - well, how to say - well, she’s doing him little favours in return.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I.’ All at once Dallandra laughed. ‘Not completely. But this creature can appear as a fox or a man. He calls himself Lord Havoc.’

‘That be an ill-omened name!’

‘He’s an ill-omened creature. I’m as sure as I can be that he’ll bring trouble to Cerr Cawnen if someone doesn’t stop him. Raena — well, she’s mostly deluded. She thinks he’s a god, and he’s not. It’s not truly her fault.’

Niffa considered for a moment.

“Well, even so,’ Niffa said at last, ‘would this Lord Havoc fox creature be a-troubling us if that whoring slut of a Raena hadn’t brought him here?’

You truly hate her, don’t you?’

Niffa paused on the edge of a retort. She could see that Dallandra was studying her face as she waited for a reply.

‘I do,’ Niffa said. ‘And truly, you do touch upon a riddle. At first, before my man died, I knew not why I did hate her so. From the day she came to Cerr Cawnen, and I did see her walking toward the gates, I did feel — well, it be so strange - but I did feel she’d be the ruination of us all, that some great evil walked in with her.’

‘Oh, did you now? Jahdo’s told me that when you have these feelings, you’re usually right.’

‘It’s happened.’ Niffa shrugged and looked away. ‘Over the years I did learn to keep my mouth closed tight when the omens did beat against my lips. It did trouble everyone around us.’

‘No doubt. Say naught about that omen to anyone until I get there.’

“You do plan on coming to Cerr Cawnen?’

‘I do indeed, in the spring when we — Rhodry and I - bring your Jahdo home. Raena is somewhat of an enemy of mine, after all. I’d rather like a few words with her, not that she’ll enjoy hearing them.’

For a moment the dream threatened to waver and dissolve in a flood of sheer relief, but Niffa focused her mind on Dallandra’s face, thought of nothing but that image, and slowly the dream grew strong and clear again.

Very good,’ Dallandra said, smiling. ‘For a moment I thought I’d lost you.’

‘I did think I were about to go, truly. But it gladdens my heart, hearing that you be coming to Cerr Cawnen.’

‘I’m glad you trust me.’

‘Well, I do, though I know not why. Mayhap it’s because you do hate Raena too.’

‘Hate her I don’t. She’s but a tool in the hands of lying spirits.’

What about the councilman? Be it that he worship this fox spirit too?’

‘I have no idea. Now listen carefully. It’s not Raena that murdered your man. It was Lord Havoc.’

The surprise hit like a blow and flung Niffa out of the dream. She woke to a room silver with dawn and knew that she’d not be falling asleep again, not this late in a winter’s day. Her body ached, too; for a moment, she wondered if she’d somehow hurt herself by waking so fast. Then she recognized a familiar pain. Her monthly bleeding had finally begun. She sat up in bed and stared at her cold little room.

‘I did want Demet’s child,’ she whispered. ‘I did want his child so very much. Ah ye gods!’

She twisted round and grabbed the pillow, then lay down to sob into it until she ached too badly to weep the more.

‘Master!’ Old Korla came shuffling into the great room. The Spirit Talker, she be at our door.’

‘Then let her in, for the gods’ sake!’ Verrarc said. ‘Did you think I’d be turning her away or suchlike?’

Korla set her mouth in a tight line, shrugged, and shuffled back down the corridor.

Verrarc rose from his little table by the hearth. He’d been puzzling over his dweomer scroll again, and he rolled it up to hide its subject matter. With Korla following, Werda came striding in, draped in her white cloak.

‘This be an honour indeed.’  Verrarc bowed to her. ‘Do come sit by my fire.’

‘I’ll not be staying but a moment,’ Werda said. I be here to tell you but one thing. If you wish to marry your woman, I’ll perform the proper rite.’

‘My thanks!’ Verrarc was stammering, and he felt tears rising behind his eyes. ‘My humble thanks! I -’

‘Some of the good women of this town did come to argue with me,’ Werda went on. ‘Pay your thanks to them, not me. I did listen to them with care, and with care did I think the matter through. I do suggest, councilman, that you put as much care into your choice of a wife. Think on this for seven nights. Then, if you still wish to marry Raena daughter of Marga, come to me at the temple, and I’ll cast the omens to find a propitious phase of the moon.’

Before Verrarc could say another word, Werda turned on her heel and strode out, with Korla hurrying after.

‘The haughty bitch!’ Raena snarled from behind him.

Verrarc spun round to see her walking out of their bed chamber. She was wearing a green overdress, and she’d done her hair in thick braids, falling one on either side of her face.

‘I’d not speak ill of Werda, if I were you,’ he said.

‘Indeed?’ Raena was scowling. ‘Huh! Some priestess she is, her and her little gods! Here, my love - do you not scorn my Lord Havoc and claim him but a fox spirit or suchlike? Well, the gods Werda tends are no better than that, the spirit of a mountain, the spirit of a tree!’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Did they give her the power to call forth silver light, as the great Alshandra gave to me?’

‘They didn’t, truly. But Rae, when it comes to life in this town, there be gods that Werda tends who have true power indeed.’

‘Oh? And who may they be?’

‘Rumour, for one.’  Verrarc looked steadily at her. ‘And the gods of a happy hearth and a good reputation, for others.’

Raena blushed, looked away, then sat down in her chair by the hearth. Verrarc went to the fire and knelt down to add the last of the wood from the big basket near the hearth. The flames leapt up in a swirl of golden sparks.

‘This be the second happiest day of my life.’  Verrarc reached for the poker. ‘The first, well - truly, it will always be the day my father died.’

Raena laughed. ‘Never would I begrudge you that, my love,’ she said. ‘It gives my heart joy, too, thinking I’ll be your wife.’

Verrarc glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her just as Korla returned, her mouth still tight, her eyes narrow with what seemed to be anger. No doubt she wasn’t looking forward to having another woman give her orders in her kitchen, not after so many years of keeping house for Verrarc alone. He would have to do somewhat to soften the blow, he decided.

‘Korla?’ he said. ‘Do tell Harl to bring in more wood, will you? And it would behoove you and Magpie to be thinking of what sort of grand present I can make you to celebrate my marriage.’

Korla relented enough to smile, but all she said was, ‘Harl, he be out in the woodshed now. I’ll be telling him.’

Raena watched her unspeaking as the old woman crossed the room and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. Verrarc rose, dusting the ashes off the knees of his brigga.

‘We shall have a feast on our wedding day, my love,’ he said, ‘the best that winter can offer us, and then in the spring when the crops come in, we’ll have a proper celebration at the same time of the moon that marks our wedding.’

‘That will be splendid, Verro. Truly, this day gladdens my heart. I did hear what Werda said about the townswomen. There be a need on me to go and thank them.’

‘There is, at that.’ Verrarc sat down in his facing chair. ‘I ken not all their names, but I’ll wager that Dera and Emla be among them. I do owe them thanks myself, and we’ll pay our calls together.’

Raena nodded, staring into the fire with a small smile. Verrarc leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs to the warmth.

‘It will be splendid,’ Raena said at last, ‘to have a name again. I did get so sick to my heart of their snubs! Now, mayhap I can gain their trust, so that they’ll listen to me.’

‘Whose trust?’

‘The women of the town, of course. I do think that they’ll hear about Alshandra with more joy than the men.’

‘What? Just what be you planning to do?’

‘Spread the word of my goddess’s coming.’ Raena was looking at him with a slight frown, as if she were puzzled by his obtuseness. Think you I be a miser, to keep such joy to myself? I did swear to her that ever and always would I tell of her doings to all whom I would meet. Cerr Cawnen, it be a fine place to take up her charge again.’

Verrarc started to speak, then thought better of it. All at once he felt a cold that the leaping fire was powerless to dispel.

‘I shall spread the word,’ Raena went on, her voice soft, almost dreamy. ‘I shall set her name upon Cerr Cawnen and make it a place of her altars. All the people shall rejoice in her name, and she will send them strength.’

Once again Verrarc opened his mouth, and once again Held his tongue. The cold around him deepened. Had she gone mad, his beloved Raena? Or could she be speaking the truth and truly serve a goddess who could set men free from the chains of death? She turned to him, her eyes thoughtful.

‘Fear not, my love. In time I’ll be showing you more of her marvels, and till then, I’ll not speak a word to anyone else. I do ken better than any how the ignorant will mock and scorn some new thought. I shall be all caution and soft words.’

‘Well and good, then. Rae, please, you do see that I be not mocking what you say, bain’t?’

‘I do. Fear not! With her there be only courage.’

Verrarc smiled, but the cold had turned to a wild animal, it seemed, sinking claws of warning into his heart. Raena returned to staring into the fire and smiling to herself, as if she were hearing some grand jest. For a moment he wondered if indeed he should marry her. If she were mad and babbling of false gods, wouldn’t she be a threat to his beloved city? But he could remember his father’s face, flushed with drink and sneering, and hear again the insults he’d hurled at Raena and her kin. A rich pig farmer be a pig farmer still - that was the least of them.

‘Well, I ken not the truth of such things as gods,’ Yen-arc said, ‘but I do ken that I love you with all my heart, and that be enough for me.’

‘Well, now,’ Dera said. ‘I do have some news from young Harl. Verrarc and Raena will marry in three nights, when the moon turns from dark to the first sliver in the sky.’

‘It were time that he did make an honest woman of her,’ Lael said.

Kiel nodded his agreement. After their mid-day meal, the family was sitting at the long table in front of their hearth. Niffa realized that they were all looking at her. She got up and began picking up the empty wooden bowls and spoons.

‘Harl did say that Verrarc wished us to be there,’ Dera continued in a few moments.

‘I shan’t go!’ Niffa snapped.

She looked up to find the family still watching her. She carried the bowls to the washtub by the door and set them inside to wait until Kiel fetched water. Ever since Dallandra’s warnings, Niffa had been trying to watch her words about the councilman’s woman.

‘It’s not that I do blame Raena,’ she said at last. ‘To see a wedding — it would pierce my heart with grief.’

Dera’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh,’ Lael said. ‘Well, then, well let your mam and brother go to represent us, like, and I’ll be staying here with you.’

Niffa covered her face with both hands and wept. She heard her father getting up, felt his arm around her shoulder,

‘Here, lass, here,’ he murmured. ‘You have a good cry, like. I do ken how hard it be to believe this, but in time, the pain will heal up.’

‘I do hope you be right,’ Niffa sobbed. ‘I do hope so.’

On the day of Verrarc’s wedding, Kiel and Dera went off to the celebration. Niffa and Lael passed the time by working. Since the wicker rat traps and the cage to carry the ferrets wore out fast, Lael always kept a supply of withies and leather thongs on hand. That day Niffa set some of the withies to soak in the washtub whilst Lael inspected the traps and set the broken ones onto the table. The ferrets, of course, offered their version of help, capturing any thong that moved, chewing on the wet withies, knocking over the traps, and chasing each other around the table. Laughing at them, Niffa could for a little while feel happy.

Dera and Kiel came home laden with food — loaves of bread, dried apples, a big chunk of fresh roasted pork, a skin of mead, and an entire raw pork liver for the weasels — all bounty from Verrarc. After Niffa cleared off the mended traps, they laid the food on the table, but neither of them spoke until they’d finished.

‘He did pay a farmer to fatten up a hog.’ Kiel gestured at the chunk of roast meat. ‘So that the guests would have a proper meal.’

‘He be a generous man, Verrarc,’ Lael said. ‘Here, woman, what be so wrong with you?’

Niffa had expected Dera to come home chattering and happy after such an event, but in truth, her mother looked solemn enough for a funeral. Dera took off her cloak and hung it on a wall peg before she answered.

‘The wedding fire wouldn’t light,’ Dera said at last. ‘Young Artha tried and tried, but no matter how many sparks she did strike, the tinder, it did smoulder, but it did refuse to burn.’

Ye gods!’ Lael said. ‘Be they not married, then?’

‘Oh, they are,’ Kiel muttered. Verro, he’d not let the thing be stopped.’

‘It did light, you see,’ Dera added. ‘In the end. Harl did help Artha, and they did get the tinder burning in the end.’

Niffa caught her breath in an audible gasp.

 ‘Truly,’ Dera said, nodding her way. ‘It be a terrible, terrible omen. All this food? It were few of the guests who stayed for the feasting, so Verrarc, he did pile our arms high with it.’

‘Huh,’ Lael said. ‘Bad omens twice over. Nah, thrice, I’d say, and three times thrice at that.’

As winter turned toward spring, Evandar began to visit Cengarn and Dallandra more often. In back of the kitchen hut he’d spotted the herb garden, dead under the last of the snow, lying at some distance from any iron. Toward dawn on one frosty morning he sent her a dream, and once the sun rose, they met there, well out of sight of the main broch.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Dallandra said.

‘Indeed?’ Evandar said. What’s so wrong?’

‘I’m worried about Elessario. I’ve just spent a long night trying to get her to go to sleep so Carra could get some rest.’

‘Is she ill?’

‘No, but she will be if the baby keeps running her ragged.’

‘I meant Elessi.’

‘Ah. No, not at all.’ Dallandra hesitated for a moment, thinking. ‘But she’s not — she’s not quite right. I don’t know how to explain it, but while she looks like a normal infant, she’s not. Her mind works very differently.’

‘Like little Zandro?’

‘Who?’

‘My apologies. I forgot you wouldn’t know. Salamander’s youngest child. He’s one of Alshandra’s people, but born, I mean, into a human body now. His mother’s in despair over him.’

‘What? How could he -’

‘I’ve been thinking about that very thing. When we were scheming to get our magical child born, didn’t Alshandra the Hag try to stop us? She set her spies to watching and following Elessi everywhere she went. And then, when you were teaching the child what it might mean to be born into this world, didn’t you take her to Bardek? The spies obviously followed you.’

‘So they must have. I suppose it’s possible, that one of them got fascinated with the place and its people, but -’

‘Not fascinated with Bardek, my love. Fascinated with Salamander. Spirits swarm around him all the time. It’s like his soul is a lantern burning out on the astral, and they’re the moths.’

‘Oh.’ Dallandra considered this with a small frown. ‘Well, that would explain it, all right. Now, what about the rest of Alshandra’s pack? Have you taken them into yours yet?’

‘I have not, and I shan’t, either, the ugly little spawn! It’s bad enough that I’ve saddled myself with Shaetano’s creatures.’

‘But if you leave them running loose in the world, they’ll be working mischief.’

‘I don’t care. Let them fade away into naught!’

‘You can’t just -’

Evandar kissed her to silence her, then turned away with a laugh.

‘We’ll speak of these things later, my love. I’d best see to Salamander’s troubles.’

‘Come back here! We need to talk about this.’

Evandar walked over to the wall round the garden. In a shimmer of early light he could just see a link between the worlds.

‘Evandar!’ Dalla sounded furious. ‘You can’t leave those creatures to their own devices!’

With a smile in her direction, he sprang to the top of the wall and stepped through the link. Sure enough, one of the mother roads lay waiting. He walked onto it and followed a long shaft of sunlight south.

Although Evandar set out for Bardek, in a few moments he looked around him, saw pine-forested hills, and realized that he was heading north. He turned around and started to walk south again only to find himself circling back round, as if the road were moving under his feet. In the wind he heard a voice, whispering ‘danger, grave danger’ over and over again.

‘Should I go to Cerr Cawnen instead?’ he asked aloud.

The wind hissed out a yes.

‘Oh very well then!’

The road seemed to fly of its own accord, speeding him along. He stepped down onto the peak of Citadel, then picked his way through the boulders and down into the tunnel. If there were danger in this city, he was willing to wager that Raena was bringing it, but the ruined underground temple stood empty. Evandar hurried back out. He spread his arms wide, then took off running with a sudden leap into the air. He felt his wings grow as the wind caught them, and his body shrink and change,

With a chirp a sparrow flew over Citadel, banking into the cold wind. In this form he could search for Raena unnoticed. For some long while he hovered over the town and the lake, flying this way and that, perching on windowsills to peer in or listen. Finally he remembered Councilman Verrarc’s fine house near the crest of the hilt. When he settled on the outer wall of the compound, he found the councilman outside, bundled in a cloak and arguing with an old woman who stood in the doorway.

‘I be sick to my heart with worry,’ Verrarc was saying. ‘Not one soul in the town has seen her. I’ve asked everywhere.’

‘Huh, and where would she be going, anyway?’ the old woman said. ‘I’ve not seen her since last night.’

‘Ye gods. Ah ye gods!’

Where, indeed? Evandar thought to himself. Either to my lands or to Deverry, that’s where, and the one leads to the other!

With a flap of wings the sparrow leapt from the wall, but as he flew, circling higher, he transformed himself into the red hawk. On long wings he flew fast, heading to his country and the magical roads.

‘Those wards of yours must be powerful things,’ Rhodry said. ‘I’ve not dreamt of Raena in a long time now,’

‘Good,’ Dallandra said. ‘I set them fresh every night.’ She paused, glancing around the great hall. ‘Which reminds me. How long do you plan on being away from the dun?’

‘Just the short day. The prince is no fool, and we shan’t ride far.’ Rhodry followed her glance: sure enough, Daralanteriel was waving at him from the main door. ‘I’d best be gone.’

Out in the main ward the prince had assembled his hunting party. The men of his personal guard carried short curved bows and their shorter hunting arrows. Behind them stood a kennelman, surrounded by his pack of black and tan hounds, and a couple of servants with a pack mule to carry home their kill, though in truth they had little hope of finding game. During last summer’s seige the Horsekin invaders had overhunted the countryside.

‘I’ve told the men that they’re not to bring down any does or yearlings,’ Dar said. ‘We need to let the herds build up again. I’m hoping we can find a buck or two. The does should all be carrying fawns by now, and one male won’t be missed.’

‘It’ll be more meat than none,’ Rhodry said. ‘And it’ll get us out of Cengarn for an afternoon’s ride.’

Dar flashed him one of his brilliant smiles.

‘I hope I never have to come back to the stone tents again,’ Dar said. ‘The way they stink! But it’ll be spring soon, and we’ll be gone, and in the meantime, let’s ride!’

Despite the snow on the ground and the damp wind, the horses pranced and snorted, glad to be free of their stalls. The hounds raced this way and that, barking and sniffing the wind, tails wagging hard. As they left the dun, the men sang in elaborate elvcn harmonies, and on the streets of the town, the folk came to door and window to listen as they rode past. At the town gates they let the horses trot for a mile or so, then slowed them to a walk lest they sweat in the icy air. For some long while they rode north, leaving the settled farmlands behind, but the dogs raised nothing more than rabbits.

The sun had climbed to zenith when at long last the dogs flushed a deer, a button buck and thus no loss to its herd. With the dogs yapping behind, it came crashing through the sparse winter underbrush to fall dead from a few well-placed arrows. On the spot the servants butchered it, throwing the liver and other entrails to the half-starved pack.

‘It’s a good fat one,’ Rhodry said. Tin surprised.’

‘Don’t be,’ the kennelman said. The fewer the deer, the more winter fodder to go round, like.’

‘Well, true spoken.’

‘Save a bit of that liver, will you?’ Dar put in. ‘For my lady’s dog.’

They left the servants with the kill and rode out again. Since the gwerbret’s farmers cut this stretch of forest for fuel and timber, the trees thinned out to scrubby grassland. Snow lay thick in the hollows, but on the side of a hill the wind had scoured it away to expose dead grass and twiggy shrubs, a veritable banquet for deer. The kennelman called in the dogs and trotted with them on foot as they put nose to the ground and headed up the hill.

Rhodry saw the stag first, standing between two trees and watching. With a yap and a bay the dogs sighted it next and raced uphill. The stag leapt and ran, bounding across the hillside, heading up to the crest and forest cover. Rhodry yelled at the others to follow and kicked his horse forward. The stag was a fat one and pure white, an omen of good fortune as well as food. He was thinking of nothing but turning it back to the waiting archers when Dar’s voice reached him on the wind.

‘Come back! Don’t! Dweomer, Rhodry! Come back!’

Instinctively he slowed his horse and looked ahead. Tangled in the trees at the crest of the hill hung a pale lavender mist, shot through with opalescence. Like a gigantic wave from some unseen ocean it rose up, towering above him. With a yelp he jerked his horse’s head around so fast the poor beast stumbled. Rhodry kicked his feet out of the stirrups and threw himself clear as his horse went down, rolling. He scrambled up to see the horse, unhurt, doing the same. Around them the sunlight darkened. When he looked up, he saw the mist breaking like a wave and plunging down. He took one step back; then it hit, pouring over him with a blinding glitter of multi-coloured light.

By yelling curses and orders at the top of his lungs, Prince Daralanteriel managed to get all of his men, all of the dogs, and the kennelman down from the hillside and back to safety on the flat. Rhodry’s gelding, reins trailing from the bridle, trotted down to join them. The kennelman caught the reins and tossed them up to Dar.

‘It looks calm enough,’ Dar said. ‘It must not have been able to see - well, whatever that was.’

The archers nodded grimly. At the top of the hill the dweomer mist had vanished, except for a few scant shreds caught like tufts of wool on the trees, but for all he knew the wretched fog would reappear and devour them all.

Your highness!’ The kennelman was shaking so hard that he could barely speak. ‘What - by the gods - where’s the silver dagger?’

The elven archers were staring at him with the same question in their eyes. Dar merely shrugged and turned in the saddle to watch the torn mists. Melimaladar urged his horse up beside the prince’s.

‘That stag!’ Mel said, in Deverrian for the kennelman’s sake.

‘It wasn’t real,’ Dar said. ‘I’ve seen it before, last summer it was, just before the siege. I took some of my men out hunting, and the cursed stag led us too far away to get back that night.’ Dar’s voice tightened at the memory. ‘And then the Meradan caught us by our campfire.’

‘That’s where Farendar died?’

‘It is, and too many other good men.’ Dar rose in his stirrups and shaded his eyes with one hand. ‘It’s dissolving, that’s the last of it. Ah horseshit! We could ride around here all day and not find a trace or track of Rhodry!’

‘But we can’t just leave him here!’ Mel said.

‘He isn’t here for us to leave.’

Mel started to speak, then merely shuddered- As if to agree one of the dogs whined,

‘Well, what can we do?’ Mel said at last. ‘We can’t stay here all night. We’ll freeze.’

‘I know that,’ Dar snapped. ‘I - well, ah hy the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell! I don’t have one cursed idea of what we do next.’

‘Ye gods, I wish Dalla was here! She’d know.’

‘Wait! Maybe I can reach her.’

‘But it’ll take us a long time to ride back.’

‘I didn’t mean by riding.’ Dar shot him a dark glance. ‘Hear me out!’

‘I will. My apologies.’

Very well, then.’ Dar paused, thinking. You know my bloodlines as well as I do. But the princes of the Vale of Roses were supposed to have dweomer of their own, weren’t they? A kind of inborn thing that they passed on to their heirs. Well, I’ve got a touch of it. It was the same night I was just speaking off when the Meradan laid a trap for us. Jill came to me in a sort of vision or sending or somewhat like that. I don’t understand it, but I heard her and saw her, and she warned us about the trap. So hold your tongues, all of you. I’ve got some hard thinking to do.’

Dar glanced at the sky. Already the sun was hanging low in the cloudy west, sending streaks of gold across the sky like spears, aimed at their hearts. He would try to contact Dallandra, but then he would have to lead his men home to the warmth and safety of the dun, no matter how much it ached his heart to abandon Rhodry.

Dallandra was sitting in her tower room with one of Jill’s books open on the table in front of her. Her mind kept drifting from the particular passage she was reading, which in the event proved a fortunate thing. Out of a daydream she heard Daralanteriel’s voice, so clear and close that she turned round in her chair, expecting to see him standing in the doorway.

‘Dalla! We need help. Dalla, I hope you hear me!’ All at once a flock of Wildfolk swept into manifestation. Sprites hovered round her in the air, holding out translucent little hands. Warty grey gnomes mobbed her, grabbing her tunic’s hem, pulling on her sleeves,

‘What is this?’ Dallandra said. ‘Is the prince in danger?’

They shook their heads, but apparently someone was facing a threat. Some of the gnomes pantomimed the act of loosing arrows; others pretended to attack an invisible foe.

‘Who is it?’ Dallandra leapt to her feet. ‘Rhodry?’

This time they nodded yes.

‘Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him?’

They nodded and caught her hands. As she hurried to the window, she was thinking of Evandar, picturing him in her mind and calling out to him with her thoughts. No answer — she could only pray that he’d heard her. She pulled off her clothes, tossed them on the bed, then yanked the leather covering from the window in a cloud of dust and mildew. Icy wind slapped her and pushed past into the chamber. She ignored it and perched naked and shivering on the broad stone windowsill.’

In her mind she summoned her bird form, a thought picture only, but she’d trained her mind through long years of this working to make thoughts that had a reality of their own. In an instant she first imagined, then saw the construct perched beside her on the window sill. It was strangely featureless, a smooth grey creature with a song-bird’s beak and the general shape of a linnet. When she transferred her consciousness over, first she heard the usual rushy click; then she was aware of warmth. The linnet’s feathers kept off the cold a fair bit better than her elven skin could. She shook her wings and with a hop leapt into the air. The linnet could fly fast when she needed to. Dallandra winged her way north with the sprites to guide her.

When the dweomer mist cleared away, Rhodry found himself standing on a dusty plain under a copper-coloured sky. Overhead dark clouds churned and roiled; off at the horizon smoke billowed in front of an enormous sun, turned blood-red and swollen. He’d seen the place once before, during the last summer’s war, when Evandar’s magic had brought him here.

‘Evandar!’ Rhodry yelled it as loudly as he could. ‘Evandar! Are you here?’

Nothing but silence answered him. He realized that he was holding his silver dagger, though he couldn’t remember drawing it. Something about it struck him as odd, but when he examined the blade, it looked perfectly normal, except perhaps for the oily way the metal reflected the unnatural light. Finally he realized that the heft felt wrong, perhaps twice as heavy as it should have been. With a shrug, he heathed it and drew the bronze knife instead. The triangular wedge of the blade, bound into a cleft stick with thongs, caught the light and gleamed as bright as a candle-flame. He waved it in the air and saw long red sparks fly from the point.

‘Huh, you look a cursed sight more dangerous here than in my world. It’s a pity you’re not a spear. I’ve got an ugly feeling I’m going to need a dweomer weapon soon enough.’

In his hand the bronze knife suddenly twisted like a living thing. The wood stick turned slippery, or so it seemed, and sped through his fingers. With a yelp he nearly dropped it, caught it again in both hands, and by then he needed both hands. The knife had transformed itself into a spear about six feet long, made of solid wood. When he hefted his new weapon, the bronze point still flashed with red fire.

‘Well, then,’ Rhodry said aloud, ‘If I wish for a warband, will I get that too?’

He heard nothing but the wind, scouring dust over the coppery plain, and the spear stayed a single spear. Apparently he’d used all its dweomer. Clutching the spear, he turned around in a slow circle. Off in the direction of the perpetually setting sun, he saw a plume of what looked like dust. At first he thought it might merely be more smoke, but the plume grew taller, thicker - and faster, travelling straight for him. Slowly it resolved itself into a pair of riders, one on a black horse, the other on a blood bay. He had nowhere to hide and no speed to outrun them. He took the spear two-handed and held it ready across his body. The riders came closer, slowing to an easy walk, as if to tempt him to run.

‘Ah ye gods!’ Rhodry snarled. ‘I might have known.’

Raena rode up on a glossy blood bay gelding. She was wearing unusual men’s clothing, a shirt and tight brigga of rusty black cloth. Around her neck hung a leather thong bristling with talismans, which Rhodry recognized as Horsekin work. In her right hand she held a long black whip with a gold handle, much like the ones Horsekin officers carried as a mark of rank. Beside her on a black horse rode a creature that seemed more fox than man, though he was wearing black armour and held a black plumed helm tucked in his left arm. His pointed ears pricked like a fox’s, and his shiny black nose presided over a face covered with russet fur.

‘So, Rhodry Maelwaedd!’ Raena spoke in the rough border patois of Deverrian. ‘I’ve got you good and proper now!’

‘Maybe so,’ Rhodry said. ‘If you live to take me.’

Raena laughed and cracked her whip in the air. As if it heard the sound, the spear point flamed like a torch and hissed. Her horse flung up its head and danced backwards. Rhodry could see how hard it was for her to get it back under control, what with her holding both reins in one hand. She lashed the whip again.

‘And how long will you hold onto that bit of wood?’ Raena said. ‘I do wonder.’

Raena lifted her whip and snapped it right at his face. Rhodry flung up his spear in a parry. When the whip curled round the spear point, the braided thongs thrashed like a dying snake and hissed like one, too. With a scream Raena pulled it back, but a severed length of the lash fell, twitching, on the ground at her horse’s feet. The bay whickered and threatened to rear. With a muttered oath the fox rider drew his black sword.

‘Let him be!’ Raena snarled. ‘He’s mine!’

The fox rider ignored her and spurred his horse forward. Rhodry had just time to jump to one side and swing the spear at his horse’s head. The black whickered and fought the bit, but the fox rider wrenched its head around hard. Rhodry swung and smacked the black across the nose. A calculated risk - the fox rider’s sword was slashing down, straight at him, but the horse squealed and reared, its forelegs pawing the air, and the rider’s stroke missed. Cursing a steady stream, Raena was trying to force her horse toward Rhodry, but it too balked and tossed its head so violently she nearly lost the reins.

Rhodry howled out a berserker cry and rushed straight for the blood bay, He could hear the fox-man yelling something incomprehensible at Raena, who was trying to lash the whip with one hand whilst hanging onto the reins with the other. When her gelding saw the flaming spear heading straight for its eyes, it reared, came down hard, and kicked out. Raena tumbled inelegantly over its neck into the dirt. With one last whicker of panic, the horse bolted, galloping off toward the perpetual sunset.

Hooves sounded behind him - Rhodry spun round just in time to parry a sword slash as the fox rider charged him. The spear point slid off the sword blade as if by its own will. Rhodry snapped his wrists and swung the spear behind the fox-man’s futile slash. The blazing bronze point smacked the fox rider’s back — a glancing touch that should have done no harm, but the black armour shattered with a sizzle like burning fat. With a clumsy back-hand swing Rhodry brought the spear back round as the fox-man struggled to turn his horse. Another clumsy strike with his spear - this time it glanced off his enemy’s black greave. Red fire shot out. The greave broke in half with a puff of black smoke and the stink of burning fur. The fox-man screamed in agony and spurred his horse hard. The horse leapt forward, and they galloped away, right past Rhodry and over the plain.

Rhodry howled in berserk laughter, so lost to the world that Raena nearly caught him. She’d got to her feet, and with a curse she lashed out with her whip. The tip seared down his back, but the pain only made him laugh the harder as he swung to face her. The black braid flashed down; he flung up the spear and twisted, caught the whip and pulled. The spear point burned through the leather and let her pull what little was left of the lash free.

‘Lord Havoc!’ she cried out. ‘Come back!’

She turned her head to look for the fleeing fox-rider, just for an instant, but an instant was all Rhodry needed. He jumped forward and stabbed with a heft of the spear. The blade struck her flat between the breasts and flamed. With a scream of agony she dropped the whip and staggered back.

‘So, you slut of a whoring bitch,’ Rhodry said. Who’s got who good and proper now?’

She flung her arms into the air and jumped, a gesture that caught him so much by surprise that he stared, paralysed. With a shriek that turned hoarse in mid-cry, an enormous raven flapped into the air and flew, circling round him once with one more cry of contempt. He stood open-mouthed and watched as the bird flew away in the general direction of the fox rider.

‘By the black hairy arse of the Lord of Hell!’ Rhodry muttered.

On the ground lay the remains of her black whip. Rather than touch it without knowing what it might do to his hands, he slid the spear point under it, meaning to pick it up, but the handle bubbled like bitumen in a pit and melted into a puff of ill-smelling smoke. Raena wouldn’t be using that weapon again.

‘That’s all very well,’ Rhodry said aloud. ‘But how by all the ice in the hells do I get back homer?’

When he looked up into the sky, he swore aloud. Unnaturally large birds were flying straight for him, a pair of them this time. Apparently Raena and her strange ally had come back for more. He let his knees bend and crouched, waiting, spear held in front of him, as they flew closer and closer. But they proved to be no ravens – he could recognize a red hawk. The other was some strange grey bird that reminded him of a linnet.

‘There he is!’ The linnet sang out with Dallandra’s voice. ‘Thank every god in the stars!’

Rhodry laughed and waved the spear in greeting. The linnet dipped her wing, then turned with a graceful flap and headed after the raven. The hawk slowed, circled, and dropped down. As it sank it changed, shimmering with blue light as feather smoothed into flesh. For a moment Rhodry saw Evandar hovering naked in mid-air buoyed up by huge wings. With one last flap Evandar’s feet hit the ground; the wings disappeared into arms. Dressed in his usual elven tunic and trousers Evandar stood before him.

‘My apologies,’ Evandar said. ‘We tried to find you before Raena did, but you seem to have dealt with her easily enough.’

‘It was luck, mostly,’ Rhodry said. ‘She didn’t have a battle-steady horse, and then this spear - it started life as the bronze knife you gave me, all those years ago.’

‘Spear or knife - it doesn’t matter to the thing. It will become one or the other as you wish.’

‘Handy of it. Neither Raena or her vulpine friend liked the taste of the point, especially when it caught fire.’

‘Shaetano was here?’

‘Who? This fellow looked more like a fox than a man, and she called him Lord Havoc.’

‘Shaetano it was, then. My brother.’

‘And here I thought Rhys Maelwaedd was nuisance enough as a brother! Can we get back to the real world?’

‘What makes you think this world isn’t as real as yours?’

‘My apologies, then, but it’s not as cosy, is it now?’

Evandar laughed. ‘I’ll grant you that. We’ll leave it behind, then.’

‘How? I can’t fly like you can, and I left my horse behind somewhere.’

‘Dar’s got your horse. Dalla and I flew over him and his men on our way here. I’ll call us up a pair of mounts, and we’ll ride back in style.’

‘Splendid! And whilst we’re riding, I’d like an explanation, thank you very much, of what all this cursed dweomer means.’

With the long sight of the magical linnet, Dallandra had seen Rhodry strike Raena with the dweomer spear. While normally the raven could outfly her, she was counting on that wound to slow her quarry down. Sure enough, she’d not gone far before she saw the raven flying low to the ground on wings that trembled and beat an unsteady rhythm. Although Raena was heading toward the forest that marked the boundary of Evandar’s Lands, she was tiring too badly to reach it. The trees were still a dark swell on the horizon when the raven screeched once, then settled to the dusty earth.

In human form Raena appeared, staggering as she walked a few steps toward a flat grey boulder, lying half-buried in the earth. In a near-faint she flopped down upon it. Dallandra circled overhead, then landed not far from the boulder. She transformed her image into her usual elven body, complete with clothing, an easy job here on the astral plane. Raena saw her, started to rise, then sank back onto the stone.

‘Lord Havoc!’ Raena threw back her head and howled the name. ‘Lord Havoc! Come back!’

As Dallandra walked over, she noticed Raena’s eyes, studying her in a glitter of malice. The raven was perhaps not as spent as she chose to look. She stopped a safe distance away.

‘Lprd Havoc’s deserted you,’ Dallandra said. ‘He’s a coward.’

“Indeed? Think you I know that not? He be so, but of use to me and my holy lady all the same.’

Dallandra started to answer, thought better of it. For a long moment they considered each other in silence.

‘Here!’ Raena said abruptly. ‘I do know you. You be the elven witch that stands guard over the cursed silver dagger.’

‘The very one. It was a foolish thing you did here today. Rhodry could have killed you, you know.’

‘That I do see and most clear, like. What does move you to warn me so?’

‘I’m not really sure. I feel sorry for you, mayhap.’

‘Oh, do you now?’ Raena tossed her head like a startled horse. ‘And why?’

‘Because you’ve been duped by lying spirits. They’re not gods, Raena, not Shaetano, not Alshandra either. When they claim to be gods, they —’

‘Blaspheme you not my Lady’s name!’ Raena rose to her feet. ‘Or I’ll scratch your eyes out,’

“Your “lady” is dead.’

‘Not! She liveth still and someday will come to us again, no matter how you ply your foul false magics.’

‘The matter’s not in my hands.’

‘At last you speak a true thing. She will return when she chooses, and she alone will choose. The Horsekin did prove themselves cowards, and so she hid herself from them. When they prove worthy, then will she reappear in all her glory. And I did fail her in the holy charge she laid upon me, and so I be no better than they, and no more worthy of her.’

You don’t understand. She’s gone. Well and truly gone.’

‘Not! I say to you, not!’ Raena shook her head in fury. ‘Someday she will lead us to our heritage, that which she did promise us.’

“The Slavers’ country?’

‘Just that. And at her return, neither you nor any other mortal shall stand against her. She be not dead but withdrawn from this world.’

She’s gone mad! Dallandra thought to herself. But she’s the more dangerous for it, no doubt.

‘Listen to me, please!’ Dallandra said aloud. ‘If you keep using dweomer this way, it’ll cause you great harm. You don’t know how to use the power Shaetano gives you. He’s leading you to your ruin.’

‘I’ll not hear this no more, elven witch.’

Abruptly Raena turned and ran, dodging round the boulder and heading toward the forest. Although Dalla took out after her, panic lent her quarry speed. Raena took one last step, then disappeared as suddenly as if she’d run through an invisible door and slammed it behind her.

‘Ah ye gods!’ Dallandra said. ‘Well, at least I tried to warn her. On her own head be it!’

She stepped up onto the boulder and transformed herself back to the linnet. With a mournful cry she leapt into the air and flew off, heading for Dun Cengarn and Rhodry.

For three days and on into a fourth Raena stayed missing. With some of the militiamen Verrarc hunted for her in the farmlands surrounding Cerr Cawnen, but no one had seen her, and they found no tracks. He searched all through the city as well; again, he discovered no trace. At night he would lie awake, alone in their bed, and curse her for shaming him so. Although no one said a mean thing to his face, he knew perfectly well that behind his back the gossip was flying like the feathers when a farmer slaughters chickens.

Finally, on the fourth afternoon Verrarc went into the ruins of the temple and tried to invoke Lord Havoc; no one answered or came. He stood in the dark room and wept with both hands over his face, as if he could shove his sobs back into his throat. The sun was setting by the time he left the temple ruins. He stood for a moment at the peak of Citadel and watched the night, gathering storm clouds to cover the stars. If it snowed, and Raena were out somewhere in the countryside — he couldn’t finish the thought. Far below the lake steamed around its rocks. For a moment he considered throwing himself to his death; then he shook the evil thought away and headed downhill to his compound.

When he came in, Korla was laying more tinder on the fire in the hearth. She looked up and made a grunting sound that did for a welcome, then went back to her work. Verrarc hung his cloak up near the fire to dry, then walked into his bedchamber to take off his boots. Raena was lying naked on the bed, sprawled on her back. For a moment he could only stare gape-mouthed. With a little moan she raised her head, then fell back against the pillow.

‘Ah ye gods!’ Verrarc rushed over and sat down beside her. When he laid a hand along her cheek, he found it cold and a little damp. He could hear her breath wheezing and gurgling in her chest.

‘Oh my love!’ He was stammering through tears. ‘What befell you? Where have you been?’

Raena opened her eyes and tried to speak, then fainted. Yelling for Korla, Verrarc went to the hearth and began laying a fire. The old woman came shuffling in, saw Raena, and screamed.

‘Witchcraft!’ Korla hissed. ‘How did she get in here?’

‘I know not and I care not,’ Verrarc snapped. ‘Bring me some fire from the other hearth! Then send Harl to town to fetch the herbwoman!’

All that day Gwira fussed over her patient. She made Raena breathe steam from simmering herb water, made her drink decoctions of some green muck, mixed up still a third preparation to form into a poultice for her chest. Raena coughed and moaned, swore and spat up great lumps of greenish rheum, then lapsed into sleep whenever Gwira allowed her. While the herbwoman worked, Verrarc paced back and forth in the great room by the fire. He was remembering another visit of Gwira’s to this house, when his mother lay dying from her husband’s brutality. Gwira had seemed old as the moon then, too. Korla had taken him out of the house down to the lake to distract him, a little lad then — how old? He could not remember, and it didn’t matter. Korla he remembered as being still vigorous, a stout woman with grey hair and a ready smile.

‘Councilman?’ Gwira spoke from behind him.

Verrarc spun around, his heart hammering in sudden fear.

‘I do think me she’ll live,’ Gwira went on, ‘be I able to keep her chest clear.’

‘My thanks to every god!’

‘Ah, but no easy hopes, lad! There be a need on us for caution. This be no light chill, cast off with a few sneezes. It will take many a day of physicking to get her well.’

‘Do whatever you can, and I’ll reward you twice.’

‘Hush, lad! The matter may be out of my hands. I do think you’d best send Harl for Werda again. The evil spirits, they did carry her off, or so I’d think. Werda, she will ken the truth of that.’

Later that evening Verrarc was allowed to see Raena, tucked up in bed with a mound of pillows under her. He pulled up a chair and caught her hand between both of his, kissed her fingers, and held her hand just for the comfort of her living touch. She sighed and turned her head to smile at him.

‘What befell you?’ Verrarc said. ‘Where did you go?’

‘None of your affair.’ Her voice was the barest whisper,

‘Well, ye gods, worry’s half-eaten my soul! There be a want on me to know where you went.’

She turned her head away and closed her eyes. Verrarc laid her hand gently down on the blankets, then sat back in his chair and considered her. Now that she was safe, he could realize just how furious he was. Evil spirits! he thought. Not by half! Did she have another man somewhere? He was sick to his guts of her disappearing on him! When she’s well, he told himself, then will I have the truth of this! If she’ll not tell me, then I’ll - Well, and just what would you do? he asked himself. Throw her out? Lose her forever?

He sobbed once, then choked back tears. The shame of the thing, he knew, was eating him far more than his fear of losing her.

Evandar returned to his own true country to find that winter had won the battle with its artificial summer yet once again. In his absence the snow had stayed gone, but a freezing wind had brought ice to replace it. He swore aloud in rage and stood on the hill to survey the damage. Every tree glistened in the cold sun, each branch and twig hung sheathed in silver ice. The reeds along the river bank glittered as sharp as spear points. When he walked down the hill, the grass crunched and crackled under his feet. He looked back to see his footsteps, black marks on a silver carpet.

Near the riverbank his people huddled in the tattered pavilion. Men and women alike had wrapped themselves in cloaks and cloths and every bit of stuff that might warm them. When Evandar strode up, Menw rose and ran to meet him.

‘The ice, my lord,’ Menw said. ‘It cuts and stings.’

His people moaned and stretched out pale hands. When he’d been making the illusions of the bodies they wore, Evandar had modelled them upon the elves, tall and slender with pale skin, though some of the folk had chosen richly dark skins like those that humans wore in Bardek. He’d given them the illusions of clothing, too, long dresses for the women, tunics for the men, but now everyone had wrapped themselves in their heavy cloaks; they clung together against the cold.

‘My lord!’ they cried out. ‘Bring back the spring!’

‘And if I do, how long will it endure?’ Evandar said.

Everyone began talking at once while he listened, aware only of their pain, not of the meaning of the words, with his rage troubling his mind. What could he do? No matter how often he restored the spring, the moment he left, this wretched winter would sneak in behind him and take over again. Yet how could he stay on guard? Rhodry, Dallandra, all his schemes in the physical world — they demanded him as well. He snarled aloud like a wolf. Menw jumped back.

‘Have we offended you, my lord?’

‘Nah nah nah, and my apologies. I don’t know what to do, that’s all.’

Everyone gasped, staring at him. Never before had they seen him thwarted like this. And what will happen to them once I’m gone? he thought.

Apparently the winter had laid ice all through the Lands, because he suddenly heard distant horns. With Menw right behind him Evandar ran out of the pavilion. The rest of his folk hurried after and stood blinking in the ice-bright sun. Across the glittering meadow another army came riding, waving bits of white cloth to signal peace and surrender.

“The Unseelie Host, it is!’ Evandar said. ‘Shaetano’s pack!’

‘No, my lord,’ Menw said. They’re your vassals now.’

‘Just so. I’d forgotten.’

The riders were both male and female, dressed in black armour made of enamelled copper. Long ago Shaetano had made them clumsy bodies, a mix of beast and human, some furred and snouted like Westlands bears, others sporting glittery little eyes and warty flesh like a Bardek crocodile. A few of the riders seemed almost human until they raised a paw, not a hand, in salute; others were like great wolves, running behind the horses. A fair number seemed stitched together from three or four creatures - the head of a boar with human hands and a dog’s tail, perhaps, or dwarven torsos on animal legs, human heads, cat heads, dog faces, braided manes, like the Horsekin, dwarven hands, elven hands, ears like mules, hair striped like tigers or stippled like leopards.

At their head, carrying a herald’s staff wound round with ribands, rode an old man, a hunchback, his face all swollen and pouched, his skin hanging in great folds of warty flesh round his neck.

‘My lord Evandar!’ the herald cried out. ‘We’ve come to beg your aid! Our Lands are cold, and we hunger as well. Please, take us in to your feast!’

‘Come and be welcome,’ Evandar said. ‘Dismount, all of you, and we’ll go to the pavilion.’

His people screamed and swore; they drew back, they wrapped their cloaks tight around them as they shrank away from the pack. They all began to shout insults, most of which amounted to ‘They’re too ugly, don’t let them near us!’ The old herald and all his followers began to weep in a cacophony of moans and wails. At that moment Evandar saw what he must do, the only thing he could do, truly.

‘Peace!’ Evandar raised both hands. ‘Hear me out!’

Slowly both Hosts fell silent.

‘A long while ago,’ Evandar said, ‘I promised you and yours a reward, good herald. New bodies, bodies fair and true - do you remember?’

‘We do, my lord,’ the herald said. ‘And we long for them.’

Very well, but there’s only one way that I can do what I promised, and only one place I can do it in.’ He turned to the Seelie Host. ‘If we go there, you’ll be free of this sorcerous winter. Will you all follow me?’

Unseelie and Seelie Host both joined together in a wordless shout of joy. Evandar spread his hands and looked at them — it seemed to him that his fingers should wear gloves of ice, he felt so cold in his heart. The Hosts fell silent and waited, watching him.

‘It’s time for you all to follow Elessario,’ Evandar called out. ‘Time to be born in the world of Time.’

They shouted again, but this time he heard fear sing amidst the rejoicing.

‘And what of you, my lord?’ Menw said.

‘I shall stay here and make you a safe place in that world.’

‘And then will you follow?’

‘Of course.’ The lie came easily. ‘Once everything is ready, I’ll follow.’

The two Hosts cheered him for a third time.

On his golden stallion Evandar led his people in one last circuit of the Lands, the long green meadows, the twisted ancient forest, the ruins of palaces, the dead cities of forgotten kings. As they rode their circle it seemed that the Lands changed under them and above them. The sky turned silver with mist; then the mist turned to a sullen purple, streaked here and there with violet light. The trees and the ice disappeared, and they rode through fields of purple flowers. When they returned to where the river should have been, it had disappeared. Evandar called for the halt and the dismount. As soon as they stood upon ground, their horses vanished.

‘Follow me!’ Evandar called out. ‘It’s not far.’

Evandar led them through a field of white flowers, nodding in a light the colour of silver but tinged with violet. On the far side of the flower meadow lay a river of shifting mists, not quite water, not quite air. Overhead a huge violet moon hung in an indigo sky, but no stars shone. Behind him the chattering Hosts fell silent. When he glanced back, he found them all still following, their heads turning this way and that as they stared at the marvels. He stopped on the riverbank and turned to face them.

‘To this place,’ Evandar said, ‘did Dallandra bring me and Elessario, when it was her time to go down to the world of Time and be born. Now it’s the gate through which you must pass. You must wade through the river and walk into that mist.’

‘I see, my lord.’ Menw’s voice trembled.

When Evandar looked at him, he found his lieutenant standing naked, his slender body as white as alabaster and. as translucent. The rest of the souls who followed him had become the same: pale, shimmering, and stripped of the false features he had given them.

His brother’s pack had lost their fur and fangs, transformed their snouts and paws; they stood straight and laughed in joy at the new images of themselves. The old herald - a stately and white-haired envoy now, came forward to speak for them all.

‘Our thanks! You have given us what you promised us, so long ago.’

But Evandar knew that he himself had done nothing. He felt the wind pick up, a cold wind that slapped at him in a flood and surge of raw power. Through the meadow beings were coming, all clothed in golden light, huge and towering above the mists and death-pale flowers. Were they human? He could not tell in the glow of their coming. One raised a hand; they had no need of words.

‘To the river!’ Evandar called to his people. ‘Into the river and beyond!’

For the last time the Hosts obeyed him. It seemed they flew, rising above the flowers and swirling like dead leaves caught in the rising wind. The Great Ones flew with them in a huge waft of golden light that washed over them, swirled them around one last time, and carried them into the mist on the far side of the white river. Three enormous knocks like thunder boomed over the meadow. Without thinking Evandar sank to his knees and flung up his arms.

For a moment the river mist shone in a burst of gold; then slowly the colour faded away. The white river ran once more under the white mist. The white flowers trembled once, then held still. Evandar rose and turned to see one last figure walking toward him: a human being with dark skin and curly white hair, dressed in a coarse brown robe and carrying an apple in one hand and a knife in the other.

“You’re here?’ Evandar said to him.

‘I am.’ The old man paused to cut off a slice of apple. ‘I turn up in the most cursed strange places, don’t I?’ He handed Evandar the slice. “You’ve done splendidly.’

‘Have I?’ Evandar put the slice in his mouth and found it tasted wonderfully sweet, far better even than the mead from his own stores.

‘Just so: splendidly well. What about you, now?’

Evandar merely looked at him.

‘A while back we traded questions,’ the old man said. ‘And I laid up a few in store. You owe me some answers.’

‘So I do, good sir. Well then, here’s one of them. I have too much work afoot in the world of Time to follow my people.’

‘Work can always be jobbed out. Do you want to go across?’

‘I don’t! Never shall I be born in the world of slime and blood and decay! Better to fade away than that!’

‘Ah.’ The old man considered him for a moment. ‘You know, I wonder if you could be born, even if you wanted to. I doubt it.’

“What do you mean?’

‘You’re a man of great power. Look at you, still whole and dressed all fancy, even here in this place.’

Evandar glanced down to see his familiar green tunic and buckskin leggings.

“The mists usually dissolve such things clean away,’ the old man went on. “You’re a marvel, you are, but I’ll wager there’s one thing you’re too weak to do. No doubt you could never strip yourself of enough power to cross that river.’

‘Indeed:’ Evandar heard his voice snarl. ‘Well, then, it’s a good thing I don’t want to, isn’t it now?’

‘It is at that.’ The old man was smiling at him. ‘But if you’re ever of a mind to, we could meet here and lay a wager on it.’

‘If I ever have time to, we could at that. Not, of course, that I want to do any such thing. Be born, I mean.’

‘Of course.’

For a moment they considered each other; then the old man turned away; Evandar suspected him of hiding a smile.

‘Well, a good day to you, then. I’d best be getting back.’

Without another word he strolled off. Evandar glowered after him, then strode off in the opposite direction to head for the mothers of all roads and home.

When he returned to his country, he found it white, wrapped in a silence of snow. For a long time he stood on the hill top and looked, merely looked, at the ruin of what he’d created, the garden dead, the long meadows wrapped in frost, the river frozen and still. Although he knew he should be gone hunting his brother down, he had no heart for it.

And while Evandar mourned the death and birth of his people, Time passed in the world of men and elves below.

On her mother’s bed, Elessi lay face down, trying to turn herself over. She floundered, rocked back and forth, tipped her head back and glared as she beat at the blanket with one chubby hand. All at once she let out a high, thin wail; her face reddened, and the wail turned to a howl of sheer rage. Screaming, she arched her back and swayed so hard that she turned herself over, but she lay waving her arms and legs and screeching at the top of her lungs. Carra perched on the edge of the bed and smiled at her daughter.

‘You did it!’ Carra said. ‘You did it! Look, look! You’re on your back!’

Elessi ignored her and went on screaming until Carra picked her up and cradled her against one shoulder. In her mothers arms she fell silent, then grabbed a strand of Carra’s hair in one fist. She sucked on the golden strand while Carra murmured to her and rocked back and forth. Dallandra and Lady Ocradda, standing nearby at the foot of the bed, exchanged glances.

‘Oh you can say it,’ Carra snapped. ‘She’s got an awful temper. I know it better than you do.’

‘I’m sure you do, your highness,’ Ocradda said.

‘She absolutely hates to be thwarted. If she can’t have somewhat she wants the very moment she wants it, she screams like this and carries on so. I’ve not been around many babies. Is she all right, do you think?’

‘Well, my dear princess,’ Ocradda said, smiling. ‘She’s a bit young to learn patience.’

Dallandra nodded her agreement, but she was remembering the things Evandar had been telling her about Salamander’s little son. She was seeing a hideous similarity between him and Elessi — the utter frustrations of a soul to whom everything in the world was first-time new.

For some days, in fact, she’d been trying to reach Evandar, both by forming images of him in her mind and, when that failed, sending the Wildfolk in search of him. Finally, on a morning when the sunlight actually felt warm, and the snow lay thin and streaky, he appeared, meeting her in the copse on Market Hill. He seemed dreadfully thin to her, that morning, and so pale that the sour cherry colour of his lips flamed scarlet. Without thinking she laid a hand along his face, which felt as cool and silky as always.

‘What are you doing?’ Evandar said.

‘I thought you might be feverish or suchlike, that’s all. Have you been ill? Or is that a silly question for the likes of you?’

‘I don’t know if it is or not. I’ve done some strange things since last we met.’

‘Indeed? What?’

‘I learned that I’m not the master of my own Lands, for one, and an evil thing that was — though a good did come out of it.’

‘Indeed? What do you mean, or is this one of your tedious riddles?’

‘It’s not. But it was just a little thing. Perhaps you’d not be interested.’

‘Evandar, please don’t tease me!’

All at once he laughed aloud.

‘It’s come true, your wish for my people.’ He was grinning at her. They’ve crossed the white river. They chose life, and I gave it to them.’

Dallandra let her hand drop and stared at him like a lackwit. His smiled faded, and he cocked his head to one side.

‘Aren’t you pleased?’

‘Of course.’ She found her voice at last. You just took me utterly by surprise. That’s wonderful, my love. I’m so happy for them! And I’m so proud of you.’

His smile returned in force, and he strutted a little, walking back and forth through the dirty snow. Dallandra heard her own thoughts as a distant rumble of thunder; why now? Why, just when she’d realized that all her scheming to get these souls born might be dangerous to them and those around them, why now had he finally done what she’d been begging him to do for four hundred years? But what else was there to be done?

‘They have their birthright at last,’ she said aloud. They ride the wheel of Time now.’

‘And they’ll not fade away when they die?’

‘Never. They’ll have life again and again, round and round. But what of you, my love? Won’t you -’

‘Hush!’ He held up one hand flat for silence. ‘I’ll not discuss it any more.’

Dallandra set her hands on her hips and glared at him, while he considered her with all traces of feeling stripped from his face. All at once it seemed to her that someone was standing behind her. She spun round to find no one there, but the feeling of a presence remained.

‘Is Shaetano nearby?’ she said.

‘What? He isn’t, no. I always know when he’s around.’

‘But someone’s watching us.’

From high up in a leafless tree she heard a faint wail, a ghost of a cry rather than a real sound. She glanced up and saw, clinging to the branches, a withered little creature with a face like bark and hands like twigs. With huge dark eyes it stared at her, then vanished.

‘One of Alshandra’s pack,’ Evandar said. ‘Naught more. There’s nothing there to worry us.’

‘Isn’t there? I gather you left them behind.’

‘Quite right. They’re too ugly to bother with.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘Oh now here! You’re not expecting me to help them, are you?’

I’m not expecting you to do anything.’ All at once Dallandra felt profoundly tired. ‘No doubt I’d best just try to do it myself.’

With a toss of her long hair she strode off, fuming. What had she expected, she asked herself? Some glorious moment of victory, she supposed, when she could look back at all her efforts to give Evandar’s people life and think how worthwhile the trouble had been. Somehow in her fancy for this moment there had been an admiring crowd, too, all marvelling at what she’d done. Instead, she had a flawed triumph, an irritating success, and not one shred of honest gloating to enjoy.

‘Ah well,’ she muttered. “That’s what life is like, here beneath the moon! Why am I even surprised?’

And then and only then did she hear, in some deep recess of her soul, an echo of those three great knocks and know that the Great Ones were pleased. She burst out laughing and strode off to the dun, smiling to herself. Trouble there would be, no doubt, for those souls so suddenly brought into life, but she would deal with it when it happened and not worry herself till then.

Although she eventually recovered, Raena’s illness — a deep rheum of the chest, a fever that burned in her face - lasted weeks. In the boredom of winter, Cerr Cawnen gossiped endlessly. Why had she been out, wandering round in the snows? Some said that Verrarc’s new wife probably had some other man; after all, a woman who’d betray one man would doubtless cheat on the next. Others whispered of things more sinister, black witchcraft and evil spirits. The spirits had come to Raena twice now, had they not? And why would they do such a thing unless she were attracting them?

Niffa, of course, knew perfectly well that the latter tale was the true one, but she refused to cause her mother grief by telling that truth.

Dera, in her loyalty to Councilman Verrarc, had decided that the third theory going round was the correct one, that Raena was subject to sudden fits of madness and thus deserved pity, not censure.

‘She never had a child, poor thing,’ Dera would say. ‘And truly, it be not likely now that she will. It must have been preying on her mind, like, her just married and all.’

Niffa would hold her tongue and smile, but in her heart she hated Raena as much as ever, even though she knew now that the woman hadn’t killed Demet herself. She would wonder, though, in softer moments, just where her hatred sprang from. Little could she know that this poisoned tree had its roots back in a time when the evil dweomers Raena worked had had grave consequences, destroying lives and threatening the entire kingdom of Deverry long after the actual death of the body and the personality she’d then worn. And to Niffa, her daughter in that life, had fallen the ill-omened task of setting right her wrongs.