It was almost dawn, and Ravenna could pick her way through the deserted Isembaardian camp easily enough in the faint light. There was food aplenty here, and blankets and gear: enough to keep her fed and warm for months if not years.

She suffered terribly from Ishbel’s curses. Not only had Ishbel cut Ravenna’s unborn son from his rightful inheritance to Elcho Falling, and Ravenna from her powers as a marsh witch, Ishbel had cut Ravenna entirely from the aid and succour of any person left on this world.

No man, no people, and no country shall ever love or offer you safe harbour again, Ravenna, Ishbel had said. Go now from this tent and from this land. Go and bear your child in agony and sorrow, and weep that you have so thoughtlessly murdered those who loved you.

When Ishbel uttered that curse in Armat’s tent, Ravenna had struggled, but had been unable to resist the curse’s urging. She’d half stumbled, half crawled from the tent and into the night. For that night and much of the next day she had walked aimlessly, wandering hither and thither, one hand constantly moving protectively over her pregnant belly. The few people she’d come across — some Outlanders driving a flock of sheep south — had avoided her, even though she had called to them most piteously.

Ishbel’s curse: no one might aid her. She was an outcast, completely and forever.

Thus Ravenna had wandered, but, halfway through the day, she had become aware that all was not well at Elcho Falling. In fact, all was very bad at Elcho Falling. She was too far distant to understand precisely what was happening, but she could feel it. Her powers as marsh witch might be gone, but not those powers of common sense and intuition.

Something was happening at Elcho Falling.

Ravenna hoped Maximilian and Ishbel were being slowly stripped of all their flesh by crows of gigantic magnitude. Her hatred of the pair of them had festered over the past day into something so frightful that had Ravenna still enjoyed her powers, Ravenna was certain she would have cursed them both into the Land of Nightmares.

For several more hours Ravenna had wandered, her sense of something happening at Elcho Falling growing stronger and stronger, and finally she had started back toward the citadel, her feet dragging through mud and slush, the hem of her skirts stained and sodden, her flesh shivering in the chill, her hair hanging unkempt about her face.

Ishbel’s curse should rightfully have kept her away, but Ravenna gritted her teeth and ignored the nauseous feeling that grew stronger the closer she drew to Elcho Falling.

She would find out what was happening.

There might be an opportunity awaiting her.

So she slogged onward, one foot in front of the other, until she stopped in the late afternoon, gazing open-mouthed at the scene.

Isembaardian soldiers fleeing across the causeway into Elcho Falling, under attack from Lealfast fighters in the air.

Ravenna stood and watched for hours, arms hugged about herself, until that moment when Maximilian came out and worked his magic to ensure the last of the Isembaardians (and Ishbel, the bitch) managed to escape into Elcho Falling.

She watched as the Lealfast veered away in frustration, watched as the archway into Elcho Falling clanged closed, watched until late in the night when there was nothing left to watch any more, save the cold wind rippling over the waters surrounding Elcho Falling.

Then she moved into the deserted camp.

If there had been a soul left in it Ravenna did not think the curse would have allowed her to stay. She had pushed it too far already and was feeling a terrible urge to move away, move out of this land to wander, wander, wander. but for the time being she resisted as well as she could and scrabbled about the abandoned campsite for food and warmth. She even managed a few hours of fitful sleep, curled up in a ball under a pile of blankets in the corner of a tent.

The tent stank of men and armour, but she hadn’t cared. Ravenna was supremely grateful for just those few hours of snatched sleep — grateful because she shouldn’t have been able to settle, the curse should have driven her away. If she could resist the curse this much . . . then might she not eventually be able to break it completely?

Where there was even the smallest resistance, there was hope.

Hope for revenge.

At dawn Ravenna rose and started to scavenge anew, trying to find something she could use as a sled to drag behind her. Then she could haul away as much in the way of supplies as she could manage.

She was investigating a pile of abandoned horse gear, so engrossed in turning aside the heavy leather harness and horse collars that she failed to realise for a long moment the presence of someone standing behind her.

When finally she did, Ravenna spun around so precipitously she fell backward in an inelegant heap on the pile of tangled harness.

“Such a fall from grace, Ravenna,” Eleanon said, “although I remember when first I met you that Ishbel had the better of you then, too. It comes as little surprise to me that you find yourself here now, a beggar among the remnants of Isembaard’s pride.”

Ravenna stared at the beautiful birdman, hating him for what he’d said and for his beauty and because now Ravenna reflexively hated anything that lived.

The entire world was hateful to her.

“What do you out here,” she said. “I’d thought you inside, closeted tight with your lord and master.”

Eleanon waved a hand airily. “You will have noticed the small altercation here yesterday, yes?”

Ravenna gave a nod.

Eleanon squatted down so he could stare Ravenna directly in the face. He radiated threat, and she shrank further into the tangled harness.

“I no longer work Maximilian’s will, Ravenna, but mine only.” Now Eleanon’s hand moved directly in front of Ravenna’s face, and she flinched.

But Eleanon did not touch her. Instead Ravenna found herself staring as if through a window at a blue-green glass pyramid, gleaming in a cloudless sky. As she watched, a beam of light shone from the golden capstone at the very summit of the pyramid, directly toward the sun. Higher and higher climbed this beam of light, until Ravenna gasped.

The light struck the sun, and obliterated it.

“Hark the power of Infinity,” Eleanon whispered, and he clicked his fingers, and the vision vanished. “That power is mine now.”

“How so?”

“The One shared Infinity with the Lealfast.”

“For what price?”

Eleanon laughed. “The price is of no matter now, for the One is gone, far, far away, and now I must do what I can for my people.”

“Which is . . . ”

“To destroy the Lord of Elcho Falling,” said Eleanon, “and to take Elcho Falling as our home.”

“And the stars might fall from the skies and coat your foreheads in glory, too,” Ravenna said.

Eleanon smiled coldly. “You are a stupid little woman, Ravenna. You thought to play at power, yet you had no head nor skill for it. I smell a curse about you. What is it? Tell me.”

Now, finally, Eleanon touched Ravenna, his hands taking a strong grip of her head, and Ravenna felt power worm its way into her mind.

Ravenna did not want to tell him, but the words tumbled from her mouth nonetheless, pulled by Eleanon’s power.

“Ishbel cursed me. She has disinherited my son from his natural birthright, she has cut me from my power as a marsh witch by isolating me from the Land of Dream and she has cursed me to wander friendless and alone and to give birth in pain and agony with no one to aid me.”

“Then Ishbel is a silly sad excuse for a witch as well,” Eleanon said, “for I would have done much, much worse. But tell me, how did she do this?”

“Armat and I had murdered Maxel — at least we thought we had, but Ishbel must somehow have contrived to save him. Ishbel had Maximilian’s murdered blood in a magical goblet of power which I have never seen before. She used it to kill Lister —”

Eleanon laughed in merriment at this snippet of information.

“— and to turn Armat into a puppet, and to curse me.”

“An interesting tale.” Eleanon paused, considering Ravenna. He did not know her well, but he understood that perhaps she could be very, very useful to him. She hated Ishbel and Maximilian . . . no doubt Elcho Falling as well. mayhap he could use that.

Perhaps he could use Ravenna to do what was needed within Elcho Falling, rather than risk it himself.

Yes. That would work well. Risk Ravenna, not himself.

But then there was Ishbel’s curse, which made it difficult for Ravenna to stay within close range of any other living person . . . Eleanon wondered if the curse could be altered, even broken. If so, then Ravenna would prove very, very useful indeed.

Eleanon’s hands suddenly tightened in their grip about Ravenna’s head. She struggled and cried out, but she could not free herself.

“Stay still, you stupid woman,” Eleanon muttered. His grip tightened yet further, and Ravenna cried out, twisting under his hands. Suddenly Eleanon pulled his hands away.

“I cannot undo her curse,” he said, “not entirely, but I think you will find your stay here a little easier for the next few days, at the least. Your urge to wander off will not be as strong. And do stay here, Ravenna. I think we shall need to speak again. I am, I believe, going to find you somewhat useful.”

Then, quite suddenly, he was gone.

High in the air, Eleanon punched into the sky in triumph.

He had his entry into Elcho Falling!