Isaiah marched through the camp to Hereward’s tent, Lamiah a step or two behind him.

He couldn’t get out of his mind the image of the blood spurting out of the healed scar on her neck at the same time as the One had vanished.

That had to be of some significance.

Hereward was standing outside her tent. Her face was white and strained and she had her arms crossed protectively in front of her.

She kept glancing in the direction where the Skraelings were gathered, and she looked very, very scared.

But was she truly? Isaiah wondered.

“I need you to come forward with me,” he said.

“Why?” Hereward said.

“I need you to come closer to where the Skraelings are. I want them to see you.”

“No! Why?”

Isaiah studied Hereward. She looked terrified — as a normal Hereward should, having previously almost lost her life at the claws of a Skraeling.

But was she a “normal” Hereward?

Isaiah was still not as powerful as he had been once — it seemed his abilities were returning at their own sweet pace — but, still, he should have been able to scry out whether or not Hereward was other than what she should be.

He should have been able to scry out the One’s presence in her.

What if the One hadn’t died? What if he had simply shifted existences? And if it wasn’t Hereward, then who else within this vast army?

Isaiah could ascertain nothing about Hereward. It was as if his power probed at a brick wall. He couldn’t even tell if she were a mere woman, let alone the One in disguise.

That worried him more than ever. She was a kitchen steward, in the name of the gods. She shouldn’t have the ability to resist Isaiah’s probing.

“Why do you want me closer to the Skraelings?” Hereward said, and Isaiah could hear the fear in her voice.

“Because they have asked to see you,” Isaiah said, and took her by the elbow.

“Isaiah?” Lamiah said.

“No!” Hereward tried to pull out of Isaiah’s grip, but he was too strong and, ignoring both her cries and Lamiah’s puzzled expression, Isaiah pulled Hereward forward, closer to the southern border of the camp.

She protested all the way and as they drew close her protests gave way to tearful entreaties, but Isaiah closed his ears to her. He dragged her all the way through the juit birds, stopping just inside their southernmost edge.

The Skraeling still stood a little distance away.

“Well,” Isaiah said to it. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” the Skraeling said, his face all creased in what appeared to be puzzlement. Then his face cleared a little. “Would you like me to eat her?”

Hereward wailed, clearly terrified.

“No!” Isaiah hissed at the Skraeling. “I thought you wanted to talk with . . . her.”

“And make friends?” said the Skraeling, now apparently enjoying himself enormously.

“No!” Isaiah hissed, and the Skraeling grinned hugely, then turned about and shuffled back to the mass of his fellows.

“What is going on?” Lamiah said to Isaiah, who still gripped the elbow of a fear-stricken Hereward.

“I don’t know,” Isaiah said, looking at Hereward. “I just don’t know.”

Hereward finally jerked away from Isaiah and, moving as fast as she could, pushed her way through the birds toward the camp.

Isaiah watched her go, his face hard. “I want a guard put on her, Lamiah. I want no one to speak to her or go near her apart from giving her food.”

“Isaiah —”

“I don’t know what is happening here, Lamiah. I don’t know what the Skraelings are doing, or what they want. I do not know why they haven’t attacked.”

“Why Hereward?”

“I have told you about the One.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I have told you that DarkGlass Mountain has been destroyed and the One along with it.”

“Yes. Isaiah —”

“The Skraeling told me the One was still alive. It intimated the One is now in our camp. I think the One may be residing in Hereward.”

Lamiah now shifted his gaze to the retreating form of Hereward. “How sure are you?”

“There is something wrong about her, Lamiah, but I cannot scry it out. It is a ‘new’ wrong, and dates from the moment of DarkGlass Mountain’s destruction.”

“Then as you order,” said Lamiah, “so shall it be.”

He set off after Hereward, and Isaiah turned one more time to watch the Skraelings. They were still waiting, watching, and Isaiah thought he would give his right arm right then and there to have his questions answered.

“Well?” said the several other Skraelings as they milled about the one they had sent out to talk with Isaiah. “What should we do? Attack? Eat? Go around them?”

The Skraeling who had spoken with Isaiah shook his head. “Just wait. There is something happening. Something coming. We wait. If Isaiah moves, then we follow.”

“Did Isaiah know where the One is?”

The Skraeling grinned. “He has no idea.”

The other Skraelings did not share his amusement. “Then what are we to do? The One has gone, we have no direction. No one to tell us where to go and what to do. Should we go home? Home to the frozen northern wastes?”

A great murmuring arose among the Skraelings.

Home to the frozen northern wastes.

“No,” said the Skraeling. “We wait a while, and watch, and see. I think . . . ”

“What?”

“I think there is something coming.”