Isaiah sat cross-legged before Hereward. He held her chin in his hand with a tight grip and her eyes with his own fierce gaze.

Did Hereward harbour the One?

Hereward stared back, both with anger and with fright. Isaiah had retreated into his full aloofness and power as god-Tyrant — any closeness they had once shared was completely gone and utterly forgotten.

Would he kill her?

Isaiah could see that Hereward thought he would. There was terror and resignation in her eyes, along with all that anger, and he didn’t know what to make of it. He tightened his fingers slightly, sending his power deeper and deeper into her being . . . and yet still he encountered nothing but unbroachable walls and dead ends.

Was she hiding something? Or was it that Hereward had somehow managed to block him out through sheer force of will? Heavens alone knew she disliked him enough for such to be the case.

There were others in the tent: Lamiah and several of his senior captains. They stood restlessly, shifting occasionally from foot to foot, glancing among themselves before looking back at Isaiah and Hereward sitting close together. They, too, thought Isaiah would likely kill her.

They wanted it over and done with, so they could go back to the business of rallying the army against the Skraelings massing to the south. Hereward wasn’t worth the trouble . . . if Isaiah wanted her dead, so be it.

“She’s Ezekiel’s daughter,” Isaiah said, quite suddenly, and Lamiah and the other men blinked.

Ah, no wonder he hesitated . . . or was it due to something that had grown between them on their journey from the Lhyl into the Salamaan Pass?

Isaiah simply did not know what to do. He was now certain the One had escaped whatever destruction Ishbel and Maximilian had wrought at DarkGlass Mountain . . . and the Skraeling seemed to believe that the One had taken up residence within Hereward. There had been that strange re-opening of Hereward’s neck wound at a particularly crucial moment, and her tarter-than-normal demeanour afterward.

Did that mean the One had taken refuge within her, or were all of these clues a subterfuge? Did the One simply want Isaiah to believe he’d taken up residence within Hereward? Wanted Isaiah to waste his time on the woman while the One lurked elsewhere?

Isaiah hissed in exasperation, and released Hereward’s chin with a little shake.

She leaned back from him, trembling in a release of tension.

Isaiah rose to his feet in a fluid movement and turned to Lamiah. “Guard her with several men. She is not to be left alone at any point. She is to have no privacy afforded her, and every word she says is to be reported to me. Tell those men who guard her to do so as if their lives depended on it, for well they might.”

With that he was gone.

Maximilian rose toward wakefulness, enough to feel Ishbel beside him and tighten his arm about her so that they cuddled tighter together. The reed boat rocked gently in the night breeze and Maximilian spared a thought for Serge whose turn it was to sit by the tiller and watch their way upriver.

He sighed, comfortably warm, and sank deeper into sleep.

After a few minutes he began to dream.

Maximilian found himself walking atop a cliff. To one side the cliff plummeted down into a placid sea, to the other, hills rolled away into infinity. Grass and meadow flowers cushioned the passage of his feet.

Maximilian walked on, enjoying the breeze and the scent, but feeling a trace of anxiety which he could not define.

Time passed.

As he walked, so his anxiety levels increased. Now he could recognise the feeling. He was here to meet someone, but they were out of reach.

Not yet here.

But coming.

Maximilian began to feel ever more fretful. He sensed no danger from this person, but he did understand that he needed to meet with him (him, it was a man) as soon as possible.

The man had a message of great import for Maximilian.

Maximilian began to toss and turn in his sleep, finally jerking fully awake.

He lay on his back for a long time, staring at the beams of the deck above him.

He did not sleep again that night.

In the morning Maximilian sat by Avaldamon as they ate breakfast. He waited until the others were chatting between themselves, then, in low tones, told Avaldamon of what he had dreamed.

Avaldamon frowned. “You dreamed of the Otherworld,” he said. “Someone who has passed over needs to speak with you.”

“But they could not reach me,” Maximilian said. “I felt they were struggling to do so, but could not. What does that mean?”

Avaldamon thought for a moment. “Possibly that they have not yet completed their journey into the Otherworld. It takes a while, sometimes. Nonetheless they are terribly anxious to meet with you, and it is their tension that has pulled you into the Otherworld to wait for them in your dreams.”

Maximilian sat, his empty bowl held loosely in his hands, watching the land slip past. They still had not seen any live animals or people on the land, although the river was full of frogs and fish and eels, and even one or two of the great water lizards.

“Who has died and wants to contact me?” he said, softly. “Why?”

“Someone with a powerful reason,” Avaldamon said. “This is not ever done lightly.”