

### The Well of Fates

Book One of the Arithine Chronicles

Dedicated to Michael, Allison, and Charlie.

Copyright 2012 Ali Berget Angen  
Smashwords Edition

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The Well of Fates

The day has come, and sun will rise  
The dawn is here, the Falcon flies.  
From Well of Fates all hope has fled  
Its waters turn from blue to red.  
The Neverseen draw souls to fill  
The Evermore, and they draw still.  
The River now rolls like a flood  
Its waters turn from blue to blood.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Wildspring

Chapter 2: The Wilds

Chapter 3: The Telling

Chapter 4: The Beginning

Chapter 5: The Training

Chapter 6: The Sisters

Chapter 7: The Flight

Chapter 8: The Collapse

Chapter 9: The Finding

Chapter 10: The Snare

Chapter 11: The Father

Chapter 12: The Leavetaking

Chapter 13: The Meeting

Chapter 14: The Cage

Chapter 15: The Forgotten

Chapter 16: The Falcon

Chapter 17: The Winter

Chapter 18: The Tent

Chapter 19: The Storm

Chapter 20: The Calm

Chapter 21: The Name

Chapter 22: The Ride

Chapter 23: The Strangers

Chapter 24: The Star

Chapter 25: The People

Chapter 26: The Walk

Chapter 27: The Histories

Chapter 28: The Harbor

Chapter 29: The Ship

Chapter 30: The Bracelet

Chapter 31: The Wine

Chapter 32: The Garden

Chapter 33: The Order

Chapter 34: The Commander

Chapter 35: The Assassin

Chapter 36: The Light

Author's Note

Preview: Book Two

PROLOGUE  
_Summer, 1413 of the Fourth Aeon_

The brisk morning breeze that came down off the mountains had not yet been caught by the sun. It raised chills on Hetarth's skin as he made his way through the tunnel to the city. The passageway was more crowded than he'd ever seen it, but no one was speaking. The only sound was the rush of water down the channels beside the roadway, carrying snowmelt down to the sea. It sounded like the whisper of frightened voices.

He had never thought it before, but now the tunnel seemed a terribly foolish idea. Why make an easy path from the sea to the city, why eliminate the natural defenses of weather and height? Of course, before this day, who had ever thought of defending Hasile from invasion? No one had imagined this day.

Wide-eyed children clung to older hands, but they did not call out or cry. Mothers carried infants, fathers helped mothers, and the greatest people in Arith fell back to their stronghold in the mountains. Behind the towering peaks of Hasile they would regroup and dig in to meet the foes that had swept the coastal cities. And behind Hasile, the rest of Arith would wait.

It was not the mountains that the nations trusted, but the people. Hasile was neither as vast as Amanheld or Loth Daer, nor were its people fearsome warriors, like the Southlanders, but they had never lost a battle. They were Creators.

Everyday casters could touch the four pillars, Earth, Fire, Air, and Water. Together the pillars supported the waking world above Evermore, the land of spirits. All physical things were made from the four pillars of the world. A caster could change the way the pieces came together, rearrange them into something new, build a thing up or take it to pieces. But they were limited to what they could reach, and many casters were incomplete—unable to touch all four.

Creators, though, could make something from nothing. They did not need to take Fire from another source to light a lantern, they simply drew a web of it in the proper shape, and there it was.

Some thought that this was the greatest power, but Hetarth disagreed. Life was far beyond anyone's grasp, as they discovered so disastrously in the Shadow Wars. Also out of reach were the higher things that exist among men and between them, such as Love, Hope and Truth.

But Hetarth could not marvel at the wonders of the higher world. Not today, the first day in history to see the Creators lose in battle. He could only try to keep the memories from running before his eyes, new memories that seared themselves into his soul.

_The ships had been nothing more than a dark smudge on the horizon. Behind them, storm clouds towered over the waters. How we cheered when they made it safely to port!_ His jaw clenched.

Better for us if they had all been drowned. Like black shadows those swordsmen danced among us. Simple black steel against Fire, but still they cut us down like wheat. And simple casters brought the port down around our ears. Simple casters! What has happened? What do they bring against us? Will our power abandon us, or has it begun already?

Fearful questions seemed to billow larger with each step, like the charcoal grey cloaks of the fifteen who led the charge. _And so we flee into the mountains, we run to Tarquendale and the Naedar, our nine strongest._ _They will know what we face. They will decide if we hold the city, if we fight or if we flee._

His blood pounded in his ears, but Hetarth Aridal was not ready to fight, because he was not ready to die. A new image grew in his mind to outshine and overpower the horrors he had seen along the coast. _Savana._ Her golden hair in a braid wrapped around her head like a crown, grey eyes glinting when she smiled. He would find her, make sure she was safe. Perhaps she and the other instructors would take the children deep into the caves around Tarquendale, out of harm's way.

At the mouth of the tunnel, a light gleamed. It did not lift Hetarth's mood. It was a thin, frail light, as if it were too weak to finish the day. When he and his sister Esania were growing up, she called these moth days, as washed out and feeble as the cave moths that beat their ragged wings against the windowpanes in Tarquendale.

Esania was all grown up now and had started a family of her own with Lythan Tristarine. At least Hetarth did not have to worry that they had been at the coast when the ships landed.

They would be staying close to the city—their brand new baby girl was to be presented to the Naedar and given her name in a few days. _If the Naedar even have time for such things. That niece of mine might be a little late getting her name, if this keeps on._

The black thought lowered his mood and with it his eyebrows descended over his grey eyes. _If this gets so bad they have to delay the Naming, I hope Savana and Esania will already be out of the city and safely—_

Hetarth began to walk faster towards the unconvincing light of the valley ahead. The thought he could not finish would not fade.

_Safely where? Where else is there to go?_ _If Tarquendale falls, where else would be safe? If the stronghold of Hasile is not strong enough, what is?_ _Who could stand where Guardians fall?_

Another cold shiver ran over his skin, but it had nothing to do with the breeze.

Brother Dracen eyed the ruined city around him without pleasure, but also without pain. It had been a pretty little place, tucked between the ocean and the mountains. Piles of steep-roofed houses perched along the ridge, with cheery flower boxes blossoming under every shuttered window.

Destroying it was exhausting, but not because it was well-fortified nor well-defended. All of its defenders were dead or gone. They were not prepared to fight at all, certainly not against the unfamiliar weapons the Brothers brought with them.

It was hard to flatten the place because every time he saw a gabled roof he thought of how _she_ had wanted that house on the cliff with the red gables. It was hard when he saw a butterfly struggle through the dust of the crumbling buildings and remembered her standing in the meadow the week they met, laughing among hundreds of them. It was just hard.

_Everything is, without her. No doubt that is why the Empress selected me for this mission. What else could she do with the powerful young weaver who became an unexpected widower?_ _At least this way she does not have to frown over me each day and fret over my lost potential._

Dracen looked down and saw a delicate hand reaching out from beneath the rubble, perfectly pale and permanently still. He wrenched his eyes away,

Between the black-coated Watchers that dotted the shore, he caught sight of his Brothers. The word made his lips tighten. He'd always preferred his blood brothers to any of the Brethren of Weavers. _We may have fought, but we did it with our hands and to each other's faces._

Dracen watched one of the guards stoop to grab something off the road. The man shined it on his robes before pocketing it. Brother Monren glared at the guard out of the corner of his eye, a half a step too slow to make off with the whatever-it-was.

_I suppose it is not so very different,_ Dracen thought. _We still fight over trinkets; they've just gotten more valuable. And we still fight for mother's affections, if the Empress can count as Mother._

He searched the shore for the others, fifteen in all. There were Valmeran and Abelmedar, coming ashore in a rowboat that no one was rowing. Its prow cut through the waves, driven by Water and Air. They had been in charge of protecting the fleet from counterattack, but there had been no need. With them was Brother Carinat, gazing up and down the coastline with interest. He wasn't much help in a fight, Carinat, but he was perhaps the most learned man in the whole of the Asemaline Empire.

Brother Cianfar marched across Dracen's path, scowling at the corpses of women and children and shooting dark looks at Firstborn Keravel.

The Firstborn was their leader, appointed by the Empress. Brother Cianfar was not fond of him and made it perfectly clear that he found Keravel's methods dishonorable. Cianfar thought wars ought to be waged between warriors—women, children, and towns were unfit targets. His mercy and his willingness to be unpopular for it were admirable, but Dracen thought it poor strategy.

He scanned the scene for Keravel. As suspected, he was surrounded by a number of others, all doing the precise opposite of Cianfar. They hovered around their leader, smiling and congratulating. _Yes, well done, Firstborn. We've proven ourselves strong enough to crush a tiny, unprotected hamlet. Well done._

There was Brother Halyar, hardly able to move his bulk over the piles of rubble. And the blood brothers Sirean and Segarin—they smiled slyly at the destruction. Dracen swallowed the urge to spit in their general direction. Those two were slimy little snakes, quite pleased with Keravel's leadership.

Brother Rechane was also pleased. With Keravel in charge, he would get a far greater outlet for his perverse pleasures than he would have under Cianfar. Of course, if Cianfar were in charge, Rechane would not survive the day. Cianfar probably had the right idea there. _The Empress should never have let him out of her sight. A twisted appetite like his needs a firm hand, and Keravel isn't interested in reining him in._

Higher up the hillside, Brothers Gervaine and Monren, friends since childhood, were standing together. They were solid, hard-working weavers, but thoroughly unimaginative. At that moment, Dracen could read the boredom on the faces of the young Brothers standing beside them, Losdar and Terlum.

_Soon they'll learn that being bored is by far the safest way to be in a war._ _Bored and victorious, what more could a man ask for? Better than hungry, or bleeding, or beaten._

Before he could finish his perusal, Brother Menkar came striding up, long legs jolting him through the debris.

"Brother Dracen!" He called, clapping him on the back when he drew near enough. Dracen tried to keep his unhappiness off his face. _Don't touch me, you lunatic,_ he growled in his head.

Of all the caster-generals in the Brotherhood, Dracen was most suspicious of Menkar. The others were easy to understand, for good or ill. But Menkar was either very far removed from his senses or terribly clever and hiding it behind a mask of insanity.

"A fine day for the Empire, a beachhead on the Eastern shores of the continent!" He smiled, puffing out his chest. "The Empress, may she be preserved in the skies for all time, will be pleased."

Dracen nodded, unconvinced that this was as wonderful an occasion as Brother Menkar imagined. The other man marched off, happily oblivious to Dracen's doubts. If anyone believed in the Empress' expansionist propaganda, it was Menkar.

Personally, Dracen had begun to wonder if they were overreaching, coming to this side of the world. Arith wasn't like the islands of the Great Sea—it was huge, heavily populated, and had never been subject to the Empire.

And it was home to the Order of the Guardians, a society of Wielders. He shook his head. The prophecy at the heart of this whole mess was not nearly as clear as everyone thought. But faced with revolt, the Empress needed to take drastic action, so she'd set them off to sea at once.

He wondered if she ever bothered to ask the Firstborn what he thought of the prophecy she urged him to bring to fruition. Did she know that Keravel's interpretation made a dangerous plan twice as grim? Parts were simple commands, like:

Seek the lost things in the East,

born of blood that's valued least.

There were some lines after that that he couldn't recall, but this was the critical passage:

The ripples in the Well begin,  
trace them back to find the way  
To reach beyond the things of Men  
and touch the very light of Day.  
Seek now for the things of old,  
awake once more to ride the wind,  
Greater still than steel or gold,  
to spin the Gift and bring the end.  
To killing stone the Falcon flies,  
and sends to night the ones who train.  
She'll leave her mark upon the skies,  
she'll kiss the hand that held the chain.  
The night is dark, the Dawn is new,  
the stars are weak upon the sea.  
Bring the Falcon, strong and true,  
or lose this land to memory.

Everyone agreed it was about finding a Wielder in the East that could save the Isles. And the Isles did need saving: each year the seas rose higher, and each year the crops did the opposite.

Dracen shook his head. If not for that shortsighted fool that was the last Empress, they'd still have had Wielders in Asemal and this mission would never have been necessary.

That woman nursed a jealous hatred for the Wielder's power, though they served her. When the Stranger arrived from over the sea with a Gift that would destroy them, the old Empress had put the Orb in the hands of self-righteous mobs, and one by one the Wielders were hunted down.

Most did not even fight—they would not resist the Empress' will, even if her will was for them to die. Now there was only the Brotherhood of Weavers, simple weavers who could manipulate anything and create nothing.

The hordes got what they wanted: an end of the Wielders. Now, of course, they needed a Wielder to save them, but they only had the Brothers. The Orb was just a rock to a weaver—it called for creation, beyond the shallow powers of the Brotherhood. It was shocking to see the effect it had on Wielders, though. There was a brilliant flash of light and then the Wielder touched by the Orb would be nothing but a body crumpled on the ground.

Dracen looked around at the evidence of the Orb's success: piles of bodies, almost all of them Wielders. A few corpses wore the all-black uniform of Watchers, the special bodyguards of the Empire that the Empress sent with them. Normally, Watchers were reserved for the Empress, her family, and—before they'd been destroyed—her Wielders. This was such an important mission, though, that each of the Brothers had been assigned a Watcher, plus another thirty, besides.

A frown furrowed Dracen's forehead. _They say that whatever Wielder isn't killed by the Orb is the one we are looking for. But what if they are wrong? It will be Asemal all over again—we kill them all and when none remain to save us, we realize our mistake._

His eyes were drawn to the Firstborn again, who embraced this method of finding the Falcon. _No doubt he means to be the hand she kisses once she's been trained._

Dracen glowered at the man. _And no doubt he means me and the others to be the ones killed in the process._ The thought didn't disturb him much—how could it, when his wife already awaited him in the night sky? He just didn't like Keravel, and he didn't like being a pawn in a game that was doomed from the start.

Hetarth was swept into the plaza in a flood of humanity. It was more people than he had ever seen in Tarquendale, even for the Sanhalia on Watch Night.

"Have you heard? The Naedar have called in every copy of the Book of the Broken to destroy them—they're calling for volunteers to take the original and hide it!" A man next to him gossiped.

Hetarth shook his head, but could not halt a worm of doubt. _Surely not! . . . but if they're sending the Book out, they expect Hasile to fall? They fear the Tarquendale will be taken?_

Suddenly, he was desperate to get to his sister's house. _Savana will know to go there—Esania is our closest family in the city, and there's room for everyone._ He elbowed through the milling crowd. It was going to take forever to get across the plaza. By the time he'd battled his way to the fountain, he was not in a mood to go around.

Hetarth ground his teeth. This would have been the ideal moment to freeze the water and walk across, but he had never been very strong in Water or Fire. Besides, it would be ostentatious.

He usually did not mind his weaknesses, because there was not a Guardian alive who could match him at Searching the Winds. Someone once informed him, not realizing who he was speaking to, that Hetarth Aridal could find anyone, anywhere. _In this mess, I'd rather be able to fly._

Growling about crowds that milled like herds of idiot cattle, Hetarth jumped up onto the lip of the fountain and ran. It was an enormous feature that engulfed the middle of the plaza, but today running like a madman along the edge drew hardly any attention.

When he careened through the doorway on the far side, someone shouted to slow down, but Hetarth had no time for that. He leapt up the stairs to the fifth level and burst through the door of his sister's house without knocking.

Esania and Lythan were standing at the window, watching the courtyard. Neither was surprised to see him in their doorway—they'd seen him running across the fountain. Hetarth looked them over. Both wore heavier clothes than the weather called for and stout leather boots in place of slippers. They had packs on their backs and little Elaina was strapped to the front of Lythan's chest.

"The invaders have taken the port cities," He announced unnecessarily.

"We know. We're leaving Tarquendale." Lythan replied. "We only waited to say goodbye."

"Where will you go? Tarquendale is the most easily defended city in the mountains."

"We're leaving Hasile. I've been having bad dreams." Esania explained. "Always the same: I'm looking into the well. The water goes dark. Then the buckets come up full of blood. Darkness is coming, Hetarth, not just to Hasile, but to all of Arith. The Naedar know it, they are sending the Book away. It's the first time they've done that since the Lost Times."

"Then where will you go?" He asked again, frowning between his little sister and her husband. "If nowhere is safe, then why not stay here." Lythan shook his head.

"We're getting out the mountains. I always thought of them keeping our enemies out, but now it seems more like they'll trap us in. If we're wrong, we can always come back." The grim lines on his face said how unlikely he thought it.

Hetarth didn't know what else to say. There wasn't anything—they'd made up their minds. In fact, they'd made up his mind, too. He'd go find Savana and together they'd get out of the city.

"Good luck," he said, stepping forward to catch Esania in a crushing hug. "May the Truth go beside you and Peace watch your door." He muttered into her hair.

"May the Truth stay beside you and Peace watch your door." She responded softly.

Lythan threw out his right hand to catch Hetarth's forearm in a last handshake. Hetarth stooped down to tickle his niece under her chin. The baby girl cooed and wriggled, trying to escape him. He ruffled her thin, golden-brown hair.

"I've got to find Savana. Perhaps I will see you again in the flatlands." He said, smiling. Esania and Lythan exchanged a look.

"What is it?"

"Savana came by," Esania began, "She was going to the Naedar to volunteer—"

"—to volunteer for what?" Hetarth frowned.

"To take the Book." Lythan explained, watching him as if he were an unruly horse that might bolt.

Hetarth's frown deepened. _She's volunteered to hide the most valuable possession of our people. If this really is an invasion, if Hasile really fell . . ._

A chill swept across his skin. He spun on a heel and rushed back out the way he'd come. Maybe if he got to her in time, he could talk her out of it. Maybe she'd just come with him instead. Esania called out a last goodbye that Hetarth barely heard before he plunged back into the low roar of the crowd in the plaza.

He would never see his sister again.

Winter, 1413 of the Fourth Aeon

Hetarth had been searching the mountains for days, looking for some sign of survivors. The invasion had come so quickly, so completely, he'd never even made it past Tar Haviel. And of course, after the front line had swept past, he doubled back. It was impossible, but he was hoping for some sign, some clue that Esania and Lythan were still alive. And Savana.

He had gone to every town he knew. There was no one there. It seemed like a dream, walking through deserted cities. Already the woodlands around the towns were going wild. He'd seen a number of creatures roaming through the mountains, former pets and emboldened predators alike.

He came to the end of the pass that wound through the mountains from Tar Haviel. Looking down, he caught sight of a neatly planted field down below, but he could not tell what the crop was. Nonetheless, planting meant life—he set off down the steep ridge into the valley below.

It was dusk when he arrived at the field and stopped. The neat rows he had seen from above were not shrubs or new saplings. This was not a field or an orchard. It was a cemetery, row after row of white stone pillars with names etched down the sides. _Not all planting means life._ Weary, he walked closer, wondering what friends he would find this time.

Some he had known well, some he only recognized the family name. Silveren Miriel, a quiet woman, strong in Air and Water. Elberon Ethoniel had a booming voice that used to echo around the caves. Wulfric Briand, son of the famous historian of the Shadow Wars. Robwyn Leigth, whose older sister was a well known Seer and a good friend of Esania, and there, on the end of the row: _Savana Monara_.

Hetarth sank slowly onto the grass before the pure white stone, one shaking hand reaching out to trace her name. When his fingers brushed the stone, the facing crumbled away. Hetarth cried out, lurching forward to stop this final destruction, but there was nothing to be done. The stone powdered away as if it were nothing more than spun sugar.

Beneath it was a symbol surrounded by a circle. Hetarth knew the mark, he'd seen it before—every Guardian had. It was the seal on the face of the Book of the Broken.

He moved closer, tracing the sinuous shape. Curious, he leaned to the side and touched Robwyn's headstone. It stood firm. Only Savana's was like this. Maybe it was a sign, a message meant for him, because who but he would touch this stone? Maybe she still lived!

Hetarth peered at the message. One symbol, surrounded by a ring, carved into stone underneath the dust of Savana's pillar. He blew the dust out of the way and saw for the first time the little symbols carved outside the ring: a lily beside a round tower at the lower right edge, an eye at the lower left, and at the top, a fang with a droplet hanging from it. He squinted and moved closer. There, in the middle of the drop, was the symbol of the Book again.

He sat back on his heels. _A lily and tower, an eye, and a fang. What was it supposed to mean?_ The lily, he might know. Both he and his sister were named after things that grew in the mountains: Esania, a lily, that she might grow lovely and sweet, and Hetarth, a pine, that he might grow tall and strong.

_So Esania and a tower._ He thought he'd seen it before, a stout little structure with one window high up the side. It wasn't Guardian architecture, certainly. He puzzled through all the places he'd been in the lowlands. _Donlin was all timber frame structures, not stone like the tower. Nolte had a tower, but he thought it was a square one. Lotriel had a thousand buildings more impressive—this would not have stood out there. One little window, high up. Round. It was a watchtower._ _Who would need a watchtower in the lowlands?_

River towns usually had the best view from on the river, either on a bridge or the deck of a ship. _Maybe on the coast?_ But those towers often had lights on the very top, or mirrors—something to warn passing ships. Frustrated, he moved on to the eye. It was a peculiar shape: very deliberate lines, perfect circles in the center. Like the tower, it looked familiar.

_Of course it does, it's meant to be a message for you! Doesn't do any good if you can't read it._ He tilted his head to consider the eye, and it hit him. It was the fountain, the fountain in the center of the plaza in Tarquendale, seen from above. _Tarquendale, bottom left_. He glanced over his shoulder to the southwest. Somewhere in the distance were the ruins of the capital city. The circle was a compass.

_What is to the southeast, where is Esania? Conde'tair! The tower was in Conde'tair, it is how they keep watch on the Darkwood to the south, with all the bandits._ Hetarth took a deep breath. Esania was in Conde'tair. They made it out of the mountains.

_Tarquendale to anchor the map, Conde'tair to show me my sister. There was only one other thing I want: Savana._ He peered at the fang at the top of the circle.

_North. A fang. It must mean Tor Felvek._ In the old language of Cavilnor, that meant Dragon's Teeth, a city named for the Northguard Mountains. _And somewhere in the hinterlands, somewhere by the dragon's fang is the Book, and where the book is, Savana will be._

Hetarth rose to his feet. Savana had been alive after the invaders moved out of the mountains, she'd come back here to draw him this map. No one else could have done it. She knew Esania, she knew he'd been to Conde'tair and would recognize the tower. And she knew he'd follow her to Tor Felvek.

To the ends of the earth, until I find the Book, and then I will have Savana.

The bones of the fortress were taking shape on the shores of Lake Rinwal. Brother Dracen thought it a foolish place for the capital of the Empire. It was neither very central nor very easily defended. Of course, Keravel didn't bother with either of those concerns. He neither wanted to interact with the people of Arith nor feared their disloyalty.

Brother Dracen could not help but turn south, because beyond that horizon lay just the sort of people who would need constant observation. Keravel held the foolish belief that people, once broken, were easily subdued. _He doesn't understand just how hard some people will fight if you take away everything they've got to lose._

After the fall of Hasile and the massacre of the Guardians, the other nations of Arith had fallen swiftly in line, each king or queen or council quickly swearing to the new Empire. All but one.

The southernmost nation, Antral, had refused to surrender. Dracen had been eager to meet them on the field of battle, secretly hoping to die with honor in the melee, but there was no need. Keravel ordered the other nations to march, so the armies of Amanheld, Jernal, Newythe, Loth Daer, and the rest went south to destroy the last free people in Arith.

Only Antral's nearest neighbors in Fiandar had refused to take part. Keravel had punished them soundly, but nothing could compare with what was done to Antral. Fiandar was only crippled. Antral was ruined beyond redemption. The border forts were razed, forests burned, and farmland sowed with salt. In the end only the Thousand Lances remained around King Archaron, an island in a sea of enemies. The men who finally cut them down wept as they did. Like Hasile before it, Antral was broken.

Keravel had taken a number of prizes from his vanquished enemies. From Hasile, he had absconded with three or four complete libraries. _We'll likely never see Carinat again, now he has more books than he could read in a lifetime,_ Dracen mused. But of course, the two greatest prizes of Hasile had escaped.

First, the Orb had not been defeated: the Falcon had not been found. This didn't seem to trouble Keravel as much as it should. _As I suspected, he is less interested in the Falcon than using this mission as an excuse to set himself up as the Eastern Emperor._

The second greatest treasure of Hasile was something Keravel learned about after the invasion was complete. In nearly every book they opened, another book was mentioned. It appeared to be the complete index of everything the Wielders of Hasile knew about what they called the pillars. The Brotherhood knew them as the Elements: Wind, Water, Fire, and Stone. It was called the Book of the Broken. Keravel had been enraged to discover that all copies had been destroyed and the original hidden.

He'd managed to hunt down the Guardians tasked with hiding it, but none had given away their secret. Dracen was impressed by their dedication. Few withstood Keravel and Rechane working together.

Antral had not fared so well. Its two greatest treasures were firmly in Keravel's clutches. First, there were the Silver Swords. Antralians fought with two single-edged blades, and the matched swords of the King had been captured on the field of battle.

Dracen curled his lip. _Does it still count as a battlefield conquest if the King has already given them to his sons? Does it really count if you take the father's weapons from children?_ Because the swords were not the most precious thing Keravel had seized. He had taken the children of the fallen King and Queen as hostages to dissuade further revolt in Antral.

The twin boys were so alike Dracen couldn't tell them apart. They were spirited, but Keravel had leverage to make them do whatever he wished: he had their little sister. A scowl darkened Dracen's face.

He didn't like keeping children as hostages, but he could see the need to keep the heirs of the throne under close supervision. _But there is no need to keep the girl. And the stars only know what her life will be like here._

That wasn't true. Dracen knew exactly what her life would be like, surrounded by men like Keravel. _Her life will be a waking nightmare that will only get worse as she ages._ She was a pretty girl. Dracen didn't want to think about it. _Hopefully we will have found the Falcon and left this place long before she comes of age._

Sighing, the Drethlord looked back at the skeletons of the towers that rose up beside the lake. _Still a damned foolish place to build a fortress. At least it's on the water. It would be hard to besiege that way._

CHAPTER 1  
_The Wildspring_

One clear night as summer died, a young woman stepped into the busiest inn in the shadow of the Western mountains. To the east the low plains of Amanheld swept all the way to the Haldon Kai, the Mountains of the Wall that divided Arith in half. To the south, the Wildspring River wound its way into the hills of Emon's March, then to the sea. To the north and west, the mountains of Hasile loomed, blanketed in thick forests. Few ever went there. Strange creatures were loosed in the Invasion, things not seen by men in generations. Of the towns that had dotted the roads leaving Hasile in its days of glory, only Tar Haviel survived. That was why the inn was the busiest for miles—it was the only inn for miles. It didn't hurt that Master Edmons, the innkeeper, stocked the finest wine that could be found.

The young woman that came to the inn, though, had not come to drink. Her honey-brown eyes searched the room, dismissing the tables she came to one by one. There were rough-skinned farmers, leaning against the boards on heavy elbows, tired from fighting earth and rain and other things no man could defeat. In the back were a collection of youths, faces flushed as they watched their dice bouncing across the wood. They were playing for buttons, but that never dimmed their enthusiasm.

Broad shouldered men with rough voices to match rough clothes seemed to take up more space than their single table—miners down from Cavilnor in the North. Few ever made it all the way out to Tar Haviel, but it wasn't unheard of. Cavilnese miners often eyed the mountains of Hasile, wondering what treasures lay under the stones even if they could not get to them. Two serving girls moved between the tables, cleaning and refilling drinks, flashing dimples under bright eyes as they worked.

At last the girl's gaze came to rest on the table of an older man in a baggy brown coat smoking on a long-stemmed pipe. His strong arms made him more formidable than the crutch that leaned behind him suggested. The girl threw her loose braid over her shoulder and flopped down at his table.

"How did the day treat you, Hetarth?" she asked with a mischievous smile, as if she knew the answer. When he scowled, bushy black eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose, untouched by the gray that streaked his hair. Muttering around his pipe, he didn't really reply, but it seemed answer enough.

She laughed. "I've tried to tell you to stay away from the Counsel, you seldom agree with them." He only gave her a hard look for her advice, puffing furiously at his pipe until he could not resist.

Snatching it from his lips he informed her in a gravelly voice, "I am aware my opinions are unique among the Council members, but they asked for my advice, Elaina." He paused long enough for her arch an incredulous eyebrow at his sense of civic duty, then admitted, "Besides, it is amusing to watch their eyes pop half out of their heads."

"What did they ask today? Must have been something—they do hate asking your opinion." She noted with a smile.

He waved an errant hand in the air, sending the smoke twirling "Oh, what else? They want to know what to do about the deaths in the night. The farmers living outside the city are demanding something be done, as usual."

"Any suggestions?" She examined the end of her braid as if she were trying to decide if it were more brown or blonde. But a sly, sideways look betrayed her interest in the man's advice.

"I merely told them what they already know—farmers cannot stop the creatures of the Wilds. They must either come into the city each night and huddle behind the walls, or be content with the fact they might get eaten."

Her reproachful look had no visible effect; he continued blowing smoke rings in the pause.

"That is not what they wanted to hear, obviously. The Counsel, in its great wisdom, was rather hoping I would come up with some impossible answer to a very simple question." He snorted.

"Well, you can't blame them," she noted, "They're convinced you know the secrets of the Wilds."

"No one knows the secrets of the Wilds!" He burst out, "If they did it wouldn't be the Wilds! What fluff do these fools have floating about in their heads? They should just be glad that the beasts set loose in the Invasion stay in the mountains! Why would I know how to stop the things?" He waved his arms in energetic exasperation, but she rolled her eyes.

"Because we live on the very edge of it—a man who walks with a cane and his niece, all alone—and we have never in all these long years been attacked. Of course they wonder! They suspect you're not telling them something."

"Nonsense." He muttered. She knew he wasn't angry that she'd mentioned his lameness, because he never was. He said he was injured by his own pride, whatever that meant, but a crippled leg did not make a crippled mind, he often reminded her, or a crippled life.

"You can see well as I how they look about when they dare to venture out to the house—last time all the farmers lined their fields with chicken's blood just because I'd killed one while Mattis was over." She sat back in her chair to watch him roll his eyes and puff furiously on his pipe.

He was remembering what he called the chicken-famine that had resulted from Mattis' rumor mongering. It had only ended when the Baley's farm was attacked despite the chicken blood. After that there was chicken on the table again, but only the two youngest Baley children had survived.

For a few moments Elaina and Hetarth sat in silence. They were interrupted only by the curses a bad toss drew from the gamblers until the cloud of smoke around Hetarth's head settled to a normal level. The Counsel annoyed him, but they had good reason for their questions. The Baley's had been a nice family, and they were only the most recent.

"Did you note the stranger?" Hetarth asked at last. Elaina pursed her lips, annoyed with his evasion, but she went along. Her eyes slid around the room again. He couldn't mean the miners—they were not particularly strange.

A movement in the corner drew her gaze. She blinked. Someone sat there in all black, the cowl of his cloak up despite the warmth of the room, shadowing his face.

_Interesting_. Nothing interesting happened in Tar Haviel, tucked away at the very edge of Amanheld and the Empire, a backwater still half-immersed in the old ways.

"He looks about as relaxed as a wound spring." She observed. "Who is he?"

Hetarth shrugged and said with poorly fabricated innocence, "Don't know, perhaps you should go speak to him."

"True spirits! Why?" She ignored his exasperated look—he was convinced the Neverblind would count that mild curse as some minor blasphemy when they weighed her soul, but she wasn't worried. There was no way that such a little thing would send her to the far side of Evermore, otherwise everyone would end up there.

"Because you want to know," he began, continuing when her eyebrows flew up again, ". . . and because I want to know, but I don't have the ankles to make him talk to me."

Elaina snorted. "Well, he can't see my ankles in this," she nodded to her outfit, a long belted tunic over loose trousers. All the women in Amanheld wore them when they worked in the fields, but Elaina preferred them to dresses all the time.

"I'm sure he can use his imagination. You'd better get over there before one of the serving girls catches his eye, though. They have the advantage of ankles." He twisted her argument around nicely with a sage nod. Elaina crossed her arms, firmly in her chair. If he was going to be stubborn, she would be too.

Hetarth settled back in his chair. "Winter's on its way, you know..."

"People can travel in the winter, Hetarth, this isn't Cavilnor. I'm sure he's nobody, and he'll soon be on his way." She interrupted.

"Yes, but we'll be needing firewood. I suppose you were going to start chopping that in the morning?" he didn't meet her eyes, but she understood the threat.

"Half that firewood is for you!" she reminded him

"True, but I'll never convince him. Quick now, before the Edmon's girl gets to him, I hear she's a fine dancer." He warned.

Elaina rolled her eyes again. Jolina Edmon had been the talk of the town for the way she danced at the Midwinter Festival last year; such a scandal! Lawson Tebus had never really recovered.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Elaina watched Jolina sweeping ever closer to the stranger. Hetarth might talk about ankles, but that was not Jolina's most obvious feature. Elaina thanked the spirits for modest, square-necked Amanheldic dresses when Jolina threw her shoulders back and pranced in front of the stranger's table. He didn't turn his head under the hood.

Elaina wanted to smirk as Jolina flounced into the kitchens, pouting. Instead she fixed a smile on her lips that clashed with her final glare for Hetarth. A thrill of excitement ran along her skin as she rose to go meet the stranger. Her smile grew. Excitement, much like interesting things, seldom happened in Tar Haviel.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked brightly. The hunch of his shoulders and shadows across his face made clear that he did, but he merely shrugged.

"Welcome to Tar Haviel!" she said with as much enthusiasm as she could fake. "Did you just now arrive?"

He nodded.

"That's so brave! The gates close to visitors at dusk, you might have been locked out, so close to the Wilds, too!" she chattered, feeling for all the world like a mindless squirrel. Her bright eyes sparkled with her flattery. He snorted, distain coloring his soft laugh. It made her suddenly uneasy.

"You should audition for a show—you're quite talented, but don't waste my time with your acting. If I wanted to be entertained, I would go to the theatre. Stop babbling and thaw that smile. It's been frozen on your face since you stood." His voice was low, pleasant, but still young. Elaina hid her embarrassment behind a grimace. _Well that failed miserably_.

"I'll stop if you'll answer my question." She offered. He hesitated for a moment.

"Very well." He relented unhappily. Elaina frowned. _My company isn't as unpleasant as all that!_ _A normal question would be his name, or his hometown, but I think he expects that and not in a welcome way._

"Why keep your hood up? It's rather warm in here." For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer, but then he shrugged and tipped his head back to let the cowl fall, revealing messy brown hair and wary green eyes that surveyed the room from under lowered brows. Elaina had to catch herself from looking around too, his suspicion was contagious.

"I'd rather not be recognized." He admitted, with a coldness that surprised her. _Only nobles talk that way, and nobles don't come to Tar Haviel. No one comes to Tar Haviel if they can honestly avoid it. Most people find that they can._

"Who are you that you'd be recognized out here?" she wondered aloud. Of course, she had used up her one question.

"Landon. Of Loth Daer," he surprised her by answering anyway.

"Loth Daer! I can't think anyone would recognize the King of Loth Daer if he walked in with his whole court!" she laughed at the thought of the King of Loth Daer marching across the world just to come to Tar Haviel. He didn't join her.

"You're not the King, are you?" she teased. She'd tried that sort of thing on the boys at the Midwinter Festival, and it usually worked—they stammered and laughed and blushed, and then they asked her to dance. This time it didn't work in the slightest.

"Of course not!" he spat with a scowl. Elaina bit her lip and looked away. _True spirits! And I thought I might be good at that!_

"What brought you all this way?" she tried again, more serious this time, but he only shrugged and looked away. They sat in silence until Elaina decided she should just ask him or go back to Hetarth—at least chopping wood wasn't awkward.

"Do you have a room here?" she asked.

"No," was the clipped response.

"Then you should stay with my Uncle Hetarth and I," she gestured over her shoulder to the older man, who removed his pipe to wave at them, leaving a thin stream of smoke trailing after.

Landon flicked his suspicious gaze back to Elaina with a frown. Those penetrating green eyes made it seem like she was sitting across the table from a wildcat.

"Why?" It was a biting question. She was taken aback, but kept her voice as casual as she could, forcing an apologetic grin.

"Because it will be less expensive for you than staying here, and because I do not like to chop firewood." He frowned at the firewood comment, but seemed to work it out.

"Very well." He agreed at last, "Your home is nearby?"

"Just outside the walls," she assured him, rising to her feet.

"To the east?" _So he knows that much at least._ The east was supposed to the safest direction, the farthest away from the Wilds. Her smile widened.

"No, the west."

"By the Wilds of Hasile?" To his credit, his tone was only surprise, not unease. _Not yet._

"Not by the Wilds," she corrected with a feral grin, "more like in." Elaina turned away from the table, hoping he would still follow after. When she reached Hetarth she looked back.

He was on his feet, staring after her with a peculiar expression that lay somewhere between surprise and hope, but he hadn't moved. She arched one eyebrow at him and followed Hetarth's uneven gait out into the night.

At last, she heard him dart after them with an oath that would have impressed an Morayen pearl diver. Elaina grinned. _I'll have to remember that one._

CHAPTER 2  
_The Wilds_

Outside the inn, Elaina introduced Landon to her uncle, who eyed their new houseguest's shoulders with a grin the younger man didn't understand. Elaina grimaced. That was no way to make him less anxious. He was walking on a knife blade already. She didn't know why, but he seemed about ready to reach for the sword at his hip. It was a fine weapon, the black leather hilt inlaid with gold in the shape of three crossed arrows. _Too fine for a wandering whatever-he-is and certainly too fine for one so young._ _Who is this Loth Daean? He crosses half the world alone for no decent reason, carrying a sword like that, and he's nervous as a hare in an open field._ Hetarth didn't seem troubled, leading the way into the night.

Their home was almost exactly west of the town, but they headed for the north gate. The west gate was sealed shut—no one but the two of them would have used it. The old gatekeeper came out of his little turret to open the old iron doors. The walls were twice as thick as the little town deserved, a silent reminder of the days when Tar Haviel was the last stop on the road into Hasile. Letting the two of them out to walk into the Wilds at night no longer bothered the gatekeeper, but he looked askance of Landon.

Elaina glanced over at their guest too, looking for what the gatekeeper saw. _Is it really a good idea to invite an armed stranger to come with us?_ She wondered, but Hetarth was sure—there was no reason to worry. Most children grew up thinking their elders were never wrong, but for Elaina that was suspiciously true. Since she'd come to live with Hetarth, she couldn't pick out any one time he'd been flat out wrong. It was extremely frustrating.

The great gates swung open with the low groan of metal on metal as the old man worked the levers and gears. When she was a child Elaina had spent a whole day staring at the clever design, trying to figure out how one little man could open so large a gate. She still wasn't sure. Of course, Hetarth understood it well enough to help them fix it the one time it broke. Again, frustrating.

The gates ground to a gaping halt. The night seemed blacker outside than in, but Elaina was used to it. She noticed Landon shiver, and his hand strayed to that too-fine blade. _Perhaps he stole it, and that is the cause of his nerves._ No matter, she and Hetarth had nothing worth stealing. Besides, despite his heavy limp, Hetarth didn't have the look of a man you messed with. _There's nothing to worry about._ Elaina fell back to talk to Landon, who'd slowed to let them take the lead. _How much of that is because he doesn't know the way and how much a desire to keep us in front of him?_

"We've never been attacked, and we've lived out here for years." She assured him. Landon kept his eyes on the shadows that reached out to caress them in the moonlight.

"You've always lived out here, then?" he asked, the strain in his voice not quite concealed. He continued to grasp his sword with white-knuckled intensity, but he did not draw. It was to his credit, considering the stories about the Wilds. Many things were loosed in the Invasion Hasile, not all of them natural and few of them harmless.

"My uncle has, and I've lived with him since I was ten and my parents went East." She didn't let his wariness affect her, keeping her tone light and strolling as if she were in a sunlit meadow. It didn't seem to be helping him, but it didn't hurt either.

"Why did they not take you with them?" Landon asked, distracted enough to let his eyes flick to hers in puzzlement.

"They did not want to—they went to Hurndrith." Her answer was short and she looked up at the stars between the twisted branches, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed. Even someone from the other side of the world understood—they didn't go by choice, and those stories never ended well. The rest of the winding walk was in silence.

The deep darkness of the path, only visible if you knew it existed, opened into the lesser shadow of a small clearing. Wild trees with grasping branches loomed over a modest little building that rose from uneven paving stones. Its thatch roof threw back the moonlight and small windows set high above the ground peered out from underneath it like a boy looking through too-long hair . Elaina felt Landon's wary eyes sweep over her as they stepped inside, him last. She was equal parts concerned and amused that he expected ambush from a girl and a cripple in a cottage on the edge of the empire.

His sharp gaze searched the room with a practiced air until he was satisfied. Only then did he release that gilded hilt. It was all she could do not to stare. He didn't act like any of the young men in Tar Haviel for all he looked like them (save the eyes—everyone in Tar Haviel had brown eyes). _He behaves the way I imagine a soldier would, but soldiers aren't allowed to wander about as they please. He is too clean to be a merchant's guard, perhaps he's run away? Tar Haviel would be a good place to hide if that's what he's doing, but he's awfully well-mannered for a criminal . . ._

Hetarth and Landon talked of the news in the Empire while Elaina made dinner. Though she listened closely, she still couldn't place him. Vexing. He'd been travelling for at least three seasons of the year, but little of himself came through his stories.

The chatting stopped when Elaina brought them each a bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread. Landon downed his portion in short order, though he seemed surprised to discover she was a decent cook. Elaina refilled his bowl, but he couldn't keep up with Hetarth. She grinned at him when Hetarth cleaned his sixth serving up with a bit of bread.

After the meal, they sat in the main room of the house, a comfortable area that included the kitchen, the big table with its benches, and two rocking chairs in front of the fireplace. Landon hesitated after Hetarth took the first chair until Elaina settled on the warm stones of the hearth. _Oddly courteous. Most men just assume the chairs are for them._ The older man rekindled his pipe and sat back puffing contentedly.

"So, young man," he began comfortably, "what brings you to Tar Haviel?" Elaina didn't move, her head tilted back against the fireplace, but she snuck a peek at Landon through half-closed eyes. He had a decidedly uncomfortable hunch to his shoulders, but his face was as blank as a long-time gambler's.

"I truly don't have any great reason. I was bored at home, so I set out to travel. And this is the end of the road." He said with a twist of his lips. Hetarth nodded, but Elaina could tell he wasn't convinced. _She_ wasn't convinced, but he didn't seem interested in offering a better answer.

"How long will you stay?" she asked instead.

"I'm not certain, but a word from either of you will see me back at the inn if I'm ever an annoyance." His tone was formal and he spoke mostly to Hetarth—very proper and courtly. _Mystery man._ The thought was decidedly grouchy.

The conversation returned to his travels, and if it was mundane Elaina didn't notice. She'd never left the village for more than a few days and could hardly remember Conde'tair, where she grew up. Even that was just a tiny city.

Landon talked of cities of a hundred thousand people or more— _a hundred thousand!_ _What do they eat? Where could they possibly all live?_ Hetarth seemed to believe him that Lotriel, the capital city, held that many. He nodded when Landon called Lydendram a small city then said that forty thousand lived there at any given time. Elaina didn't know where Lydendram was, precisely, only that it was the great city of the horse lords of Jernal. _A small city with forty thousand? Tar Haviel has forty families!_

They went to bed early—candles were expensive and chores began at sunup. Elaina laid out blankets for Landon before the fire.

"Don't mind the noises in the night," Elaina said as she left him for her own tiny room in the back. "Nothing will harm you here so long as you do not go out." She hesitated, then repeated, "Just stay inside."

"I will, thank you. Goodnight." He replied. She only nodded and shut her door.

Dawn found Elaina banging about in the process of making breakfast. She'd already fed the flock of chickens and the two goats who lived inside the fenced-off yard behind the house. Now the eggs were cooking in the pan, and a pitcher of milk was cooling on the windowsill, thrown open to the cold morning breeze. She was trying to be quiet, but cooking with heavy metal pans over the fire simply wasn't quiet. Landon sat up, blinking in the light.

"Anything I might help with?" he offered. Elaina shook her head with a smile.

"We'll put you to work soon enough. Did you sleep well?"

Landon only shrugged one shoulder. "Save for the howling, yes. Are those wolves, or something else?" he asked warily, looking as if he didn't entirely want to know the answer.

"Wolves, I think. They leave prints sometimes."

"They didn't sound quite like wolves." He muttered, glancing out the window as if they might have hung around.

"Well, they're large. Some of the prints are the size of dinner plates. Perhaps that is why they sound different." Elaina offered. Landon watched her cook as if the eggs might tell him if she was joking or not. He never got more of an answer—Hetarth had smelled breakfast. He hobbled out of his room with his nose in the air.

"It smells like a good day." He declared happily. Elaina rolled her eyes.

"You say that every day."

"That's because any day that starts with breakfast is a good day, and I always smell breakfast in the morning." He explained. Landon chuckled. Much like the night before, Hetarth ate twice as much as either of them. Landon just shook his head.

After breakfast, Elaina and Landon set out to bring water for Hetarth's bath. She left behind her cloak from the night before, but slung her bow over one shoulder, the highly polished birch at odds with the faded tunic she wore over green leggings. The matched quiver hung from her belt beside a knife sheathed in simple, supple leather. If he was surprised at her arsenal, Landon said nothing as he buckled his sword belt around his waist. Elaina was a little surprised he'd taken it off at all, even to sleep. She was willing to bet he'd kept it within reach, even so. They stepped outside into the bright morning, empty buckets in hand.

Glancing over his shoulder as he followed her to the well Landon remarked, "Your home looks less like a fortress in miniature in the light, though with what I heard last night, I think I may prefer a fortress." Not watching his feet, Landon caught his toe on an uneven stone and staggered to keep from landing on his face. Elaina didn't turn, despite his startled oath. Her lips moved soundlessly over it though, it was another worth remembering.

Once she was sure she wouldn't forget it, she spoke carelessly over her shoulder. "Watch the ground, or you'll be looking at it much closer than you planned. The stones haven't been even since the Order." Landon gaped at the clearing, then hurried forward to catch up with Elaina on the narrow path that wound away from the clearing.

"What are you talking about!" he hissed, "What if someone hears you?" She laughed.

"Landon, we are in the Wilds. Anything that hears us will not be human." She turned to grin at his queasy expression, but he looked positively green. She felt a pang of guilt. _Perhaps a bit far,_ Elaina thought, _he may be some young soldier-lord, but for all he knows we are about to get eaten._ Abashed, Elaina tried to put him more at ease. "Don't worry, you're safe here."

"The creatures, they don't exist?" His voice was hopeful, so she held back her bleak laugh. _Something killed the Baleys, and the claw marks all over that house were anything but normal._

"They exist, but they don't seem to come here. Perhaps they remember that the Order lived here." If the creatures had him uncomfortable, this nearly made him swallow his tongue.

"The Order really lived on that spot?" His tone was awed, as if he spoke of the Neverblind themselves.

Elaina peered at him. "That's why it's paved. Did you think my uncle and I cleared the place and laid out all those stones? Hetarth says it was a stable, though I can't say how he knows." She shrugged and ducked under a trail of ivy that hung into the path. The ivy hung from a branch that arched perfectly over the path. Landon rested his hand on it and she saw him start.

"That's not a branch," he began, eyeing it uncertainly.

"It's a doorway—another bit left over from the old times." Landon stopped to examine it, but she kept on. He would catch up. There weren't any forks in the path, and she had a strange feeling about something up ahead. Frowning, she slid her bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow.

Something is up there.

She'd just drawn the fletching to her ear when Landon's trotting footsteps came around the bend in the path and he nearly ran into her elbow. His accusing stare felt hot, but she cut off his protest with a sharp shake of her head. In front of them the path opened up to a clear pool surrounded by a wall of greenery. Under that ivy, Elaina knew the stone ruins of the Order lurked. But there was something else out there today, waiting.

"It'th waiting for uth." She whispered with a lisp—of all the sounds of the common language, the easiest to hear in the noises of the forest is the hiss of an 's.' Whatever was there was probably already aware of them, but no need to take chances. That thrill she'd felt at going to talk to a stranger the night before was dwarfed by the rush of adrenaline that burst through her now.

Landon slowly drew his sword, grasping the sheath to mute the ring of steel. He glared at the wall of foliage. At the inn she'd thought him suspicious and strange, but now she saw what she'd missed: he was _dangerous_.

It was in his movements, in his eyes— _he knows how to use that weapon, and he would use it to kill._ _I've never met anyone who's killed someone before, but I wouldn't laugh if Landon said he had._ She only hoped he wouldn't have to use that sword today. She'd never been attacked, but the things that lurked in the Wilds had never lurked so persistently before.

Without letting the tension out of the bowstring, she pushed Landon behind her with her elbow. Judging by his disgruntled expression, Landon thought he should have ended up in front but he stayed silent and still. After a few tense minutes, Elaina sighed and let the tension out of the bow. Whatever it was had backed off for the moment. She kept the arrow nocked, and Landon's darting glance told her he noticed.

"What was that?" he asked, loathe to sheath his sword.

"Don't know—didn't see it." She flashed grin mischievous grin, "something hungry." Landon wasn't satisfied.

"How do you know it was there? I heard nothing, and there are no tracks on stone." He split his searching stare between her and the ivy. For a moment, Elaina considered telling him. Usually she kept these things to herself—the people of Tar Haviel didn't really want to hear anything more of the Wilds or the odd man and his niece who lived there. In the end she answered, but kept it simple.

"I've lived out here a long time, I can just tell where they are." Elaina scanned the clearing. "And you would be surprised at the tracks you can find on stone." She muttered and pushed past him to the pool.

"Have you ever seen them?" Landon asked, hanging back cautiously.

"Yes." Her voice was level, but Elaina could not help but shiver.

"How did you escape? Trained warriors have not been so lucky." Now his suspicion was divided between the trees and herself. _Shouldn't have told him anything, but now that he knows . . ._

"They've never attacked me." She met his eyes as she sloshed back by with two full buckets. "Perhaps it is you they're after. Keep up."

Landon crossed to the pool in two long strides, tossed the buckets in and yanked them out again hard enough to make his shoulders ache. She was sure enough to put down her weapons, but she was walking much faster now with the heavy buckets than she had been before. _What is going on out here? Who are these people?_

Even with his long legs, he barely caught up with her by the time they reached the house. He felt the edge on his suspicion ease. The chickens were milling in the yard, and the goats lay on their sides pulling up mouthfuls of hay and chewing contentedly. Animals noticed more than people, usually. Whatever it was hadn't followed them.

Landon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The door slamming behind Elaina startled him back into motion. He shook his head. Freezing up just because of some animal he had never seen? Truth, he was on edge!

When he made it into the house Elaina was already relating to Hetarth what happened. The wrinkles around the older man's eyes were made even deeper by his fierce frown.

"—never happened before, but something was there, and it was waiting for us." She finished worriedly. _At least she isn't as cavalier as she seemed._ ' _Something hungry,' honestly!_

"Then why did it leave?" Hetarth asked her, puzzled. At least he didn't doubt her story. Landon thought his own father might have wanted more proof than just a bad feeling about a wall of leaves.

Elaina shrugged. "I don't know, I pushed him behind me. Maybe it was after him." She nodded to Landon, a little hopeful. He couldn't blame her, really, but he personally wished she were wrong about that. He didn't like to be thought of as breakfast. Hetarth's sharp eyes bored into his own, and Landon sensed he was being measured in some way he didn't understand.

"Oh, it was after him." Her uncle assured her quietly. _How am I going to find what I'm looking for if the nightmares on the doorstep are ready to eat me?_ Landon wondered as Elaina's worried eyes raked over him. It had been a mistake to think the hardest part of his mission would be getting to the far side of the world. _Of course. The next step is always the hardest._

"What's wrong with me then, why aren't they after me?" Elaina asked, puzzled. Landon blinked. That wasn't an entirely normal response. _Most people would just be happy they weren't part of a monster's meal._ Then again, these two weren't exactly normal. Not necessarily a bad thing, but certainly not normal.

"Wrong, my dear?" He raised a bushy black eyebrow. His short beard and thick hair were graying, but those eyebrows resisted, dominating a sharp brow that reminded Landon of his father. Now there was something he wanted to avoid even more than the possibility of being eaten: his father. That was going to be an uncomfortable reunion if he lived through all of this.

"I wouldn't say that—if you were like everyone else, you and your friend would likely be dead, and I would still be waiting for my bathwater." Hetarth reasoned. Landon said nothing about being called a friend, but he'd spent too much time around noblemen not to notice the implication of every chosen word. _Friend is good—perhaps they will help_. _At the very least, perhaps they will help keep me from being eaten._

"Very well, then, what is the difference between him and I?" she amended.

"Perhaps you are too pretty to eat?" Hetarth suggested hopefully. Elaina gave him a dry look, and his bright expression faded. Landon half smiled at the exchange. His little sister Kari had perfected that withering stare two years ago at the age of nine. _No doubt learned it from Mother_. He wasn't looking forward to that stare either when he got home, come to it.

Hetarth's lower lip stuck out while he thought, eyebrows drawn together. "I'll think of it, don't worry." He assured his niece. "Now how about that bath?"

Elaina nodded, but she was watching him closely, unconvinced. Landon thought she was right—Hetarth was hiding something.

CHAPTER 3

_The Telling_

Hetarth leaned back in the big tin tub tucked under the eaves on the south side of the house. Scowling fiercely, he didn't notice how the water cooled while he massaged the stiffness out of his leg. The embers laid out under the tub were dying in the cool wind that snuck through the curtain, but he wasn't thinking of his bath. There were more troubling things on his mind, like how he had not been entirely truthful with Elaina. He knew why the creatures didn't approach her, and it wasn't because she was pretty—though she was, with her mother's fine features. _They know what we are and take warning_. What he didn't know was whether to tell her.

_No, I have to tell her. She's of age. It's_ how _to tell her that is the question, and what to do with the boy._ He sighed, rubbing a hand across his chin. This would all have been much easier if her parents hadn't attracted so much attention. They'd had to, of course, but it was unfortunate.

He gave a start. The water was _cold!_ He frowned and swirled his finger through the water, sending out little waves that suddenly steamed. _Too hot, should have been paying more attention,_ he thought and sighed again. He'd just have to tell her as best he could, and then he'd figure out what to do with the boy.

Elaina sat at the table across from Landon, nursing her lukewarm tea. She'd been asking him about Loth Daer, what it was like. It was pleasant to talk about home, but he was careful not to reveal too much. They heard Hetarth's crutch on the porch, and her bright eyes flicked to the door. He ducked inside and came to stand at the head of the table. To Landon's surprise, the man's solemn eyes turned to him instead of Elaina. It made him uneasy.

"I think it's time you were honest with us, lad. Who are you, and why are you here?" Hetarth asked bluntly. He was a formidable man, but he wasn't threatening. Looking from Hetarth face to his niece's, neither was hostile or frightened, just curious and perhaps a little grim. Landon studied the table in front of him, tracing the whorls on the wood with a finger as they waited. _What do I tell them?_

"You're not going anywhere without one of us, Landon, or have you forgotten this morning already?" Hetarth reminded gently. Landon considered pointing out that he had never actually seen the beast, but even if she'd been lying about it, this was still the Wilds. _There is no ignoring that many reports—something is out there, whether or not it is after me yet_.

"Young men do not walk across the known world simply because they are bored. They may fight in silly duels or become the most honey-tongued cad in three kingdoms, or scheme and pull pranks, or join the army, but they don't trek across Arith and they don't come to tiny little nowhere towns like Tar Haviel." Hetarth's voice had taken on a tone of warning. It was a tone Landon's father had often had occasion to use. It meant he would not be lied to again.

Landon sighed _. I have to tell them some of it, but how much?_ There was at least one thing he absolutely wanted to keep secret _. How much do they know about Loth Daer?_ _They would never believe I am a farmer or shepherd, but perhaps the son of a minor lord? Surely they do not know our Houses all the way out here . . ._

"My full name is Landon Damon Ren'jedal, of the House of the Seven Stars in Loth Daer." He saw something flicker in Hetarth's eyes. _Have I said too much?_ Landon ploughed on before Elaina noticed the pause.

"I left home because Yaldra, a caster, told me the only chance I had was to find someone in Hasile who could help me."

"The only chance you had to do what?" Elaina broke in. _Can I trust them?_ He wondered, hands frozen on the table. _They're out here by themselves, on the fringe, no one will believe them if they tell. But then, what if someone does? I'll have to tell someone eventually, if they're to help me, but how do I know who I should trust?_ The questions raced through his mind. He jerked his eyes to Elaina's as if he could read the answers there. She flinched, but didn't look away. _True spirits save me!_

"To bring down the Empire." He held his breath.

Elaina's eyes widened with her gasp. Hetarth closed his eyes, head bowed as if he could keep from hearing, but no fear was on his face, only tired sorrow. Neither laughed, though perhaps they should have. Even though he was absolutely serious, it was an absurd thing for any one man to say. He could be executed just for saying it. His jaw clenched involuntarily. _It has to be done. And if it can't ever be done, it has to be tried._ Taking a breath, he launched into the explanation he had shared with no one since leaving Loth Daer. He only hoped he could finish before they cut him off.

"The Drethlords do not belong here. They've usurped every throne in Arith. They silence everyone and force those they cannot silence into hiding. They should not rule, and they won't die in a natural span of years. They must not be allowed to stay, they cannot be allowed to stay." He hissed. Looking down, he found his hands were in fists. His heart raced in his chest. Would they turn him in? An agent of Hurndrith would recognize him in an instant. _Oh spirits, it's too late to take it back._

"My only hope is some help I would find in the Wilds of the far west, so I am here. I walked most of the way, working for my bed and supper when I could, sleeping under hedges when I couldn't. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but I'm here. All that's left is to find what I need." He spread his hands again and dared to look up.

His audience was unchanged. Elaina was still surprised, perhaps a little admiring. Hetarth looked like an old man in a way he hadn't before, leaning against his crutch with both hands. His eyes, so like Elaina's with motes of gold in brown like warm honey, were inscrutable.

Hetarth stared down at the young man seated at his table speaking high treason. Any man could be killed for saying what he said, for being accused of saying it. He could probably be killed just for hearing it. Hetarth almost shook his head. _House of the Seven Stars, indeed. I knew there was something familiar about the boy—he has his father's nerve._ He turned to Elaina, waiting for her to decide.

"Truth, you're serious." She breathed, then looked up at him with her mother's eyes. "Can we help him?" He closed his eyes on the two of them for a moment. _Can we help him?_ It was done then. The thing he had worried over for so long was here in his kitchen, the answer to a prophecy he wished he'd never heard.

Years before the Invasion he had been told this road would lead to his death, and it would start with that simple question. That was not what troubled him. All rivers come to the sea, all men die. His nineteen years since the day he was crippled were a gift. It was Elaina he worried for. What would happen to her without him? She was too young for this, too inexperienced. If he were dead within the year, who would teach her? _How many prophesies will find her now, I wonder._

Prophecy was a reflection in the Well of Fate, from whose waters the Neverseen fed the River Evermind that divided Evermore, the world of spirits. The Evermind flowed in an unending circle, separating the island resting place of true spirits from the far shore to which false spirits were condemned. The Neverseen drew up souls from the Well of Fate and cast them into the Evermind. One day they would be brought to shore by the Neverblind, the judges of the souls of men.

Hetarth had often wondered if the water-bearers of fate were really called the "never-seeing," and the name had been corrupted over time. Only a blind fate could throw an untried girl into the world like this. No, the Neverblind might be all-seeing, but the Neverseen had to be sightless.

It was time to tell her the beginning. The end she would see soon enough.

He adopted an even tone in the hopes that it would keep them steady. "Very well, Landon, we will help you. You have trusted us enough to tell us this, so I will trust you in return. You have found what you were looking for." Landon looked up at him, wary.

"I am not a fool, sir. I ask you do not treat me as one." _Ah, there is the cold pride of a king._ Hetarth smiled wanly.

"I don't know if that is as true as you believe, Landon Ren'jedal, but I am not playing you for the fool. Elaina is the only person alive who could help you defeat the Drethlords." He paused significantly, letting the boy's incredulous eyes dart to his niece. _Oh, little 'Laina!_

"She is a Guardian. As is happens, so am I."

After a suitable pause, Elaina burst out "What on Arith do you mean?" She waited for him to start laughing at his joke, and part of him wished he were joking.

"I mean," he went on deliberately, "That you and I are the last surviving members of the Order of the Guardians, Creators of the pillars of the earth. You will be much stronger than I ever was, however."

Elaina didn't look at their guest, but Hetarth didn't think the boy had moved an hair. He could almost hear the wheels turning in his head—with them he had the chance to destroy the Empire, to free and avenge the nations. On the other hand, who wanted to be involved with power like that, power that could kill before you saw it coming? The boy was half jubilation, half violent suspicion.

"Guardian?" Elaina breathed. _How like her mother she looks! Oh Esania, are you watching this from Evermore? Your little girl, the last child named in the Hall of Giants, is ready to begin. Truth, how I wish you were here!_ Hetarth gathered himself and smiled at his niece.

"You are. That is why we live where others do not dare, why our eyes are halfway to gold when everyone else's are not—though of course mine are merely an Illusion to keep people from wondering where you got it. Did you never wonder?" He teased.

Her shrug was stiff and her lower lip pouting. _Now that is her father as a child—the very same mule-stubborn, ears-back pout that had made Esania laugh every time he was told he did something the wrong way_. Hetarth remembered thinking that his little sister and the Tristarine boy would make each other happy even then.

"We just did, is all. Lots of farms have never been attacked, even if they're not so close to the mountains. And plenty of people have different eyes—look at him!" she pointed at Landon, who remained silent.

"Well, now you know. That's why we're safe here; the monsters know what we are and they stay away. None of them want to be your enemy. After your first casting, they may even wish to be your friend. A few of them trouble me to no end, following me about." Hetarth rolled his eyes.

"You should look out for one in particular, the most enormous Girswit I've ever seen. He keeps trying to come in the house, which would never do, since he's about the same size—" He shook his head. _Ridiculous beast_. "That's just one of a thousand things I must teach you." Somehow he kept from finishing his sentence: _while I still have time._

"What sort of things?" Landon asked, finally breaking out of his silence.

"And how do you know I'll be stronger than you? What does that mean?" Elaina added. Hetarth chuckled. _Always an eager child . . ._

He turned away and limped for his room. The Book would be better explanation, better proof for the two of them. Kneeling by the wardrobe was a challenge, but hidden in the false bottom lay the enormous volume he was looking for. He ran his fingers over the familiar cover like the face of an old friend.

The pages were darker with time, and the leather had stiffened in the ten years since he had last looked at it. _The leather hardens the longer it stays out in the world, away from the cool darkness of the Hall of Giants._ The inscription was still clear though, all loops and curls and thick lines that trailed into nothing.

Balthezin, the language of the Dynasty, overtook the old tongues of the nations. Many nations had forgotten their heritage. The Guardians did not. They went on speaking the language they had spoken since time immemorial. Other than the Order, only nobles spoke it and not well. Because it was used to crown kings and bury the dead, the language became solemn among the common people—men would die before they broke an oath in the True Tongue, though only royalty learned enough of it to actually come up with an oath on their own.

Elaina would have to learn to read it before she could unlock all the Book's secrets. That was well enough. There were things in there she should not see yet. Hetarth ran his fingers over the title. _Shavira a' Casse,_ the Book of the Broken.

_Well, it broke me_ , he thought, remembering his journey across half the world, following Savana and the Book. The Book he found and saved from the Drethlord's clutches, but not Savana. And then he'd come home a cripple to find Elaina orphaned. _It certainly broke me._

It was a struggle to rise with the heavy thing in one arm, but using the wardrobe he got back to his feet and returned to the young ones, still silent at the table. He set it down with a thump that jarred the wood.

"Where have you been hiding that?" Elaina asked, squinting at it. She'd read every other book they owned a hundred times over. "I've never seen it."

"It wouldn't have been well hidden if you had," he said with a chuckle. _A little mystery is good. And we have more important things to discuss than the hinge at the bottom of my wardrobe._ "This is where we begin." He stated, "You with your rebellion, Landon, and you with your training." He focused on Elaina.

"I'll train you the way Guardians have always been trained, the way Creators have been taught since everything began. The power of Creation could not be destroyed by the Drethlords any more than they could destroy the sky."

"They said they destroyed it, were they lying?" Landon asked.

"Yes, and no. They stopped anyone from using it, which might be thought of as destruction, but it isn't gone." All Hetarth got for this explanation was a puzzled look. He tried again.

"Think of it this way, you could kill every musician, and then there would be no songs, but you haven't ended Music, have you? All it takes is another musician to play it again. Elaina is our last great musician." The metaphor worked much better, the boy nodded and eyed Elaina. She looked uncomfortable, uncertain if she could do it. He wasn't. The girl was born for this.

"Won't the Drethlords come for us?" she asked, eyes far away. No doubt she was thinking of her parents being taken to Hurndrith. _Thank the true spirits for their neighbors hiding the child from the agents._

"They may." He agreed, solemnly "Once you are strong enough they will notice—sooner or later they always notice if someone is doing anything especially large with the Pillars—it creates a resonance, it does. I haven't done more than a petty caster since you came to me, child." He knew his voice was bitter, bitter from years of hiding under a rock from lesser men, bitter from the loss of a family and a homeland.

"Mama and Papa were doing more, then?" she asked quietly. "Is that how they found us?"

"Yes, child. You remember the fire in Conde'tair? Your parents revealed themselves to save their neighbors, and the Drethlords felt it. Those neighbors couldn't save your parents, but they cared for you until I returned." Elaina nodded, tears sparkling in her eyes. She had been old enough to know what was happening, even if she could not understand why.

"Must I be a Guardian, Uncle?" she asked. Suddenly she was the orphaned child he had come back to, himself newly crippled from regaining the Book. Landon looked up sharply, but Hetarth silenced him with a gesture. _This is no time for the fire of the Seven Stars. She needs to find her own reasons to fight, not adopt the boy's._

"Yes," he said sadly, feeling the burden he was settling on her shoulders. "It will come upon you sooner or later. It's easier if you accept at once and begin to learn." He paused when she ducked her head, then went on, "Would you have it another way, if you could choose?" Her head came up again, and now there was a fire in her eyes.

"No. I _will_ be a Guardian and then they'll be sorry. Sorry for everything. I'll make them wish that they had never left their cursed islands, that they had never seen a ship!" Hetarth smiled gently. There was the backbone she would need, even if it was a little early to imagine great victories. Landon's grin was triumphant, there was his passion matched. He turned to Hetarth, then frowned.

"So your eyes are really grey?"

"Since I was Elaina's age. Though I didn't have to hide it until the Drethlords came. It's Illusion, a trick of Water and Fire and Air. Some casters cannot hide—those that cannot touch all of pillars they need. It leaves them vulnerable. Everyone knows about the Changing; grey eyes draw attention." Hetarth explained.

"Are mine hidden too?" Elaina asked suspiciously.

"Not yet. They won't begin to grey until you cast. For weak casters it takes longer, but for a Creator it will be a matter of weeks or days before they change. Then you'll have to hide your eyes from the world, or you'll draw the sort of attention you don't want." She grimaced at the thought.

She wasn't much for hiding. He could still remember her expression when one of the other children explained the game of foxes and hounds to her. She never understood why they played, because only one person got to be the hound, and what was the fun in being the fox hiding behind the woodpile for hours?

"Unless I am mistaken, this is your twentieth winter?" he asked her. Elaina nodded. Her birthday was sometime just before the onset of winter. "Good. When a Guardian is about that age, their power awakens. You must bring it to heel and then it will be at your fingertips until you're older, grayer, and more wrinkled than I." She rolled her eyes.

"What power is that?" Landon asked.

"You are familiar with the world of spirits," Hetarth began after a pause.

"Evermore," Landon answered promptly, "Divided by the River Evermind, which runs to keep the true spirits on the near shore and the false on the far shore. The Neverseen draw spirits up from the Well of Fates to cast into the river, and the Neverblind draw them to shore in the end."

Hetarth smiled. As different as the nations of Arith were, even in Loth Daer every child knew that by rote.

"Yes, that's right. The power in the River is Sa'ara, the Unknowable. It is the spark of Life and the heart of Trust and all those other ideal, unmatchable things: Love, Time, and the rest. No man or woman can meddle with things of Sa'ara. Even the greatest Creators who ever lived never brought life to the dead, nor altered the passage of time, nor manufactured love."

"What can a Creator do?" Elaina pressed. Hetarth held out a hand. _Always was an impatient child._

"We're getting there. The physical world is built out of Evermore, supported by the four pillars of creation: Fire, Earth, Air, and Water, which rise out of the Evermind. The power of casters and Creators revolves around the pillars. Casters can rearrange them, like a puzzle. They do not create anything." He explained.

"I've seen a caster fill a glass with water and light a fire just by looking at the wood." Landon countered, "How is that not creation?"

"It seems like it, certainly, it resembles creation. But they are categorically different. Those casters probably collected Water or Fire out of the air around them."

"Then it doesn't make a difference that they can't create." Elaina pointed out.

"Wrong. A caster can only gather what is available. In the Harsonrim Desert, a Creator could make a lake. A caster would be hard pressed to scrounge together a flask of water. In battle, one side's casters are often busy dismantling each other's arrows, but the other side is just as quickly trying to remake them. A Creator could banish all of the arrows in an instant—remove the material. And then only a Creator could make another arrow."

Landon nodded, beginning to see the tactical advantage of a Creator. Elaina frowned at him. As the young lord gained confidence in the advantage of having her on his side, she looked to be getting nervous about how useful she would be.

The passion of the Seven Stars again. One untrained girl who has only known for a minute or two, and look at him plot his great coup d'état!

"Is it hard to do?" Elaina asked, uncertain. Hetarth shrugged.

"It isn't easy, but you were born for it. It takes concentration, practice, and knowledge, but that will come with time. We'll likely know your strongest and weakest pillars by the end of today, if you manage to cast at all."

"Cast?" Landon repeated. "I thought casters cast and Creators created."

"That's right," Hetarth rolled his eyes, "But as children learn to run by first walking, Creators learn to create and banish by first casting. Enough chatting. You'll learn more by doing, Elaina. This should be good." He chuckled.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Landon, suspicious as ever.

"Normally, new Guardians trained with an adept that was stronger than they—just in case they lost control. It was a guarantee that the teacher could counteract anything the student did. Elaina would have been trained by the Naedar, however, one of the nine strongest. Any of them might have crushed me like a beetle."

"Are you saying she's going to squash us like insects?" Landon asked dryly. Hetarth waved a dismissive hand.

"Unlikely. She won't be up to her full potential for some time, and I have the advantage of experience. I'm sure we'll all live to see dinner, thank the Truth. Come along!" He reassured them both as he made for the door, clutching the Book with one hand. He chuckled at their pale faces. _Ah, well, a little fear will make them cautious. Caution will temper them when the fun begins._

He found his bleak mood lifted as he led the way away from the house. Fate might be waiting, but today was his, his and Elaina's. _She will be great, the greatest of the age. Her story will dominate the Eighth Chronicle the way Hector dominated the Third, or Alecto the Fifth. And I have the privilege of being her teacher._

CHAPTER 4  
_The Beginning_

Elaina followed Hetarth as he limped confidently through the trees. He moved well despite his affliction, but he was in a hurry—he'd soon tire at this pace. Landon walked behind her, glaring at the foliage and gripping the pommel of his sword. No doubt he was thinking of the morning trip to the well.

Their silent line had only left the clearing of the house fifteen minutes before, but Elaina's sense of direction was completely addled, and she recognized nothing. She was sure she had never found these paths in ten years exploring, and they were not a league from home!

Hetarth didn't seem uncertain of the way, no matter how lost she was. He marched as if he knew each turn by heart, down to the number of paces between each one. _Where are we going, and what was it before the Invasion?_ She wondered, shivering.

After nearly an hour of walking, Hetarth stopped in the center of a perfectly round clearing. Large tree trunks circled the space, completely green with ivy and moss. Elaina frowned. They were precisely spaced, exactly the same in size . . . _Columns, not trees. Where are we?_ Hetarth breathed deeply, as if he was trying to get a whiff of the past. When he whirled about to face the two of them Landon took a startled step back.

"This is the Book of the Broken." He began quickly, "Written by the very first of the Guardians when they feared they would be destroyed in the War of Shadows. This was how they planned to pass on their knowledge." Holding it against his chest, Hetarth went on, "It is more valuable than my life and yours Landon." Beside her, Landon blinked.

"There's only a question in your case Elaina because you may be the last of us. Without you the book is useless." Before that could make her feel to important, he went on, "and without this book, you are no more a Guardian than an egg is an eagle." _Well that's unfortunate. Eggs are easily broken._ She grimaced.

"This book survived the War of Shadows, the Lost Times, and the Invasion because better men than you and I died to save it." Hetarth scowled at Landon, eyebrows bristling. He looked doubtful, but Elaina knew better. Her uncle never lied. _Always will the Truth be on my lips—soon that will be my oath, too._

"Don't believe me, Landon Damon Ren'jedal?" Hetarth asked, pronouncing it in the same rolling way Landon had.

"I have never heard of men dying for a book." He muttered defensively.

"This book was kept in the Hall of Giants, the great meeting place of the Naedar, carved into the living stone of the mountains. It was the heart of Tarquendale, and the city was the heart of Hasile." Hetarth's voice had taken on the deep timbre Elaina remembered from childhood—his storytelling voice. She imagined this was how an old oak tree would sound, if one ever decided to speak.

"When the Drethlords came the Naedar stayed to face them, but the Book was sent from the Hall. It was put in the hands of ten Guardians, seven men and three women.

"After the fall, the Drethlords sought after the Book, and they passed it from hand to hand as they were overtaken. They were hunted east to the Haldon Kai, nearly to the headwaters of the Morgaen in Loth Daer. Then only one remained.

"She knew she would be caught, so she hid the Book and left a riddle that would lead a survivor to the Book. When she was found and captured, she never revealed her secret. " His voice was cold when he finished. It made Elaina flinch like a slap in the face. _Did he know that woman? Did he know all of the ten? How many were his friends?_ Landon looked properly abashed.

"You wouldn't believe the legends of this book and the Lost Times, or the War of Shadows." Hetarth finished quietly, stroking the cover.

"What does it say, why is it so important?" Elaina asked tentatively.

"In times of struggle among Creators, it was dangerous because it explains the mysteries of the pillars, as much as they can be explained. The Book shows the basic form of every creation, every manipulation ever cast. Of course, each individual has their own tweaks: from weather and simple healing to growing plants and building with stone. Everything that the Order ever discovered how to do is written here. There are things in this Book that could make your bones disappear," she made a face. "Things that could melt the world, or freeze it! How to wage a war with our power, how to bring down civilizations!" He rose to a crescendo, echoing impossibly among the trees. "It is the guide to the pillars, the instructions to the power of Arith."

"That," he went on, "is why you must never lose this Book, or let it be taken from you." His conversational tone sounded quiet in Aryn's still-ringing ears. She nodded obediently and wasn't surprised to see Landon doing the same.

"Excellent! Let's begin." Hetarth said with a smile and a clap of his hands, "Elaina, come stand here," he gestured her over. Landon visibly relaxed to be out of his attention. "Watch." He instructed.

Tendrils of mist began to twine around their ankles, filling the clearing unnaturally until it was too dense to see through. The mist whirled into shapes and lines, thickening to almost perfect whiteness. One tiny portion glimmered and sparkled, turning into a rope of water. The transformation spread until the mist was gone, replaced by a perfectly round disc of arcs and curves. It slowly rose up into a dome like a bubble floating on water, only it was as delicate and precise as a spider's web, glittering like filaments of crystal.

Landon was still, eyeing the dome. Elaina just stared. Almost on its own, her hand drifted out to touch it. Just before her fingertips settled on the delicate strands it flashed into mist once more. In a fraction of a second, all of it was gone.

"What was that?" She whispered. Somehow, talking seemed far too loud.

"That was a matrix of Water. Well, it was Air too. I've never had a particular feel for Water. Most of the time, you can accomplish the same task with multiple pillars. If you want to move a rock, you can use Earth to control it directly, manipulating the nature of the thing. Or you can lift it with Air. You can dry something either by moving the Water out, or by bringing heat—Air and Fire—in."

"When you say you're going to move something by manipulating its nature—don't you mean just manipulating it? How can there be a difference between an object and its being?" Landon asked.

Elaina blinked. _That was either terribly insightful, or a completely ridiculous, and I am not sure which. What sort of question was that? What an odd sort of fellow!_

"No difference between an object and its being? You are an object, Landon, but it is not that body that goes to the shores of Evermore—it is your spirit, your being." Hetarth reminded him.

"But things do not have spirits, that's what makes them things." Landon objected. To Elaina's surprise, that made Hetarth smile.

"You've hit upon the very heart of it, my boy. Objects do not have _unique, individual_ spirits like we do, they have something more basic, more general. Their "spirit" or "being" is made up of a pattern of the pillars. Air moving is wind, Air and Water make ice or mist; Water alone is rain and rivers, Water and Fire is steam; Fire alone is a flame, Fire and Earth is a metal, Fire and Air is heat or light or both—lightning; Earth and Water and Air make up soil . . . the list goes on and on. Everything you see is made up of the pillars."

"You keep calling us Creators. What's the difference between a Creator and a Guardian?" Elaina asked with a frown.

"Guardians have sworn limits to their power. In Arith, after the War of Shadows all Creators had to take the Oath, so there has been no difference between the two. From what I understand of the Drethlords' homeland that was not the case, though they seem to have run out of Creators somewhere along the way. The Drethlords themselves are only complete casters. They can touch all the pillars, but cannot create or destroy. It is the difference between an archer and the man who can also make the bow." Hetarth said, "Look."

The clearing seemed to brighten as veins of light rose on every surface. The trees were lined with glittering traces of blue and black and silver. Silver and red rotated in the motes of light between the leaves, the stones were traced through with black. It was as if the whole of the world were covered in intricate spider webs strung with rubies and sapphires, diamonds and ebony. Elaina could only stare in wonder as Hetarth explained.

"The physical world is made of the pillars, spun together in complex webs. If you can sense the pieces of the puzzle, you can move them about—break them apart or join them together, move things about. Patterns can be broken down, dissolved, dispersed, but each little light you see now is all a caster can work with. Creators, though, we can create or destroy. As I said before, in the Shadow wars, casters would try to dissolve the arrows flying toward them, the other side would try to reform them or hold them together. The pieces were all there. A Guardian could banish the building blocks entirely—there is no way to bring them back unless you have Guardians too."

Landon studied the trunk of a tree, running his hands over the fine lines of power that he could see but not feel—it was only Illusion, Hetarth showing them what he could see. Elaina peered at the swirls of glimmering blue contained in a drop of dew. Hetarth let his copies fade.

"That is what a caster can see, if they look. Manipulating the pillars is a matter of rearranging the dots. I suppose they call it casting a web because of the resemblance to a spider's web."

"Now it is your turn, Elaina." he said.

She felt the worried frown furrow her forehead, but couldn't make it go away. _I've never been so nervous in my life! Truth, I wish Landon weren't here._ Hetarth had to be, but Landon didn't. She absolutely hated the idea of failing in front of an audience. There was no way her touch wouldn't mar absolute perfection and complex precision of the webs. _I'm none of those things—not perfect, not complex, not precise. Oh dear. It'll be like trying to pick up a spider web without damaging it._

"Breathe, my dear," Hetarth chuckled, "Breathe and focus." He bent awkwardly to pluck a sprig of leaves from a nearby bush. In the center of the trefoil leaves were the last remnants of the morning dew, hidden in the shade. Her uncle handed it to her.

"Look closely, see the Water." He murmured and showed her again the web of the Element that made the drop. "Feel the structure, the fluidity. Find its nature in yourself—find your power."

Terribly aware of Landon's watching eyes, she tried to focus. The tiny reflection of the clearing rippled on the water's surface with her breath and the lattice shifted with it. She felt something stir, a swirl of something in the reflection, in herself. . . but then it was gone.

_That is it. Whatever it is, that is what I need to find again, find and take hold of._ The web on the dewdrop faded until Elaina wasn't sure if she was only remembering it, or still seeing.

She strained for that feeling, losing herself in the one tiny droplet. She was close, she could feel it. The feeling was like remembering the taste of your favorite food just before you tasted it again.

The closeness set her teeth on edge with longing, as if the most wonderful thing in the world were held at her lips and then snatched away just when she realized what it was.

Landon exhaled noisily. Apparently he'd been holding his breath. She blocked him out of her mind, him and the whole world, even Hetarth, who had not moved a hair. _There is only Water._

She tried again, aching for that feeling and determined to have it. This time she did not seek, did not reach—she commanded.

Everything faded around her, like a sudden mist had risen again. _That's it_. The ache in her chest was replaced by the deepest, most powerful calm. In her mind, she reached out for the source of the resonance that seemed to pulse inside the tiny drop. She touched it.

Abruptly, the peace was gone.

The feeling, the rush of power filled her, roared through her like a river of fire that charred to the bone. It made her teeth chatter as she was submerged in it, cold that cut like a knife, sharp enough to strip her spirit from her body. It thundered and swirled, sucking her in, pulling her under and tearing her away from life even as she drowned in it. Her heart raced as if it would explode. She couldn't tell if she was panting for air or not breathing at all. _True Spirits!_

With a gasp, she wrenched out of its embrace, pulling away but not letting go. Her vision cleared.

Everything was exactly the same, only cleaner, sharper, brighter. Colors sprang at her, vivid and new as if they had never been seen before by her or anyone else. The smell of damp earth and growing things was strong. A breath of wind rustling through the forest was as loud as a gale to her ears. She felt _alive._ It was shockingly peaceful and still compared to just moments before.

She peered around the clearing with new eyes, and the faintest hints of webs glittered at her. Elaina studied the dew. Its unbroken surface was brilliant with sapphire light. Elaina seized the web in her mind, took hold of it and lifted.

The physical form followed the crystal lattice she controlled, lifting off the leaf, swirling into a perfect orb of Water. The stem fell from her fingers, but the dewdrop remained, hovering in the air. It glittered like a gem in the sunlight.

Hetarth heaved a sigh of relief. Her concentration shattered. The dew fell to the stones. The feeling and the webs were gone. She looked up.

Her uncle was beaming at her, proud as a mother hen. Landon's uneasy grin was halfway between excited and nervous. His tanned skin was faintly green and his eyes surprised—was that because he didn't think she could do it, or because he didn't think he'd survive? _Maybe both_.

"You did it my girl! You did it! You took control—and so quickly! Well done, my dear, well done!" he congratulated, limping over as fast as he could to smother her in a hug.

"I did it." She marveled, murmuring into Hetarth's broad shoulder, "I really did it!" she laughed happily as Hetarth pushed her back to look at her.

"Are you tired?" he asked, eyes glinting.

She giggled, though it wasn't funny, "Like I've been splitting wood all day. Is it always this exhausting?"

"You'll get stronger. The first time takes more than most because it's so very new and so strong in you. That will fade with time and practice. And if Water is not your strong suit that would make it harder, too. Perhaps you are better with Air—a few women are." Hetarth mused, "Or even Fire or Earth—that would be unusual! And creating is even harder, of course. The framework must be exactly right, or it will not work. Banishing is difficult on account of scope. If you banish more than you wanted to, you must know how to bring it all back just as it was, or it is lost for good." His voice was grave.

"If you choose to do evil things with your power, or banish what you shouldn't, none will be able to stop you or repair the damage you do. They might not even know they should. You could be a greater threat to Arith than the Empire. You could be the very worst thing to happen to Arith."

"But of course I won't be!" She cried in protest. Hetarth sighed and hobbled over to give her a one-armed hug. She wanted to resist it— _how can he even suggest?_!—but she settled for not embracing him back.

"I believe you," Hetarth said seriously, "else I wouldn't teach you any of this. Never forget it, though, remember you are not a god, Elaina, and you are not the judge of souls. It is better to be cautious with your power than to become worse than those you fight against."

"I'll remember, Uncle." she promised.

Hetarth smiled, relieving the gravity of the moment. "Good. All of that will come later. For today, it is just casting. Let's begin!"

CHAPTER 5  
_The Training_

Beginning with the most simple webs, Elaina's first few hours casting were by turns tense, boring, frustrating, gratifying, and of course unspeakably exciting.

Her first failed web was of Earth _._ Hetarth directed her attention to the simplest Earth web, that of a stone. It looked even simpler than Water, but as it happened Elaina was enormously untalented with Earth.

The rock she was working on left the ground, to be sure, but only to explode in a hail of flying chips. The shards embedded themselves in the columns—and in Landon. Hetarth had managed a barrier of Air, but Landon had only just thrown up his hands in time to cover his face. He was terribly put out despite the fact that Hetarth repaired the damage in a matter of seconds. From then on Landon muttered and glared and backed away dramatically every time she cast a web.

Elaina found her guilt faded quickly the longer he carried on _. It wasn't as if I tried to lose the web—and I did apologize. Repeatedly._

"Now, this is clearly not your talent," Hetarth noted. Landon snorted and was deliberately ignored. "but it is best if you reach some manner of control. If the enemy decides to pelt you with boulders or bury you with a mountain, you'll thank me." He assured her as she readied for a second try.

"Remember what it felt like to have the web snap that way, and try not to push it so far." He cautioned, then shielded himself and Landon behind a wall of Air. Elaina nodded and did her best not to grimace.

_Don't let that happen—easy for him to say!_ Her thoughts were decidedly uncooperative. Casting that web felt like drawing a bow three times too strong for her, if the bowstring happened to be a live serpent. Water was relatively easy, and Fire and Air even better. Light looked dreadfully tricky with Air and Fire all together, but that had at least felt learnable. This was absurd! The patterns simply didn't make any sense. _Not my talent, indeed._ She sighed and focused on another stone. Hopefully this one would survive.

It only cracked in three places, not moving at all. Instead of seizing and manipulating the web of the stone itself, her touch seemed to make it crack and dissolve entirely.

Hetarth sighed.

Landon smirked.

Elaina scowled. She felt like throwing the rock at the fancy young lord the old-fashioned way.

"Your spirit is obviously very little like a stone—you do _not_ understand it well enough to cast it. I would have thought you stubborn enough to understand stone . . . " Her uncle observed. "I suppose we will try something else." A hopeful expression spread across Landon's face. It made her want to stick out her tongue at him. "Shall we do more with—"

"Fire?" Elaina interrupted. She felt ever so much more like Fire than Air or Water and wanted to finish on a good note. Landon wouldn't be smirking after she turned another shrub into a bonfire.

Hetarth seemed to understand, rolling his eyes heavenward as if to seek patience from the heavens. "Fire, then, but not on these poor living things." He held up his arms as if to protect the plants behind him. "You can use the Fire to melt the stone."

Elaina's eyes narrowed. "Is it more difficult?"

"Not if you don't make it so. In theory it is the same, but some casters build a block to working with certain items with _any_ Element. I don't want you to find yourself unable to lift a stone with Air, melt it with Fire, or grind it to dust, even if you cannot draw on its own nature.

Taking a breath, Elaina gathered the tiny slips of Fire in the Air, stealing the warmth and concentrating it into the strongest web of Fire she could manage. Any more than that and it would all slip away. Even knowing that, it was hard to resist reaching for everything. Going slowly felt like filling a bath one spoonful at a time. _But I will not fail again._ Her jaw clenched. _Just enough and no more._

Heat filled her, dancing and twisting with power she cast into the stone. It glowed red. The web pulsed and crackled with the energy of flame, engulfing the stone and pouring through it. White heat shimmered at its edges. An instant before it happened, she felt the stone give. It wavered, then abandoned its shape and flowed out into a puddle.

Slowly, she released what she'd gathered. Dropping it all at once was like having a door slam shut in your face. She'd staggered back and fallen enough already to wonder if sitting would be uncomfortable tomorrow. As she let go, the molten stone divided in two, the edges curling up and swirling together into two delicate shapes that still glowed bright enough to hurt her eyes. Before she could blink, an icy chill swirled through the clearing and she lost her grasp of the pillars entirely. _Like a slap in the face_ , she thought irritably.

Hetarth limped forward and lifted the remains of the stone. Perfectly smooth and delicate as fine porcelain, it was the shape of a two little swallows in flight.

"There we are, just a little silver and they will be perfect." Hetarth declared as he examined it, leaning on his cane. "I've not lost my touch."

"What's it for?" Landon asked. Elaina rolled her eyes. _Men! Not everything has to be useful in order to be valuable. It's pretty._

"It's a talisman." Hetarth tapped it on his palm, "Once you can create the signal, you and I will be able to keep track of one another. I'll keep this one, and you take that one," he handed her one of the tiny birds. "When you're strong enough, I'll show you what to cast to bind yours to you. They are of the same material, so they are already bound to each other. Then with a little web we will always know where to find each other—the birds will point the way, so long as we each have ours."

Elaina peered at the little bird, mystified. "They can see each other across the whole world?"

Hetarth nodded. "No amount of space is too great."

"What about time? Can they see each other across Time? See the future?" Landon asked eagerly. Elaina grimaced at him. _Strange boy!_

Hetarth frowned, "Absolutely not! The fabric of Time is terribly complex in the present. The future includes an infinite number of choices and events that may or may not ever happen based on one person's decisions in this complex present."

"But casters tell the future all the time!" Landon protested, "There are hundreds of Prophesies."

Hetarth shook his head, "Telling doesn't show you what you want—it not about seeing a particular event, which may or may not ever happen depending on a thousand other things. It is a gift for seeing the current of the river that is Time and making predictions based on it. Prophecies are for key moments, like whirlpools that every current leads to, one way or another. They are reflections in the Well of Fate. You don't get to choose what reflects, you don't set the agenda. It was never a skill of mine—that is about as far as I understand it."

"Who invented these, then?" Elaina asked, raising her little bird. It looked light enough to fly right off of her hand in a stiff breeze.

"Your grandmother, actually." Hetarth smiled, "She worried about your grandfather when he traveled, so she made a way to know he was safe, to know where he was." He shot a significant glance at Landon, who paled like a corpse and stuck one hand in his pocket, oddly enough.

"Of course," Hetarth went on, still looking meaningfully at the boy. "There are ways to hide the connection, if you know what to look for." Landon swallowed, and color returned to his cheeks.

Elaina watched them both, puzzled. There was obviously some second conversation going on that she was missing, but neither of the men was about to let her in on it. Annoyed, she glanced up at the darkening sky. Twilight had fallen in the clearing.

"It will be full dark soon, time to be home." Hetarth determined, following her gaze. Landon jumped at the mention of night and eyed the wood around them with mistrust. As he started down the path, though, Hetarth gathered a ball of blue flame that sat in his palm to light their way.

Landon took it as a matter of course—it was quite tame compared to the bonfire she'd made of a pine earlier, but Elaina was intrigued. _How does he keep it from burning his hand? Is it the Fire itself that does not burn, or some barrier?_ She watched the flames twist around in his palm the whole way home, but was too tired to reach out to the pillars and answer her own questions.

Dinner was a simple meal of bread and butter, cheese, and a few slices of cured ham with wine. When Elaina handed Landon his plate, however, he dropped it with a crash. He stared at her and she stared back, eyebrows raised, then looked pointedly at the food scattered all over the floor. He didn't follow her gaze.

"You're wasting good food! What's the matter with you?" she demanded at last, hands on her hips.

"Y-your eyes . . . " he stammered.

Over by the fireplace, Hetarth had looked over sharply at the mention of wasted food. When he heard Landon, he snatched his pipe from his lips to squint at her. "Come over, Elaina, into the light."

She obeyed slowly, suddenly uneasy. He peered into her face for a moment, turning her chin from side to side. Then he smiled.

"Well that was certainly quick!" He chuckled, "We'll have to teach you the web to hide your eyes as soon as possible." He leaned back in his chair and took another satisfied puff on his pipe.

"To hide my eyes?" she repeated.

"To make them look brown again like mine—the Changing has already happened, they're grey now, not color left at all."

Elaina gaped at him. "They've changed already?! You said it would be days, weeks even!" she protested.

"It took a full month for me, being rather untalented with Earth, which is what they started men off with in training. Took a week and a half for your grandmother. Your father took just a week and your mother only days." He shrugged.

"But it's been _hours_!" she cried.

"So you are uncommonly strong, I told you. You'll get used to it– just remember that in a mirror anyone can see them as they really are, not how they are hidden. Illusions do not reflect—it is a complicated thing to explain, but it may get you into trouble if you forget about the reflection when you shouldn't."

For a moment she only gaped at him, then snatched a spoon off the table to peer at her reflection. "They're really grey now?" she asked.

Landon grimaced at her from the floor, where he knelt picking up his dinner. "Yes," he groused, "and you're standing on my bread."

Now _he cares about his food._ She ignored him, peering into a mug of tea to see if the reflection was better. They didn't have a mirror—those were expensive. She'd seen them before though, three of the Council members had hand mirrors. A peddler on his way to Cavilnor from Vinyam had one of the larger ones you could see your whole face in. It had been strange to see her face the way others saw her.

Hetarth laughed at her frustration. "Elaina," he called, "look here." Vexed, she looked up.

Elaina gave a yelp of surprise and jumped backward into Landon's newly-recovered food. She could see him behind her, frowning unhappily at the floor. Hetarth smiled around the thing in his hands and there she was, staring back at herself in shock.

"It's a mirror." He agreed with her unspoken exclamation.

"It's enormous!" she sputtered, grey eyes blinking at herself.

Landon shook his head and muttered to himself from the floor. She thought it was something about country bumpkins, but that couldn't have been it. _No one_ had a mirror this large—she hadn't even heard of one!

"Where did it come from?"

"I made it, of course. They're not that uncommon—plenty of casters know how to make them. The trouble is how to keep them from cracking or warping. The larger they are, the harder that is." Hetarth explained, his smile crinkling the bronzed skin around his eyes.

Elaina couldn't help but reach out to tough the flat, cold image of herself. Colorless eyes stared back at her, not a hint of brown or gold left in them. When she stepped back, Hetarth banished the thing into nothingness. Her uncle rose and took her shoulders, peering into her stunned face.

"Does it trouble you?" He asked gently, "Your mother was very much annoyed to lose her pretty green eyes," his smile was wistful, "she would never cast them any other color."

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I didn't really see them much."  
"Yes, that's true," he mused, "we had many mirrors in those days, and you have hardly seen one. I haven't missed them," he admitted with a wink, "nobody misses seeing how many new wrinkles they have, even when they come slowly."

Elaina grinned and asked, "How old _are_ you, Hetarth?"

Her uncle sighed and cast a sidelong glance at Landon, now sitting on his heels with his twice-ruined plate of food.

"You know the pillars help casters stay well, but they do even more for us." She nodded impatiently and he finished, "I was born in the 803rd year of the Fourth Aeon." Elaina gaped at him. Landon stared, mouth hanging open.

"You're . . . "

"Very old, yes." Hetarth finished lightly, "I'd thank you not to remind me."

Elaina glanced at Landon, who moved his plate away defensively. _Over one hundred years old!_ Keeping her comments to herself, she slumped into her seat at the table and began eating, eyebrows halfway to her hairline. Landon was busy cutting himself new slices of bread from the loaf, muttering about ridiculously old men and grey-eyed women marching all over his dinner.

CHAPTER 6  
_The Sisters_

Adhara, the Admir-Cotar, leaned against the mast of _Star of the Water_ watching Starmistress Lioth read the heavens. She was beautiful, face upturned, lips parted. The thick gold collar around her neck and matching bands on her wrists shone in the starlight, as they did on his own neck and forearms. It was clear tonight.

When she looked down from the stars, she sighed.

"What do the stars tell you, sea bird?" he asked, going to her side. He could never resist the urge to be close to her.

"Trouble, salt of my heart. Trouble and storms." She replied sadly, distracting him from the enticing curve of her collarbone.

Adhara glanced up at the spangled sky, but saw nothing in the little points of light, brilliant and remote. They reminded him of his Lioth. How she determined their course from those little lights remained a mystery to him, no matter how he tried to understand their patterns.

And his beautiful Lioth did more than just direct their ship by the stars—she was Starmistress of the Admir-Cotar. He was the greatest captain of their people and she their greatest navigator. It was her duty to watch the path of the high stars, the movement of the Wavestar that guided all the ships of the Seviade Cotar, the people of the waves.

From the time they left the sand-bound on the shores and taken to the seas, their people had found their way by the stars. Most, he had learned from Lioth, were low stars that could guide a ship from harbor to harbor within the circle of the sea. A few were high stars, guiding lights from beyond the circle of the sea that led the People in a grander sense.

Lioth watched the Wavestar, Seviade Sitari, as it moved around the Undying Lights of the north, those that never dipped below the horizon. She instructed him and he commanded all the ships of the People accordingly.

Tonight the stars were troubling.

"What is it, Lioth?" He asked.

"You know the Wavestar, there," she pointed it out to him, "and how it moves through the sky in the seasons, yes?" Adhara nodded.

"When it is under the Fleetfin, the Eastern currents are strong, and when it goes across the face of the Sea Snake there will be ice on the Northern Shores. When it is on the back of the Red Crab, strong storms shake the isles of the West." He recalled her lessons through the years. She nodded, still frowning at the sky.

"Yes, those are the cycles of the seasons. It is not that. You see the Undying Lights?" She pointed to the five bright northern stars. "When the Wavestar approaches them, it means trouble for our people and all people. 'No creature of sand or salt shall be untouched by the winds of change.'" She quoted. "That is in the Scrolls of the Stars, which my sisters and I all know as we know the heavens, as we know our own names."

Adhara nodded. That was the first task of all Starmistresses: to memorize the Scrolls of the Stars. "The Wavestar is far from them yet," he comforted. "Perhaps it will change its course."

"Perhaps. It has been nearer than now without the prophecy completing, but if it goes on as it has been, it will pass between the Undying Lights, and the prophecy will be sealed and begun." She sighed once more.

"What shall we do?" he asked.

"We will wait. Perhaps it will turn aside. If it does not, my sisters will know the signs—we will be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"A new star. It will come in the darkest hour of the night. The Scrolls name it the Dawnstar, arising in the east to lead us, but it is from the west. It is called our deliverer, and we are to seek for 'one forgotten, a crownless king' and beside him, there will be a 'hidden beauty' which will guide us into the storm."

Adhara frowned. "Is the Dawnstar a person or a star?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"How can a King be crownless—it takes a crown to be a King among the sand-bound!" he protested. "And hidden beauty! How do we see beauty if it is hidden? And how can you be from both the east and west at once?" Lioth smiled wanly at his frustration.

"Not every night is clear, love. We must be watching on the nights the stars move, and then we will understand. If we do not, the Scrolls condemn us to sail into the teeth of the storm alone. Broken masts and torn sails are called blessings compared to sailing without the Dawnstar." She finished grimly.

Adhara eyed the towering mast beside them. _A broken mast a blessing?_ He shivered.

"Don't worry, sea bird, your sisters will find this Dawnstar, whatever it is. You are all marvels of the oceans." He assured her, twining his fingers through hers as they walked to their cabin.

He glanced one last time at the silent heavens. Perhaps the Wavestar would turn aside and this new star would not rise until he was long beyond the circle of the sea. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he closed the door of their cabin.

Perhaps not.

Hatysa grimaced as the _Sea Hawk_ rolled over another wave as taller than its decks. She'd never admit it to a soul, but storms like these made her actually wish for land. Seeing a wall of water tower over their ship made her heart stop. Hamal took her hand and rolled over. He was never worried by storms.

Shortly after she became his Starmistress, he'd discovered her fear. It was hard to hide a fear of storms when you shared a bed with a man on a ship. She'd never been more ashamed in her life, but he had not laughed, nor did he scorn her. He was a good man, Sailmaster Hamal, and a good captain. If she was lucky, he may even make Admiralda one day. Of course, with the current Admiralda of the East so young, it could be a while to wait. She smiled. Waiting with Hamal was far from a chore.

The ship rolled again. If not for Hamal's arms around her like iron bands, she might have rolled right out of the bed. He made a sound of annoyance for the waves, only half awake.

"Are you well, salt of my heart?" he murmured. Hatysa managed a tight-lipped smile. _And what does he suppose to do about it if I am not?_ She wondered, snuggling closer to his broad chest.

"I wanted to see the stars tonight. It has been days—it makes me anxious." she said softly, running a finger along the hard line of his jaw.

"It will happen in time, when the sea releases us. You'll find our path among the stars, as you always do." he opened sleepy eyes to take her and press a kiss to her fingertips. "You are a wonder of the oceans."

She shook her head, "It is not the low stars I wish to see, Sailmaster, though I miss them. The high stars are moving, the Wave Star is heading for the Undying Lights. My sisters and I must be watchful, and I feel blind as a deep water eel. And this blasted rocking will not let me sleep away my fears." she said, casting a nettled glare at the starboard wall as if to chastise the ocean outside.

"You know the solution to sleepless nights when the boat rocks with the waves . . ." Hamal said slowly, catching her eye with a look that was far from sleepy. Hatysa let an answering grin slip over her lips.

"I hear it helps to set other things to rocking as well." she replied, fingers trailing down the sun-dark skin of his chest. She could feel the low rumble of his chuckle even as she heard it. The waves did not bother them for the rest of the night.

Firstborn Keravel stood glaring out over the broad, choppy surface of Lake Rinwal from the great fortress at Hurndrith. It was called a fortress, but the upper floors were decidedly more palatial, and his rooms were the finest of them all. Standing on his balcony far above the lake, Keravel often felt he could see the whole of his Empire.

He was the Firstborn of the fifteen Brethren, though Valmeran and Abelmedar had fallen in the Isolban Rebellion, when the wild people east of Loth Daer attempted to take over and incite uprising. But being Firstborn was not a matter of birth year, as the ridiculous peasants on this side of the ocean believed. They weren't brothers by birth, but in service to the Throne of Tears and the Empress, and by the same measure he was the first among them.

Had he not saved the Empress's life by his own hand when she was a little girl? Did he not have the scar across his cheek to prove it? It had faded—he was no longer a young man –but it was still plain. He was the most honored of the Brotherhood of Weavers.

In Asemal he had been the first among the weavers of the Empress, but here he was even more. Once the Wielders were gone, he had brought the whole of Arith to heel and built over the weak, squabbling nations an Empire to rival the one he'd left behind—only this was his to rule.

His gaze shifted south. Well, one nation hadn't been weak or petty. A twisted smiled curled on his lips, a victorious smile.

It had been a great pleasure to see the lofty Antralians fall and an even greater pleasure to bring the land and its people so low they would never rise again. He had personally overseen the destruction of the border forts into useless piles of rubble and the desecration of the port cities. He had ordered the best farmland strewn with salt, and then he claimed the greatest prize of all: the royal line.

Antral had been ruled by an unbroken line of Kings, all of whom rumored to have been distressingly noble and annoyingly capable of producing male heirs. Keravel's lips twitched in silent snarl just thinking of all the legends that circulated about them. Even when the firstborn sons were twins—a guarantee of civil war anyplace else, the Antralians agreed to rule _together._ How absurd!

Well, he had the heirs of Antral in his grasp. The leverage he used to get them there was long gone—a little accident, a moment of overzealousness, and the lovely princess Sarina had died. A pity, but so long as her brothers knew nothing of it, it made no difference. As long as they thought their baby sister alive and in his clutches, A'lan and E'dan would do nothing to displease him—as they had proven for the last thirteen years.

He wondered if they would be appropriate for the mission he was contemplating. There had been disturbing happenings in the west, in the untamed ruins of Hasile. There was always a strange echo of power around the place, but lately Monren had reported something more. His skill for detecting the ripples that spread from spun nets was useful, and his hunches hardly ever mistaken. Brother Monren was troubled by the echoes that reached him from the west. Despite the distance, Keravel wanted to send agents to investigate.

The Antralian brothers were the best of his _ashendari_ , the most dangerous men he had ever seen trained as Watchers. All _ashendari_ were dangerous to casters, untouchable by the elements, but these had spent even their first years walking with a sword in their hands. If there was truly something happening in the west, they would be able to take care of it. It was a question of whether they were needed more here or there.

A sharp gust blew up the walls to lash the banners above him. Squinting at the fast-darkening sky, Keravel made up his mind.

He would send four agents. Two swordsmen, a weaver, and an _ashendari_. Monren and more _ashendari_ could wait in Lotriel in central Amanheld, in case there was a need for them. The Antralian princes he would keep nearby. _I should stage another mention of Sarina's care and keeping for their benefit. It would never do for them to get suspicious_. His decision made, Keravel turned and took shelter from the approaching storm.

In the weeks that followed, the three residents of the odd little house in the Wilds developed an easy routine. Each morning Elaina struggled through her chores with her power while Landon and Hetarth made breakfast. The idea was that constant use was the best way to build Elaina's strength, and this got the animals fed, the firewood chopped, and the clothes and floors cleaned at the same time. It did take her nearly twice as long than it would have had she done it by hand, but what it lacked in speed, it made up in drama. If the villagers of Tar Haviel hadn't suspected anything before, there would have been no doubts if they saw the house now.

A broom raced through the house in time with waves of Elaina's hand, then the mop followed suit, wringing itself out over a bucket that proceeded to hover out the window to dump its contents in the woods. The chickens had adapted to the feed miraculously distributing itself across the stones each morning, but the goats still looked askance of the pile of greenery that flew from the woods to deposit itself in their pen each day.

Inside, the sounds of Landon and Hetarth cooking were nearly as distracting. Landon was a far better cook, but Hetarth couldn't resist getting involved, since he was so invested in the final product. There was often a clatter of falling cookware, or the hiss and accompanying yelp of a burned finger, or at least a few muttered (or shouted) curses to liven up the morning.

After a breakfast of whatever had survived the cooking process, Elaina would practice with Hetarth or some manner of fighting with Landon. Earth remained difficult for her, but she was getting markedly better with Air and Fire. Hetarth said once she had spent a enough time casting with the pillars she would find her way to Creating. That was the true power of a Creator, and she would be the first to hold that power unbound by the Oath of the Guardians since the Shadow Wars. But that was a concern for the far future—until then, it was all Earth and Water, Fire and Air, all in a thousand combinations until the sun stood directly overhead.

Lunch was leftovers, if they had any, or bread and cheese when they didn't. That was always followed by a nap—required and enforced by Hetarth, though there were no complaints. Elaina usually slept twice as long as the other two, exhausted by her new method of morning chores.

Landon and Hetarth used that time to hunt or collect edible plants from the woods, which was a daily task to keep food in the house. By late afternoon the sun began to slip behind the mountains as they days grew shorter. The two foragers would return in the near-twilight, and Hetarth would go through the Book of the Broken with Elaina, teaching her to read the True Tongue, explaining the rules and limits of her power and the history of their people and Arith. If it hadn't been so terribly important, Elaina would have thrown up her hands and given up.

Once her head was positively spinning with arcane words and muddled diagrams, Elaina could always end tutoring by announcing she was going to make dinner—Hetarth never argued against that idea, even on the days they ate quite early. It never bothered the older man in the slightest, and the younger knew better than to mention it.

Every so often they went into Tar Haviel to buy the things a normal hermit and his niece couldn't make, both to keep up appearances and to cut down on Elaina's most complicated chores. Landon often went alone to the Wildspring Inn to listen to travelers' tales that made it to the edge of the world — a young man joining a game of dice loosened more tongues than an eccentric old man and drew fewer curious eyes than a young woman gambling would have.

Landon drew fewer of the patrons' eyes, at any rate. The serving girls very much enjoyed when he came. He was happy to return their smiles when they filled his glass, but he never let them refill it—he was the lookout, watching for the first signs of danger. Some things were more important than another glass and a lively dance with a pretty girl. If the Drethlords ever sent someone to ask questions, they'd come through town. Those were the sorts of guests Landon kept an eye out for.

Every few days the little house was visited by a guest of an entirely different sort. The enormous Girswit that Hetarth had mentioned came to see the Creators, usually during the hottest part of the day when it was most active. Like a lizard, it had to bask in the sun to warm itself, and it took a long time to warm up so large a beast. Its body was roughly the same size as the house, with wings that big again and a long sturdy tail. Despite the fact that it looked like scaly leather, Elaina discovered it was perfectly soft and smooth to the touch.

The first time it showed up, it was so overcome with delight to discover a second Creator in the house that it made an honest effort to come in. The best it could do was to thrust its long face as far through the door as possible—just past the nostrils. From there, it could not be convinced to back out until Elaina patted the monstrous snout.

Thereafter the Girswit expressed its enthusiasm by violently twitching its long pointed ears. (It only settled for that after Hetarth rapped it sharply on the nose for attempting to lick them all with a tongue the size of a cow.) Despite its size, the Girswit was a peaceful creature—an overgrown herbivore that shied away from loud noises. Hetarth had once seen this particular animal fleeing before a swarm of bees, terrified by the sound even though they couldn't penetrate his thick hide. He said it would be gone soon, south to the shores of the Yaltiran for the winter.

Most of the other strange and wonderful beasts of the Wilds were less enthusiastic. No other unseen things stalked Landon, much to his relief. Hetarth said it was because the less savory creatures were giving the house a much wider berth than before now that Elaina was casting—either because it was near-constant or because she was so very strong, he couldn't say.

In the evenings, Hetarth smoked by the fire while Landon drank some strange dark brew from the East. He called it _kahve_ and claimed it made the mind alert. The warm smell was delicious, but when she tried a sip, Elaina found it was more bitter than rynroot. Instead of joining them, she spent the twilight hours flipping through the pages of the Book.

Here and there she could read whole sentences, though on many pages she didn't know a single word. It was the drawings scattered throughout the text that drew her eye.

Some showed webs in delicate colored lines she could barely see, casts so complicated a Vinyam rug-weaver would have trouble deciphering them. Others outlined fantastic beasts, or how to create things with faces and beings. There was one toward the end of the book that made her skin prickle as if it could actually see her.

It was a pale face with high cheekbones and eyes as black as hers were grey, knowing eyes that held her gaze for a moment longer than a plain painting ought to. Too-white skin and too-red lips stood out like blood on snow. It featured in more than one nightmare of her hers, but she couldn't help but turn to it near every night. The words around it were written in thick, bold hand as if in warning. The quill had pressed hard enough into the paper to make little ridges and valleys on the other side. All she could read was "shadows," "touch," and "kill." On the other page was an owl with golden eyes that practically glowed and a yellow-eyed wolf. She couldn't tell if they had anything to do with the frightening creature.

Elaina never asked Hetarth about it. For one, there were too many questions in the Book to get answers for all of them. For another, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. There were dark things in the Book, powerful things. Hurndrith was more than enough to consider for the time being.

Not all the creatures were horrible. Elaina's favorite was a half-readable entry on little flying beings called Ata Sivamir—little stars. They picture showed one of them glowing brightly at dusk, riding on the back of a fat flying beetle like a person astride a horse. The Ata Sivamir had long, thin, tapering wings and equally long blonde hair flew back from her round face, sharp chin, and cheeky smile. The caption underneath called her Aleyse, the first of her people to befriend the Guardians. Every time she flipped past that page, Elaina would smile back at the perky little thing and wonder if they still existed. Surely tiny limbs like those would freeze in the mountain winters—perhaps they lived further south.

Another particular favorite of hers was the entry on the Div'ilandri, the Wolf Brothers. Hetarth said they were the forefathers of the huge mountain wolves that guarded the house in their unsettling way. The Div'ilandri had been as intelligent as most people, fiercely protective of their young, and unfailingly loyal to their pack, which could be a blend of their kind and natural wolves. It had a lot more to say that she couldn't read, but Elaina did gather from a footnote that they were believed to have gone extinct sometime in the Third Aeon.

The last sketch she looked at before bed was one that showed Guardians of the past fighting alongside armies against an enemy that was little more than shadow and fire. The caption read: _Atama Culdon_ , which Hetarth translated into _The War of Shadows_ , the great struggle of the Second Aeon that nearly destroyed the world.

An owl was shown swooping onto the scene, talons bared at the shadow things. It made her of the rhyme her mother used to sing, like all the mothers did to keep their children from being afraid of the eerie hooting in the night:

When the moon is arising the owls go flying,  
Quiet and quick like the wind that is sighing  
With eyes bright as gold, as if they were trying  
To send all the shadows away.

When the night's at its deepest, all creatures are lying  
All fast asleep while the owls are crying  
And just so long as you hear them replying,  
Safely you'll sleep until day.

If Elaina ever heard an owl after moonrise, she would lay there listening for the reply that meant safety. It was silly, but she couldn't get to sleep until she heard a second bird. Landon paid no mind to the owls—he was more concerned about the wolves.

They howled closer to the house at night than they ever had before, which made them very hard to ignore completely. Landon couldn't seem to ignore them at all, especially when he found out tracks as large as dinner plates. Hetarth just muttered about over-eager canines, but they made Elaina think of the Div-ilandri and she almost looked forward to their late visits. She supposed her attitude would be more like Landon's if they wanted to eat her.

Save for the night noises, it a quiet existence and a happy one. The little house in the Wilds came alive as it never had before. But as all good things in Hasile, it was destined to end.

CHAPTER 7

The Flight

Elaina scrunched up her nose as she dumped the herbs on the table in a leafy, aromatic pile. Bluecress and laurlac were sweet and tangy and made everything smell like springtime. Naturally, it was the thick, muddy smell of the glovebloom that permeated everything. She had left the actual sprigs outside to keep the smell under control, but it still managed to engulf the whole room. It she hadn't needed it to keep the rats away from the woodpile she would never have gone near it, much less picked it.

She gave her satchel a tentative sniff and nearly choked. _This is going to reek of glovebloom for a week, no matter how I air it out_ , she thought with a frown out the window at the offending plant. Leaving the pile on the table to air out a bit, she started to dry the still-wet dishes—Landon cooked and Hetarth washed, so it was her job.

The smell of glovebloom thickened the air even from outside. Just as she was about to ask Hetarth if there was a way to kill the stench with the pillars, Landon burst into the house so quickly he barely avoided being hit by the door as it rebounded off the wall and slammed shut.

Not sparing a glance for the startled occupants, he strode across the room, yanked his saddlebags out from under his clothes in the corner and began shoving everything he could reach into the pouches. He didn't even comment on the smell.

For a long moment, Elaina and Hetarth just stared at him. _What on Arith has gotten into him? Did one of us say something—?_ Landon swung his head around and scowled when he saw her standing there.

"Pack!" he barked, "Pack, people! We have no time!"

Elaina set the wooden cup she'd been drying down on the table while she watched him feverishly demonstrate what he ordered. Landon always kept his things in a meticulously neat stack, clothes folded, bags packed, and everything kept out of the way. He was throwing things into the saddlebag in total disarray.

_Something has clearly unhinged him._ She glanced at the door, which was now swinging slowly open with a reproachful creak. _He nearly unhinged that as well._

"Time for what?" She asked, settling one hand on her hip.

"To pack!" he exclaimed again, "before they get here!" With that he swiped the dried cup off the table, crammed his socks into it and squashed it into one bag.

"Who?" Hetarth wondered at last.

"The agents. They are in Tar Haviel—just arrived from Conde'tair. The true spirits only know how long they'll take to get here." Landon said tersely, rolling up his blanket. Elaina saw Hetarth's tan face pale markedly. He left off darning old socks at once.

"Pack, Elaina. Get your clothes and some pots and pans for cooking. I'll get mine and the food." He said steadily, rising from his chair and hobbling swiftly into his room.

"I'll get the food, you get the pans," Landon corrected with a sidelong glance at Hetarth's retreating back. "It will last longer that way." he finished significantly. Elaina couldn't argue with that. Food had a tendency to disappear when Hetarth was around.

"What agents?" she called from her room, heaping things on the bed, "and what do they do that we have to run from them? Surely there are not too many for us to handle!" she exclaimed, poking her head back into the main room. She was imagining a courageous stand at the little house, combined with the memory of those trees she had turned into enormous torches.

Clearly, neither of the men had any heroics in mind. Landon was tying napkins around the bread and cheese, and Hetarth scuttled by with the Book of the Broken. He wrapped it in clothes as he went, stuffed the lot into a bag, then crammed that into a cauldron.

"There were four." Landon reported to Hetarth unhappily.

"True spirits! Did they have an Orb with them—a round stone just small enough to hold in one hand?" Hetarth called as he lumbered through the house.

"Couldn't tell." Landon shouted back.

Hetarth growled a curse Elaina had never heard before. "We cannot let them catch us. We leave now." The Guardian declared, grabbing the soup tureen around the middle with one arm and marching out the door as fast as he could with his crutch.

"Come on, Elaina! No time to be neat—MOVE!" Landon called, kicking the door open to follow Hetarth into the sun. Bewildered and frustrated, Elaina shoved everything she could into her satchel and hurried after them. _Everything I have is going to reek of glovebloom!_

None of them spoke as they jogged down the leafy paths deeper into the Wilds. Hetarth and Landon checked over their shoulders so often that Elaina began doing it too, though she had no idea what they were looking for. At last, Hetarth held up his hand for them to stop. The shadows in the wood were getting longer, but she had no idea how far they'd gone. Panting for breath, she asked in a harsh whisper,

"Now will you tell me what we're running from?"

"Agents," Landon repeated, "They come after people for the Empire: casters, leaders, anyone the Drethlords choose. Some end up in Hurndrith, and some are just never seen again. I couldn't tell you which are better off." He explained glumly, hands on knees while he fought for air.

"They are just the people we don't want to meet." Hetarth added, leaning against a tree trunk. "The Drethlords do not send the powerless or inexperienced. I guarantee those four men are great swordsmen and protected against the pillars. You don't yet have the skill to maneuver around whatever webs may be protecting them, and I don't have the strength, and while we tried they would cut us all to dog meat. And they may have weapons we don't know of."

Suddenly, Elaina found she didn't mind that she had packed only one clean pair of stockings in the rush, or that she was going to smell of herbs.

"So where do we go now?" she asked. He sighed.

"I wish we had longer, but I guess we'll just have to come back and have you swear in Tarquendale another time, is all." Hetarth murmured absently. He seemed to realize the others did not understand, because he went on, "Tarquendale is south of here, or what is left of it is," he began, "but they will look there if they suspect us to be what we are," Hetarth massaged his injured leg with his fingertips. "North is better. There is no large city to draw news to them, and it gets them farther from Hurndrith and into the wilderness, out of their element." He didn't look particularly happy about it, either.

"And our final destination?" Landon ventured.

"Anywhere they can't find us. If the Wilds of Hasile don't do it, I suspect the Mountains of the Guard could provide an excellent place to hide until they lose us—hopefully permanently. They must have some means of following us though, or they would not have come to Tar Haviel. We'll have to be careful."

Landon let out a long breath.

"You could go home, you know." Elaina offered quietly. "They aren't after you. It would be a poor payment to your family if they never heard from you again."

"My family would understand this," said Landon stoutly, "but they would not understand if I were to tuck tail and run, leaving the two of you to be hunted." he declared.

"Don't get all offended. It isn't as if we are your average girl and her uncle," Elaina groused, "and you wouldn't look so good at one hundred plus."

"It's good to know you're with us, Landon." Hetarth broke in, "but we need to keep moving." Tapping his lip, he glanced at the solid walls of overgrown shrubs and vines that filled the gaps beneath the trees.

"That way." He pointed directly into the vegetation with his cane.

"We'll leave a trail a league wide cutting through that! We should stick to the path, forks will confuse them." Landon objected. Elaina nodded her agreement. _Every cut branch and vine will point the way to our hunters like a flaming arrow. A child of three could follow a trail like that in the dead of night. It is the perfect way to get caught._

"Who said anything about cutting?" said Hetarth slyly. He gestured to the plants almost lovingly. Delicate tendrils of vine uncoiled from the woody branches they ensnared, which bent slowly away from each other. Elaina tried to focus in on the webs he was casting, but there was too much movement—it was dizzying. A narrow path formed through the brambles, branches arching gracefully over their heads.

"Oh. That works too, I guess." She admitted. Landon grinned and made a theatrical bow, inviting Hetarth to lead the way deeper into the Wilds.

To Elaina's surprise, Hetarth insisted she practice her casting that night, as always.

"What shall I do?" she asked, somewhat defeated. They had walked all day and now just when she thought she was done there was more.

"Anything you like, only no burning—we do not need the smoke." Hetarth warned. "I want to watch the way you cast."

Self-conscious, Elaina began running through the exercises she had mastered, slowly at first and then faster as she gained confidence. A weary smile moved Hetarth's lips. _If I'm tired, he must be exhausted,_ she thought, suddenly ashamed of herself. Every step was twice as hard for him as it was for her, but he hadn't complained. She pushed herself to go faster, smoother, cleaner. _If he can climb mountain paths with a crutch, I can cast just as well tonight as any other._ Earth, Fire, Air, and Water, then pulling them together for heat, light, mist, and steam.

When the last of the simple webs were done, she began struggling through the more difficult ones, like growing plants with Air, Water, and Earth, or reflecting light to hide her face with Air, Water, and Fire. The web was complex. Making it look real was hard enough — motion made the whole thing borderline impossible.

The Illusion over her eyes was okay, but with the whole face, anything from turning her head to speaking gave her away in an instant. Plus, there was no way to check her work—Hetarth had to explain what he saw. Illusion would not reflect. After a series of frustratingly unsuccessful attempts, she took a break to ask Hetarth something that had been troubling her.

"What would happen if I turned one of the webs inside out?" She asked, releasing the fine strands of the Light and Air to watch him consider her question.

"It is a tricky business." He admitted, "More difficult even than getting a solid grasp of Illusion — air and light are fleeting, but still they have a connection. It is possible to invert the connection in a way, hard as it is. Even when it is possible, the Oaths forbid inverted webs of a certain size. I'd thank you not to try any time soon, we're fugitives, after all." He smiled kindly at her and she nodded her agreement. _As if I would try something that makes Illusion look easy!_

"Even those who were capable of such finesse need to attach the form to something concrete—a jewel or bauble, usually—to keep themselves properly focused." He went on.

"Where does the power come from? Is it the Creator's, stored up and waiting to be used, or just what is in the jewel?" she pressed.

"The power comes from the sources that touch it, which is of course quite dangerous. The nature of our power prevents any person from drawing too much, or beginning what you cannot finish, but inverted webs have none of the same protection. If you touch a form you can start but can't complete, you'll die." He said. "That's why they were required to be small."

"Truth!" she exclaimed, "Why, then you could be killed by touching any little thing that was infused with an inverted web, if it were too large."

"Yes, it is a strange business, as I said, and a dangerous one. The great thinkers supposed the bypass of the limits was due to the fact that the maker of an inverted web was not actually doing anything, yet, just laying out a pathway for the power of another to travel. It really isn't casting at all . . ." Here he trailed off, suddenly very still.

"Hetarth?" she asked anxiously. "Are you well?" He didn't respond to her question.

"That's it." He murmured in a mystified tone, "That is how they did it! An inverted web too massive to complete, instant death for all who touched it." Hetarth pushed himself upright to limp around awkwardly, too excited to sit still.

"The Gift, it was called in Asemal, from the Stranger from over the Sea—Arith is over the sea to them. It must have been a Guardian." He said definitively. _What in the name of the True spirits?_ Elaina wondered, watching him jerk his leg behind him while he paced.

"But who? Who would intentionally make something unfinishable, even to the Naedar?" he growled to himself, stroking the salt-and-pepper beard that was coming in. "It would have to be massive to kill all of us." he pondered aloud, then paused.

"Salfiron." It was a whisper, but both Elaina and Landon heard him clearly. Landon was whittling a small lion from a stick, but had left off when Hetarth stood up and now watched as intently as she did.

"It isn't actually casting, so it is not blocked by oath—they made Salfiron and swear he'd never _cast_ again, but inverted webs don't count because they're not complete! No one has been strong enough to finish it, so it goes on, consuming every life force it encounters." He looked up, halting his lurching walk around their campsite.

"Salfiron was the Stranger, and this Orb of his was the Gift that destroyed the Creators in Asemal, then us in the Invasion." Hetarth finished in shocked understanding, sitting down hard.

Elaina went to him and took his arm. "What are you saying?" Her concern and curiosity warred in her voice. _Was the hike too much for him? He's talking nonsense!_

"The Orb, that is how these little casters defeated us. The Drethlords invaded, and we were overconfident. All they had to do was touch us with an inverted web of creation or banishment too large for anyone to finish, and it was instant death. All of a Guardian's power would be sucked into the impossible web, all of it. The perfect weapon against a Creator." Hetarth explained with a dumbfounded shake of his head.

"Who is Salfiron?"

"I told you of him once. He was fascinated by banishment—he wanted to know where things go when they are sent into non-being. He did horrible things in his research, but he was a Naedar, so few could oppose him. It caused an underground civil war amongst the Guardians at the beginning of the Age—the Lost Times. He was condemned, forced to swear never to cast again, and exiled. Apparently he went to Asemal. They tell stories of a Stranger that brought them a Gift that sparked an uprising against Wielders, their name for Creators—in their isles. The Stranger must have been Salfiron, and the Gift must be the Orb they used to destroy us in the Invasion, an inverted web arranged by Salfiron."

"So all we have to do is keep them from touching you with this thing, and we're safe?" Landon asked hopefully.

"I doubt it will be that simple, but it is to our advantage to know the enemy's weapons." Hetarth agreed. For a few minutes more he was silent, considering. At last, Hetarth recovered himself.

"But that is not something we will need to worry on for a good long time, Truth protect us. More pressing is the matter of your clothing, Elaina." he said deliberately. She looked down at her belted tunic and soft linen trousers, her usual outfit. _He wants to talk about my clothes?_

"What about them?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

Hetarth sighed and glanced at Landon, who hastily turned back to his carving. Elaina smirked. _One of them knows better than to tell a woman what to wear_ , _s_ he thought.

"You are fairly easy to recognize wearing that. Anyone who sees us would remember." Hetarth began carefully. _At least he recognizes that he's on thin ice._

"I thought the point was that we wouldn't see anyone out here." She replied archly, hands on her hips.

"I'm planning on the unplanned, Elaina. We have to do everything we can to stay out of Hurndrith, and that means staying out of sight and out of mind. Did you bring a dress?"

That was difficult to argue with. _What am I supposed to say, I'd rather go to Hurndrith? That's not funny when it's possible._ The thought was sobering, but not entirely mollifying. _They don't have to change—women always get the short end of the stick!_

Scowling darkly, she marched over to her satchel and began yanking things out, muttering under her breath and shaking each item to try and relieve the stench of glovebloom. _No one will remember my clothes, but they'll never forget the glovebloom!_

"This is it." She brandished a forest green dress with a square neckline and short sleeves at her uncle. "And it hasn't fit properly in years. Plus it reeks." Hetarth smiled at her indignation and gestured her over.

"What's the matter with the fit?" he asked, taking it from her and holding it out.

"It's too small, here and here." Elaina said bluntly, pointing to the bosom and hips. She was trying for nonchalance, but a blush spread across her cheeks anyway. _Truth, where else wouldn't it fit?!_ Landon pretended not to notice any of it, but Hetarth was unfazed. He murmured a few words and under his watchful gaze the fabric altered itself.

"That should be better." He said, handing it back to her. Elaina took it with a sniff and tossed it over a pine bough. She'd put it on in the morning—there was no need to sleep in the stinking thing.

The days were dreary. Even though the weather stayed fair and the scenery was exquisite, every day seemed a chore to Elaina. First off, her skirt was constricting—she missed leggings. Second, they ate the same things day in, day out: whatever edible roots and plants were around plus the odd rabbit or squirrel that Landon could hit with a slingshot. He was fairly good at it, but the thick canopy made the task ten times harder, so meat was a luxury and had to be split three ways besides. Most of the time Elaina got only a bite or two—she didn't want equal shares with the men; they needed it more than she did and enjoyed it more besides.

She had left her bow behind long ago— it was too awkward to carry and keep the string and feathers dry. Battling the weather to keep in dry and ready to use had been a chore, but she missed it. Now there was only boredom and that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought about how long it had taken her to cure the wood and carve the handle.

Once she'd tried hunting with her power instead: finding prey by sensing Fire in their warmth, hunting with darts or nooses of Air. It was harder than she expected, and she didn't have the heart to get better at it. It just didn't seem fair.

She'd once seen a man from Jernal rope a sheep with a great long loop thrown through the air. He said they caught all manner of things with ropes, but as easy as it looked, it was near impossible to do. Hunting with ropes of Air was little better. Darts were easy—so much so it seemed unfair, but she still did it when it felt like her stomach was trying to gnaw on her backbone.

Trudging behind Landon, Elaina glanced at the straggly foliage around them, but there was no movement. She focused, looking for the bright halo of Fire, but found only the dim sparkle of plant life.

Elaina made a face at the nothingness and sighed. Landon checked back over his shoulder, his face thinner and harder than before, like a hillside where all the soil has been stripped away to expose the flint underneath.

They needed food. At this point, she was ready to use a spear of Air and take on something mammoth, then sit there for days and eat until she couldn't move. _That would be perfect—the exact opposite of what we do now: starving and marching._

The last time they had eaten something other than hardcap mushrooms and bluecress was two days before. Landon hit a rabbit with his slingshot—he was really not bad. Elaina had been too nauseous to eat.

A blush rose on her cold cheeks. She'd been famished, but couldn't eat that rabbit, and Hetarth had guessed why. As soon as she mentioned nausea, he'd known. _A hungry person shouldn't be sick at the smell of food._ It was guilt that made it impossible to eat.

Landon hadn't hit the rabbit. She'd been watching with the pillars and saw the stone sail past. An impulse had struck, and before she could think it through, she acted. It was the first time she banished anything. The little rabbit dropped dead when its brain disappeared. It should have gone unnoticed, since the brain was not considered a delicacy anywhere save Newythe.

As soon as she banished it, she'd thrown up. The smells and sounds of the mountains seemed to beat at her senses. Her vision quivered and sparkled. Nausea rolled over her, and Elaina barely kept from falling down from the dry heaves that seized her stomach. When Landon mentioned that he couldn't find the kill shot, then Elaina wouldn't eat, Hetarth knew.

Somehow, banishing was utterly different than killing, even if the result was the same. When Landon came trotting back with the lifeless body, Elaina couldn't barely stand to look at it.

"It's strange," Landon said, examining their dinner, "I can't tell where I hit it." he shrugged and smiled, happy to have something to eat. Elaina felt Hetarth's eyes on her.

The struggle with the power to create and destroy isn't like the power to manipulate. Isn't a sudden flood that crashes down on you, it's a slow rising tide that you don't even notice until you're underwater. He warned me, he told me not to become worse than my enemies.

For the first time, Elaina truly believed that she could be worse for Arith than the Drethlords, worse than anything. _Truth, what would it do to me if I did that to something greater than a rabbit?_ Her knees trembled and her skin tried to shiver off her bones. _Never. Never, never._

Darkness blanketed the mountains early, leaving them marching along in the gloom until they found a decent spot to camp. They had been out in the mountains for twenty two days, but this was the coldest night by far. The stars blinked coldly in the black sky. Clear nights were colder than cloudy ones.

They couldn't light a fire, but Hetarth had a curious little web that turned the strips of rabbit meat Landon cut into strings of jerky with Fire that didn't emit any light. Landon had long since stopped complaining that jerky wasn't nearly as delicious as fresh-cooked meat dripping with juices that ran down your chin. He dug into his share with exhausted delight. Hetarth, too, ate with his usual relish. Elaina felt ill again just looking at the remains of the little rabbit.

"What's this?" Hetarth growled, frowning at her, "Not eating?" Landon looked up, surprised—he had not noticed yet. When he saw Hetarth was right, his expression changed into one of concerned disbelief.

"I'm feeling a little ill." Elaina explained. It didn't smooth away the lines on her uncle's forehead.

"Ill. At the sight of food." He said unhappily. "There's nothing right about that." After a moment of contemplating her face, he saw the guilt there and made the connection. _He's figured it out. There's only one reason I'd feel guilty enough about the rabbit to not eat it when we're slowly starving to death._ Rather than wait to be berated in front of Landon, Elaina said softly,

"I'll never do it again."

Hetarth nodded once, then went back to his meal in silence. Landon's head swiveled between them, but when Hetarth stayed quiet and Elaina didn't look up, he shrugged. With actual food in his stomach he was not overly curious.

They slept under the low-sweeping boughs of tall, heavy pine trees. By the trunk there was just enough room to sit up straight, and the needles on the outside brushed the ground, blocking the cold wind. Elaina tried the subtle web that would keep them warm without setting the whole thing ablaze, but after failing twice, she let it drop. _Better to have cold hands and feet than to be a pile of charcoal._

"There's no need to run through the rest of the forms tonight, Elaina," Hetarth said at last. "Since you feel unwell and ate so little."

A pang of guilt struck her again, but it was a relief not to have to begin the mess of webs she practiced each night. Elaina crawled a little ways around the trunk of the pine before flopping on her side. Landon went the other way, and Hetarth stayed just where he was—it was hard for him to crawl around with his leg.

Huddled under the branches, they all waited for sleep. Silence had come to cover much of their activity, as hunger and exhaustion squashed the desire to talk, and boredom stripped them of anything to say.

For as tired as she was, sleep hadn't been coming easily. When she was standing, all she wanted to do was lay down, but when she did, all she could feel were the rocks under her ribs and the cold bite of the air and the emptiness in her stomach.

As she lay looking at the branches above her, Elaina considered how far they'd come. They could no longer hear the wolves at night and hadn't been able to for days. Hetarth said they stopped following at the edge of their territory. Elaina didn't miss them. They were better hunters and would find any game first.

If she had to guess, she would have said they were directly north of the headwaters of Bryce Creek. It was a long way to walk and the mountains made it harder.

_I cannot believe Hetarth has kept this up. How his leg must ache! I wish I knew how to Heal it._ But Healing was terribly complex, a mix of the all the pillars in an intricate and incredibly delicate combination that varied depending on the injury. Any mistakes could quickly become fatal. For now, she stuck with bruises, sore muscles, and scrapes.

Hetarth never complained and neither did Landon, but there were dark circles under both their eyes, and the broad muscles of each were giving way to a leaner, hungrier look. Her own dress, which had been snug at the start of their journey, was now faded and overlarge.

_We've come a long and hungry way._ _But I've come so far with the pillars, too. Before, even casting pure Air was troublesome, now it comes to me easy as breathing and so does Fire and Water. Then there's Earth . . ._ she snorted softly to herself. _At least I don't shatter rocks with my touch anymore._ It was still about four times as hard as using the other pillars. _And of course, I have just begun to explore the power of a Creator._

When she covered their path behind them, she used Air to raise up footprints, and only the barest hint of Earth in repairing broken branches or growing back trampled grass, relying mostly on Air and Water.

They had once seen their followers at a great distance. Even with the spyglass Landon carried—a collapsible tube he said contained curved lenses that somehow made far away things seem quite near—they'd only been able to tell that there were still four men. In the endless wilderness, there was no telling where the agents were now or how close behind, but it was proof they had not given up. It was also proof they were not too concerned with keeping themselves hidden, which didn't bode well. Elaina sighed. _How long will they follow?_

The answer that drifted to her in the darkness was colder than the night air. _They'll followed until someone is dead._ The next morning, snow began to fall.

It snowed for three days, blanketing everything in a layer of white. Landon was happy to see it—he had only seen snow once before, in the Ochfels Revolt. His enthusiasm soon faded. In addition to being cold, the snow turned paths to slush in the sun and ice in the shade, which made the task of covering their footprints ten times more difficult.

He could tell it was wearing Elaina down. Between the extra casting and the cold she had a faint tinge of blue to her lips all the time. She hadn't been a curvy girl when they started out, and now she was looking positively skinny. Hetarth was as burly as ever, but watching him struggle up the hills was enough to make a man flinch.

_I don't know how long we can go on this way._ He thought dejectedly, _but there is no other choice. If they stop, they die. Even if I could find a way out of the Wilds, if I leave them I lose my chance to free Arith forever. Must everything be so very difficult?_ He sighed and scanned the ground for the burrows of snow voles or the tracks of mountain fox.

_If I didn't need my boots, I swear I would gnaw on the leather and boil the soles into soup._ His mutinous thoughts only spurred his stomach to grumble loudly. Beside him, Elaina heard. Her apologetic look made him smile half-heartedly as Hetarth led them into a narrow gorge. It was actually more of a gap between two cliffs, it was so small. He could have reached out and touched the stones on either side. He wasn't sure if it made him feel safely hidden or terrifyingly trapped.

"Is there a way out of this?" Landon asked the path narrowed further. He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice, but it didn't quite work. When he checked back over his shoulder though, Elaina didn't seem to think his concern was misplaced.

He'd grown awfully suspicious since leaving Loth Daer, he knew. Elaina had spent the whole first week looking at him sideways as if he were a puzzle. She just couldn't figure out why he wouldn't take off his sword. _Maybe now that she's being hunted she understands._ It was a grim thought and more than a little harsh. He was glad he hadn't said it aloud. He didn't want to see more hurt on Elaina's gaunt face.

"This is the only entrance to the valley, we'll come out this way." Hetarth replied quietly as he picked through the boulders. His voice echoed softly in the canyon.

"Then why do we go in at all?" Elaina asked. She sounded more tired than alarmed, but Landon felt a thrill of unease wriggle up his spine. _Truth, we_ are _trapped! But anyone behind us can only come in one man at a time, if they find this niche. It's eminently defensible. Is Hetarth setting us up for a final stand?_

"You will see." Hetarth assured them. Elaina and Landon shared an incredulous look, but the calm in his voice eased Landon's fears. _He doesn't sound like a man backed into a corner. Not yet, anyway._

As they walked, the steep walls around them abruptly fell away, revealing a deep bowl-shaped valley in the afternoon sun.

Landon wondered if Evermore could be any more lovely and inviting than this place. Silver birches crowded the foot of the mountains on the left, and the wind made them almost whisper. The trees thinned and disappeared toward the center of the valley, where a meadow crept all the way to the other side. The thin snow must have melted, leaving the last of the fall flowers visible in the grass. On the far side, the cliffs dropped into a crystal clear pool that reflected everything above it on its perfectly unruffled surface. In the stillness he could hear the cheerful sound of water trickling down the rocks into the pool.

"It's beautiful!" Elaina exclaimed. Landon couldn't disagree. Any place without snow would have been wonderful, but this was like a dream.

"We'll stay here the night and be gone in the morning. The water comes from a hot spring, so it will be warm though it is no deeper than this." He held his hand to the bottom of his rib cage. "This would be a good time for that bath you've been bothering me about, Elaina. You go first—Landon and I will stay over here." Beaming, Elaina took off across the meadow, her laughter chasing itself off the mountainsides. Landon smiled. It had been weeks since he'd heard anyone laugh.

Landon followed Hetarth, angling away from the water to the stand of birch trees on the other side of the bowl. The birches had not yet lost their leaves, which were a happy yellow against the white of the slender branches. Hetarth created a fire and eased himself down beside it. Landon simply lay back under the elegant boughs and stared up through them at the steel-grey sky. It was warmer in the bowl and would be until the sun set. Until the temperature dropped, it was pleasant enough to leave his cloak untied.

_Truth, a bath will be nice._ He thought, rubbing his fingers against his palm. He hadn't been actually clean in weeks, and shaving was out of the question. _Mother probably wouldn't know me if she saw me now, a ragged wayfarer with wild hair._ The thought of jumping out at his sister Kari brought a smile to his lips. She'd squeal and fly out of his hands like a will o' the wisp, her brown curls bobbing behind her.

Landon was lost in his daydreams while Hetarth drew more wood to the little fire with Air—he supposed this was a secluded enough place for both the light and the smoke. The pile of branches was crackling merrily when Elaina returned, all her clothes dripping wet and a broad grin on her face.

"Have fun?" He asked, eyeing her. "You know, some people wring out their clothes after they do laundry." He noted. She only laughed. _It must feel good to be clean._ Landon thought enviously.

"It's your turn," she said cheerfully. Landon scrambled to his feet and unbuckled his sword belt.

"How's the water?"

"Warm, it's wonderful."

He headed off at once, waving her off when she called after him that she'd left things over there to dry. _She can come get them when I'm done._ When he got closer to the pool he yanked off his boots and splashed right in.

The water wasn't hot enough to really warm him through, but at least it wasn't so cold that he'd freeze. It was just fine for what he most wanted: to get clean. The bar of homemade soap he had snagged from the house in Tar Haviel was practically unused, but it was plenty harsh enough to make up the difference now. Landon scrubbed his scalp and skin hard enough to make each tingle and almost sting. _Truth only knows when I'll get this chance again,_ he thought grimly.

With that in mind, he fished a bit of polished silver that he used for a mirror out of its pocket in his belt and propped it up on a rock. Crouching a bit in the water, it was just the right height to shave by.

He retrieved his knife off his belt, thumbed the edge to be sure it was sharp enough, and set to work with enthusiasm. A few nicks were a very reasonable price to pay for not feeling like a bandit.

Landon returned just as evening fell in the valley—earlier than it had at home under the shadows of the mountains. As he walked up, content and relaxed, Elaina peered into the night behind him. It made his skin prickle, and he jerked his head around.

"Did you see that?" she asked, squinting into the twilight. "There was a little flash . . . there!" Elaina cried, pointing. Tiny gold lights flickered all around the meadow among the white birches. "Oh!" she breathed in surprise. Landon felt his alarm wane, but he looked to Hetarth for reassurance that this was not some malicious web come after them.

"Shh, don't frighten them. It's the Ata Sivamir—they're somewhat timid around humans. This is the largest colony outside of Newythe and Ronam. I thought you would like them." Hetarth explained, watching the yellow lights float around the valley. They would flare for a few seconds at a time before they went dark and flew on, only to rekindle a few spans away.

"What are they?" Landon asked, eyeing them curiously.

"Pixies, fairies, call them what you wish. We used to think it was the beetles lighting up, but as it turns out the glowing is the pixies talking to one another as they ride on the backs of the insects."

"Why would they want to ride a beetle?" Elaina asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It's tiring to fly around, they are so very small. The beetles go faster—like a human riding a horse."

"You said they used to think it was the beetles lighting up. What changed everyone's mind?" Landon asked. Hetarth grinned.

"Aleyse. She was . . . slightly less graceful than the others and a great deal more bold. She fell off after someone caught the beetle she was riding and proceeded to berate the bug-catcher, who only saw her lighting up like a little star—which is where the name came from."

Elaina grinned, thinking of the illustration in the Book of the confident and misfortune-prone pixie. She and Landon sat watching them until an hour after full dark while Hetarth bathed in the pool. When he returned with the clothes Elaina left out to dry, the Ata Sitari were finished for the night. The three of them stayed up a while longer, discussing their plans.

"We can't risk staying the winter in Amanheld." Landon proposed. Hetarth nodded his agreement. There were too many people, the towns were too settled. Outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I'd hate to winter in Cavilnor, though. I hear its better in the valleys of the mountains than up in the northern plains. The winds come out of the Barrens without anything to slow them." Hetarth noted.

"So we stay in the mountains?" Elaina asked.

"It would be best to keep moving, but the cold may dissuade our hunters more than it bothers us." Hetarth said by way of agreement.

"We're going to need supplies if we mean to face the winter up here." Landon pointed out. "So it's either a village, a secluded farm, or Donlin."

"There's a better chance of agents in Donlin, but also a better chance of blending in." Hetarth said with a frown.

"We'd never go without comment in a town or at a farmhouse. They may not even have what we need—assuming they open their doors to strangers at all." Landon added.

"We'd best make for Donlin, then." Hetarth decided. "We'll try to blend in, get what we need, and get out as fast as we can. The winter will hide us in the Mountains of the Guard."

It would be weeks before they got there, but Landon was pleased to finally have a solid plan. Between that and the bath, he was soon asleep.

CHAPTER 8  
_The Collapse_

Hetarth looked at their mule-stubborn expressions and sighed. They were camped up in the foothills of the Mountains of the Guard, Haldon Anciri, overlooking the fortified town of Donlin. It squatted at the mouth of the pass, dark timbers cutting a sharp contrast to the snow. It was the last trading town in Amanheld and the land route to the harsh but wealthy land of Cavilnor and its mines. Hetarth was insisting on entering the town alone.

"You know you can't come. They're looking for three people travelling together." He said patiently.

"We managed to cross the pass without anyone noticing!" Elaina protested.

"That's because there was no one there. There will be people in the city, Elaina, we'd be noticed for sure." Hetarth pointed out dryly. "One man alone will blend in." Elaina glowered in silence, but Landon had another argument.

"So send me! If one man blends in, then I'll do as well as you—only I can run if things go bad." Landon fumed. Hetarth returned his stubborn glare, crossing thick arms across his chest.

"I think not. I can hide my face—you can't. I'll be the only one of us in Donlin, today, you both understand me?" He looked to them both for reluctant agreement. "Good. I will be back as quickly as I can. Elaina, keep watch with the spyglass. If something happens, don't wait, and whatever you do, don't come back. Run. Run as fast as you can. Get lost in the mountains." Hetarth commanded, "Don't. Come. Back." Elaina opened her mouth to disagree, but when Hetarth's bushy eyebrows met in a scowl, she nodded instead.

Hetarth shouldered his pack and turned toward the road to Donlin. Before he could take three steps, Elaina ran after him.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" she asked anxiously, "All these warnings . . ."

"Just in case," he assured her.

"But nothing's going to happen," Elaina pressed. Her uncle smiled quietly and put one finger under her chin.

"I'm just getting some warmer clothes. Soon we'll be deep in the northern mountains, safe for the winter." He promised, "I'll be right back, little 'Laina, _dasfinya._ " She smiled at the name he called her when she was younger, reassured by his promise. The word meant "truly" in the language of the Guardians.

"Goodbye." Giving her a quick hug, he turned back down the hill. Before Elaina's eyes, he shimmered and changed. A stooped old man had taken his place, white hair trailing down his back: his disguise.

Elaina watched him from the hill as long as she could. Once he disappeared down the road, she went to sit with Landon and their things, scattered amongst the pine needles and boulders. Pulling the spyglass from Landon's pack, she began her long watch.

As if by some trick of the Air and Fire, when she put the thing to her eye the world rushed up to her and it was as if Hetarth weren't but two spans away. She'd examined Landon's spyglass on more than one occasion, but there was nothing enchanted about it. It just seemed that way.

She scanned the plain until she found the thin dark ribbon of road, then followed it to Hetarth. He was moving fairly quickly, she could just make out the walls of Donlin in the distance. Landon tried to explain how the lenses bent the light without actually reflecting it, so Illusions still held up. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to Elaina, who didn't understand how you could possibly bend light.

When he made it to the gates, Elaina could see five men standing there. Squinting, she asked anxiously,

"What do agents look like?" They had been so far away last time, she hadn't been sure. Landon frowned at her, then held his hand out of the spyglass. Reluctant to give it up, Elaina memorized the figures at the gate. One looked like a normal guard, though he was better prepared for his job than the old gatekeeper in Tar Haviel with those broad shoulders, chain mail, and heavy sword buckled around his waist. The other four seemed far too grim. _Why would there be four extra guards?_ Uneasy, she handed the glass to Landon, who was already explaining:

"Some of them wear the dark grey the Drethlords do, the color of wet ash. Some look just about like everyone else, only with the seal on their shoulder: the three black towers of Hurndrith. The worst ones wear all black. They are the Watchers, the casters' special guard.

"My father saw one fighting a man once, though it didn't last long—their battles usually don't. Father's a swordmaster, one of the best in Loth Daer, and he said the Watcher would have killed him in four strokes."

Elaina stared at him while he searched the wall for the gate—it could be hard to locate things when you first put it up to your eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Because there are too many men at the gate, and I think they're wearing that seal." Elaina muttered, her heart leaping into her throat. Landon jumped down from his perch on an enormous outcrop of granite and knelt down to steady his elbow on his knee.

"He's close enough to see them now, and he isn't stopping." Landon reported tersely.

"Why's he going in? He knows what they look like!" Elaina moaned, hands flying to her face. Instead of hiding her eyes, she peered between her fingers at the town, though she couldn't see anything. Landon kept up a commentary.

"He has greeted the guards, they're uncertain about something. One of them looks like he's whispering to another . . ." Her breath caught in her throat. "They're nodding, he's in!" Landon looked over in wide-eyed relief.

"Glad you didn't try to sneak in?" Elaina asked him weakly.

"Yeah . . ." he breathed, settling back on his heels. "very, very glad."

Elaina took the spyglass and scanned the roads, waiting to catch Hetarth again when he reappeared.

Landon stared down at Donlin. "It isn't much of a city, is it?" he commented, "All the houses are wood and the roofs thatch. Even the walls are just sharpened logs." Elaina supposed he was right, it would be more impressive in stone. But it was still bigger than anyplace she'd ever seen. _How do they ever stop fires in there?_ Just as she was about to ask Landon what people in cities did about that—he had gone back to the boulder and was absentmindedly picking apart a pine cone—she swung the glass around to follow Hetarth through the gates. Men were following behind him.

"He's in black!" She gasped.

"Who?"

"One of the guards from the gate—he's got a brown cloak on, but underneath he's in all black, just like you said!" she cried as Landon hurried back over to her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, he was holding the cloak shut before, but now he's being careless."

"I thought they didn't go in after him?" he asked.

"They didn't have to!" she replied shrilly, "They just waited for him to come back! He probably doesn't know they've figured it out!" The disguised Hetarth ambled down the road with large bundles on his back. Elaina had a stranglehold on the spyglass, as if controlling the glass might let her control the scene it showed her.

She could make out all five guards clearly now. The normal guard looked bored and kept checking back over his shoulder at the abandoned gate. The others were obviously tense, save for the man in black. His stride didn't falter, and he didn't look about anxiously, just watched Hetarth and waited. He was like a cat waiting patiently at the mouse-hole.

"Maybe they're not from Hurndrith," Landon offered, "If they aren't going after him."

"Maybe they're just biding their time!" Elaina replied fearfully. "We should have gone with him!" she wailed. Landon shifted his stare from the road he couldn't see to look askance of her.

"How would that help?"

"Honestly!" she snapped, "You could use that thing," she nodded at his sword, "and I could burn the whole damn place to the ground!" Elaina scrambled to her feet, as if that would give her a better view.

"Can't you burn it down from here?" Landon suggested.

"I can't do it from that far away. I'm going." She said resolutely.

"No."

"You can't stop me!"

"No, I can't, but your promise should." Landon pointed out.

"I could help him!" she protested. He shook his head.

"No. If they really know, you'd only give them exactly what they want: you. And if they don't know, then Hetarth doesn't need any help."

"But he—!" she cried.

"Knows what he's doing." Landon finished, "and has a better chance of getting away if he's not worried about you." Elaina bit her lip, uncertain. "He told us to watch so we would know if we should run—run into the mountains, not back to Donlin." At last, Elaina sighed and sat down again, resting her elbow on her knee to hold the spyglass steady.

"They've still not moved closer!" she breathed, then, "Oh."

"What?" Landon demanded.

"They're definitely following—the only other person just turned off the road. I can't tell if he knows. He hesitated for a moment, but that might have been the limp." Landon began gathering their things. She took a moment's break from the spyglass to stare him. He explained.

"If he doesn't know he's being followed, he'll lead them right to us. We should circle around and be sure no one comes with him. No need to hide the camp, just hide our tracks from here." Elaina blinked. That was good thinking.

Snagging her worn and battered satchel with one arm, Elaina stumbled backward up the hill to keep her eye on Hetarth. He was walking faster, awkwardly jerking his leg behind him.

"This way, Elaina," Landon called quietly in front of her. "The more you walk on the rocks, the less you'll have to hide later."

"I think he knows."

Landon glanced back at her, then whipped his head around to face the town, as if he could see that far without the glass just by wanting it so much. Elaina stopped in her tracks.

"He's going the wrong way," she said, staring, "I-I think he's lost—we have to go back." Elaina stammered, stepping back down the hill.

"Hetarth's not lost, Elaina." Landon said. Something about his voice made her stop, and she turned to face him.

"What?"

"He knows where he's going. They're after him, and he's leading them away. We have to go. Now." Stunned, she only stared.

"He's buying us time—let's use it." Landon's voice was sad but stern.

"No!" Elaina cried, "I won't leave him to those men, I can save him!"

"Elaina, he doesn't want you to. He wants you to run, remember? You promised him you would run." Landon reminded her with soft urgency.

"I said if something happened," she protested, changing her argument, "and nothing has!"  
"It will!" he said sharply. The hillside was perfectly still in the silence. Elaina stared up at him.

"He can find us later," Landon amended more gently, "He's been a Guardian for over a hundred years." Still she didn't move.

"The only people who want us to stay right here or go down there," he nodded toward the road and Donlin, "are the agents. Come on, Elaina, we have to run."

Tears stung her eyes, but she nodded, hiking back up the hill to him. With one long last look toward Donlin, Landon led her deeper into the mountains.

Elaina was struggling to keep up but Landon didn't slow. She would go as slow as he let her to keep checking the spyglass. After their argument, she hadn't told him what was happening anymore. Landon didn't know if that was because she was angry or just if there was nothing to tell. He was about to say something when she gasped.

"They're catching up! He's stopped, the Illusion is gone—they have him!" her voice caught. Landon watched her face contort in pain, lips parting to say something.

A flash of white light filled the horizon to the south, blinding them both for an instant. Blinking away the purple haze that filled his vision, Landon looked to Elaina, mute horror filling his mind. _Surely the agents had died in that, surely whatever he did had killed them._ For a moment she wavered, then she collapsed onto the rocks.

Fear filled him as he scrambled back down to her, taking the glass from her hands and peering at a large swatch of the road that was now blackened and burned. A great dark circle was melted out of the snow, and standing in it was only one man, all in black.

"No." Elaina whispered, "No, no. No." She dug out the little stone bird of hers and murmured to it in a the old language. It didn't move. Landon knew it was supposed to swing about in her hand and point to Hetarth.

She turned it another way and tried again—if it were already pointing to him, by chance, it would appear not to work. It still didn't turn. There was nothing to point to. The little sparrow didn't have a pair anymore, it was alone.

Landon raised his eyes to Elaina, who sat cradling the little bird in her hands, tears streaming down her face. _And now she's alone too._

Fighting down the disbelief and terror that rose up his throat, Landon took Elaina's free hand and pulled her upright.

He had not known Elaina's uncle long, but time seemed longer when you saw one another from sunrise to sunset. Hetarth had kept them alive and free for weeks in the wilderness all while teaching Elaina how to be a Guardian. _What are we going to do?_ _I can get us lost in the mountains, but then what? Then what?_

Landon had no answer for the insistent voice in his head. He had no idea what to do. But there was no time to dwell on it. He pushed down the gloom that grew around him with the dusk. Plans were for tomorrow and the day after. Tonight they had to get far enough away. _Just have to keep walking._ By changing his path, Hetarth had bought them some time.

They staggered on through the rocks and trees until well after night fell. Elaina didn't complain, didn't speak at all, and Landon didn't let go of her hand. When he did at last, and quietly told her they would rest a few hours until the moon was up to light their way, she stopped where she was and sat, staring blankly into the darkness. After an hour, Landon dared to speak again, wincing as he did.

"Elaina, we have to know if the agents are close . . ."

She handed him back the spyglass. He scanned the paths below them. Nothing. Perhaps they'd gone searching in the wrong direction—taking the path they assumed Hetarth would have taken. Landon sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the stars that pierced the velvet black of the night.

"They're nowhere in sight." There was blessings in that, he supposed, but nothing felt that way. _Maybe I just can't see them. Maybe they've given up now. But probably not._ He closed his eyes against the light that flashed across his mind as it had the moment Hetarth died.

Elaina still had not released the little bird. A tiny frown wrinkled his forehead. _She's casting for him again._ Despite knowing the truth, Landon felt hope swirl painfully in his chest before he could crush it. Elaina's hopeful face made him ache as she pored over the swallow. Suddenly, she hurled it into the night with a choked cry. The stone crashed and bounced loudly down the mountainside until he heard it crunch into soft snow. Landon had nothing to say. It felt like a fist punching through his chest, listening to her sob herself to sleep.

Thankfully, exhaustion overcame grief quickly, and her breathing became slow and even. When he was sure she was asleep, Landon rose. As quietly as he could, he picked his way down the rocks, searching in the silver half-light. He ran his hands over the stones and through the snow until he found it.

Tucking the tiny statue into his belt, Landon climbed back up the hill to sit and wait for moonrise. In a few hours, they would be running again. It was too cold to keep heading north, so he would take her east. The closer they got to his home, the more of an advantage they'd have. Maybe they could spend the winter in the Fens, or sneak into little hamlet somewhere and disappear. If they made it to Jernal, they could hide amongst the roving bands of the horselords . . . _If_. Resting his head in his hand and his elbow on one knee, Landon closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

CHAPTER 9  
_The Finding_

The days blurred together. Elaina thought it had been more than a week since Donlin, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. Sometimes she caught herself staring at the world around her in surprise, wondering how everything could be going on as before when everything was different.

Climbing through the mountains left far too much time for thinking. To keep herself from crying, Elaina focused on running through all the webs she knew, and once that became too routine, she began thinking up different ways to combine them, cobbling things together bit by bit. She'd even managed to create a seed and then make it grow. It had been a straggly, ugly sort of plant.

Even with the extra work, her thoughts would get away from her and she'd be grappling with the pain. She clenched her jaw and refused to blink so the tears just glistened in her eyes but never fell. That wasn't true. Sometimes they fell anyway, and she didn't bother to wipe them from her cheeks. Landon never said anything.

He was as quiet as she was. Elaina was sorry that she wasn't better company, but everything she'd ever shared with Landon was a memory that included Hetarth one way or another. They spoke softly to make plans or choose a campsite, but nothing more.

The agents had found the trail again, somehow. Four men again, but this time all in black. They'd gone for some replacements, she supposed. _Upgrades, really._ Every day got a little closer. Elaina knew she and Landon would have to break for it soon. _But can we really outrun four Watchers? And if we can't, how could we ever defeat them?_

Finally, Landon made a decision. "We have to go into the mountains, like we were planning before." He declared. "I saw smoke to the south—a village or a farmhouse, most likely. Either way, we can go down there and get the things we need. It's dangerous, but so is this, and if it works, we'll have a real chance."

Elaina nodded.

"We go together?" she asked.

"Together and fast." he agreed. "Ready?" When she nodded, they turned south to the plains. As they went down, Elaina regretted giving up so much of the height they had gained—it was going to be a hard hike back up. Her feet were already protesting. It wasn't even that much easier going downhill, trying to keep from sliding down with the rocks, they were constantly slipping and grabbing trees and branches to stay upright.

It took hours of this to get back into the foothills, where the trees thinned out enough to look over the plains of Jernal, home of the best horses in the world and the best riders. Elaina grimaced at the view. They were going to be sitting ducks crossing this. Landon didn't look excited either. At least the snow was thinner down on the plain, a light frost on the golden yellow grass.

"There's a house there," he said and pointed to a tilted little structure tucked into the last stubborn stand of pines. Elaina peered down at the wisps of smoke rise from the chimney.

"Lead on." She said, with a glance over one shoulder. It wouldn't be easy for the agents to follow their trail on the rocks, but with the branches they'd broken here and there, it wouldn't be hard either.

The cabin went out of sight behind trees and ridges as they went, but eventually, the squat, listing log building appeared again, half a league away across a field. Elaina searched the hills, scanning for movement. There was nothing.

"We're just going to have to chance it," Landon said, scowling at the heights. "Walk fast, but don't run—that would draw even more attention." Elaina nodded, took a deep breath that stung her lungs with the mountain chill, and followed him out into the tall grass. For a lord's son, he knew an awful lot about tracking and living in the woods.

Any second she expected shouts and arrows or lightning bolts from the sky to descend on them, but nothing happened. They made it to the front door and knocked just loud enough to be sure they'd be heard. There was a moment's pause, then a voice rough with age called out,

"Be gone, yeh pests. I've nothing worth stealing, here. Leave me be!"

"We're travelers, sir, and could use supplies," Landon called back through the door. There was a pause, then a little square section of the door about chest-high and two hands across slid open to reveal a wild grey eyes and a mass of stringy hair. That was all Elaina could see, anyway.

"So go to the village!" the old magician groused at them, "they'd be happy to see you. Leave an old hermit to his hermitage!" he snapped. Elaina frowned at his rudeness, but Landon nodded,

"Certainly, sir, our apologies. Which way is it?" his voice was even, controlled. Elaina snuck a glance at him. His face gave away a lot more of his frustration than his voice, though he was still doing better than she was at faking civility.

"Holdbrine's that way." He gestured. "No missing it." The little window slammed shut before Landon could thank him. Raising his eyebrows, Landon checked the hills again, then hitched his bag farther up his shoulder and set off. Elaina trailed behind, eyes lingering on the hut. _That could have been our last chance to stay ahead of them,_ she thought bitterly. _Miserable old hermit!_ It had the feel of a curse.

The hermit stood at the door a while, listening to them leave. _Travelers_. No one traveled here! The mountains were too harsh, the plains too empty. No one would come this way unless there was no other path. His lips twitched like a rodent's nose while he thought. _Fugitives_. They had to be fugitives.

_Criminals?_ No, not the look, and too courteous. He sniffed.

_Casting._ He had smelled it on her, even if she was hiding the Changing. Trouble with the pillars could send you running, he knew. The hermit squinted at the door and tilted his head to listen. Nothing, they were gone. Scuttling forward, he fought to yank the door open. Hadn't been done in a while—it stuck a bit. As soon as he did, the hermit had a fit, wheezing and coughing in the thin sunlight.

Sharp grey eyes looked up after the travelers. _Not just casting!_ That wasn't a little caster, there. He let the burning smell of it fill his nostrils. Only the Creators smelled like that. The hermit had smelled it once before, right after his Skill manifest. Guardians had ridden through Lydendram, trading for black horses. It was like breathing in fire. Regular casters made his eyes itch and his throat burn. This was a hundred times worse.

Yanking the door shut again, the hermit coughed, waving his hands about. He'd be able to smell that for weeks. Scowling, he was too upset to hear the footsteps and jumped around when another knock shook the old door. He crouched down, tense and still. Someone knocked again, harder, purposeful.

"Who's there?" he croaked. Blasted Guardian, tearing up his throat!

"Open the door," came the command.

"I'm a caster," he warned. There was a pause. The hermit grinned. _Victory!_

Then the door was kicked clean off its hinges, landing with a crash on the floor. He blinked, a ferret caught in sudden light. The awful burning of the Wielder stung his nose and clawed his throat, making his lips twitch again.

"What's this?" he rasped, gathering Air angrily. A man in all black stepped forward and grabbed him around the neck with one enormous hand.

"I wouldn't." he said calmly, and Air disappeared, from his grasp and from his lungs. The hermit blanched, scrabbling against the man's iron grip.

"We're looking for a man and a woman, young. She's a caster."

"Yes! Yes, they've been here!" he squealed, prying at the hand around his neck just as he felt for the pillars—neither effort worked. _What is this man?_ He smelled strange, too. _Bad day to open doors_. It was always a bad day to open doors. The hermit flinched away from the raptor's stare of the man holding him. Technically, he hadn't opened the door to anyone . . .

"How long ago?" A flat voice, impatient and uninterested. _If he is so blasted uninterested, why does he kick in doors and choke people?_

"Not long! Not long at all!" The hermit rasped, his nettled curiosity forgotten.

"Tell me what they did." The one in black commanded. Many more waited outside, silently, only four wearing anything other than black.

"They wanted supplies, travelers they said." The hermit babbled, "I told them to go to Holdbrine."

"Where." It was not a question.

"That way, south, a little west. You'll see it." He assured the man. Anything to get him to leave, even the truth!

"South," the black-cloaked man called to the others outside. He dropped the hermit and strode away without a backwards glance. Rubbing his neck, the hermit counted seven others like his guest, plus three in browns and greens with patches on their coats, and another wearing charcoal grey. He sniffed the wind.

The smell of the girl remained, but there was more. When the wind shifted, the hermit's eyes flicked around. The one in grey turned to glance at him with matching grey eyes, and the hermit stopped testing the breeze. So. The black guards were the minions of this caster, chasing the Creator.

"My lord, I hope you come prepared." The hermit murmured with a yellowed smile. The caster turned to look at him in thinly veiled disgust. "The one you're chasing is the old kind." For a moment the man on horseback said nothing. Then he pulled a glass sphere from a bag slung across his saddle horn.

"I have this." He replied, as if that were an answer, then spurred his horse toward the horizon, tucking the orb back into the satchel. The guards wheeled after him.

The hermit heaved the door back in place, cursing the lot of them under his breath. He didn't know then that by the time the sun went down, he wouldn't be able to leave his house for months—not that he enjoyed leaving at all. In an hour or two, the scent of Creation would be too strong around Holdbrine, stronger than anything the hermit had come across before.

Tucking the Gift back into its leather pouch, Brother Monren rode for Holdbrine, his men strung out behind him like black pearls on a string. The pair they were hunting knew someone was after them, but they didn't know they were being herded down onto the plain, and they didn't know how many they'd face now.

The surprise would be enough to throw them off for the seconds he would need. Monren glanced back at the Watchers. He'd never worked with so many before. Surprise probably wasn't even necessary with this many.

The quarry began to run when they saw his hounds approaching, but they could not escape in the open sea of grass.

Monren gestured for the Watchers to surround the pair. The other agents were insignificant, whatever happened to them was not his concern. The black-cloaked men fanned out across the plain in a net. In the distance, he could see the people of this little village fleeing into the tall grass. They were insignificant as well. Lord Monren slowed his gallop as he approached them, the source of the impossible echoes that troubled him for months: the very last Wielder.

CHAPTER 10  
_The Snare_

Elaina shook. They were surrounded by armed men in black coats, dressed exactly as Landon described—Watchers. There were others behind them, still farther away, but they weren't needed. Landon and Elaina were already trapped. The cold faces of the Watchers were expressionless as they moved warily around her.

She tried once more to clear a path through the prowling guards with Air, but the web just dissolved. It simply would not work. Landon circled her sword drawn, as grim as death, but the guard paid him no mind. _If they are as good as is said, they don't need to mind Landon._ The thought made her feel sick. _Oh, Truth! How'd there get to be so many?_

Three more men joined them, reining their horses and leaping to the ground. She'd seen them before, in the spyglass. The vicious pleasure on their faces made her stomach turn, and she cast without thinking, a crackling web of pure Fire. To her complete shock, it worked this time. Three bonfires erupted on the plain. Before their feet touched the ground, before they could scream, the three agents were ashes drifting away on the wind.

The Watchers didn't blink. _They must be protected somehow—Hetarth was right._ The shock of actually killing men was dulled by heart-stopping fear.

A final rider in dark grey galloped toward them, raising a thin streamer of dust through the grass. He drew rein and leapt off his mount. Elaina knew those dark grey robes, everyone in Arith did, even if she did not recognize the face. _Drethlord_.

Striding closer, the caster unwrapped the bundle cradled in his arms. _The Orb. Salfiron's inverted web. Oh Truth!_ As the Drethlord moved closer, Elaina felt the Orb tugging at her, drawing her to its incomplete form. It was over.

This was how her parents died, and Hetarth, and every other Guardian. Her knees weakened at the thought. Landon left off his prowling to keep her on her feet. She was grateful for his help—the last Creator was _not_ going to die with her face in the dirt!

Soon we'll be in Evermore, with Hetarth and my parents. Soon. I'm so sorry Landon!

Her hunter moved closer, and the circle of guards opened to let both him and his companion through. The Drethlord eyed Elaina cautiously, coldly. There was nothing of hatred in his face, only duty. It surprised her how normal he looked, this invading conqueror and Empire builder, this murderer.

Grey-streaked hair over a cold stone face. And his eyes. She gave a start to see plain grey eyes, human eyes, looking back at her. For some reason she had expected something different, something evil—red eyes, or black sockets like those creatures in the Book.

One of the Watchers broke off to stay at the Drethlord's shoulder, heeling the him like a hound. His sharp eyes locked on hers for only a moment before flicking to Landon and back again. The Drethlord was moving.

He drew nearer, and Landon stepped forward to block his path. Even as the Watcher reached for his weapon the Drethlord slipped the Orb around Landon. It brushed her hand. Elaina flinched back, but it was too late.

_Too late, too slow_ , _too late, too slow,_ the words were a chorus in her head, chanting out her death.

She could feel her power flow out of her, and the air around them grew thick and quivered. Things began to look wavy, their borders fluid. Elaina stared in horror. There were at least a hundred webs springing from the Orb. Air formed solid, spinning wheels spread out across the plain like enormous scythes. Whole sections of sod and grass simply vanished, leaving deep scars in their place. Water snared the humidity out of the air, emptied wells. Fire snapped and popped into and out of existence.

The web of the Orb _was working._ Landon looked as though he couldn't breathe. Perhaps he couldn't. _It can't be working_.

Hetarth had said so, back when they found out what the Drethlords were using. He had said an inverted web that powerful would not work, because no one was strong enough to cast it. He had said that to touch it was death, and his own death proved him right. She pushed away the memory the last member of her family before she began to imagine the flash of light and the awful hole it left in her life. He was gone.

But she wasn't dying. It wasn't touching her anymore, but the web was complete. She was weak with the energy that was being drawn through her. She could feel the strain of the web, building and growing, expanding.

The Drethlord was frozen where he stood, the Orb flaring in his hands brighter than the weak winter sun, casting black shadows all around them. He looked wary, which was probably close to panic in normal men. He had not counted on this. In his hands this thing had destroyed her entire people, had murdered her family. _But I will survive. I will survive and he will pay._

"Landon?" she called, voice resounding oddly through the sluggish air. He clearly didn't know what to say. She was the strongest Guardian of the Age. She knew terror was written plainly across her face, but she couldn't help it. There was no energy to be proud and stern, not now. No energy for anything but the webs.

There was something the matter with it—more than the fact that it shouldn't have worked, something felt wrong. It felt like there was a twist where there should not have been, a blank where something ought to have bent into place. Elaina frowned.

The web was not going to work.

She had cast enough failed webs to know the feel of it. This one was flawed. Salfiron had never cast anything this size, he had not accounted for the way they would interact. It had to be stopped. A failed web this size could tear Arith apart, destroy it and everything in it.

"Get away!" she snapped to the Drethlord. He stared at her over the blazing Orb in confusion. She should have been dead by now, or dying, he knew. But she wasn't, and he couldn't quite believe it. Behind him a scowl darkened the face of the Watcher, and his hand clenched on his sword. Landon snarled at him wordlessly.

"Take that away, you fool! It's wrong!" She howled at her captor. He didn't move. Outside the ring of guards the world had gone mad. Spreading away from them, the ground rolled like a wind-blown banner. The black-coated men staggered to stay upright. Water was cracking free of thin layers of ice to rise out of wells in glistening ovals. The horses screamed in terror as solid earth billowed under them, snapping legs. It was a nightmare.

Power flooded through her in a torrent, freezing and burning into her bones. She groaned, bringing Landon back to her side, but she couldn't stand any longer.

On her knees in the grass, her hair fell like a curtain across her face, but it could not block the fierce light of the Orb. Her muscles had turned to water. _I have to stop this before it's too late._ Landon knelt beside her and she seized the chance to tell him.

"Landon, the web is incomplete—it's going to fail." She muttered. "I can feel it." Staring into empty space, she shivered. "I think it's supposed to destroy Arith." The part Hetarth had completed destroyed a half a league before he was killed. How much would she destroy? Ten leagues? Fifty? Hundreds? Beside her, Landon was stared with horror shining in his eyes. There were only two things that could be done.

"You have to stop it." Elaina panted, gripping his collar fiercely. He _had_ to listen, he _had_ to. "Get the Orb away, maybe if it's far enough . . . or else, you'll have to—" he didn't let her finish.

"I won't let them kill you, Elaina," he shouted. "And you cannot ask that I do it myself!" Stumbling to the Drethlord over the heaving ground, Landon scowled. The man didn't even glance at him, eyes locked on Elaina.

" You have to take that thing away! The web is flawed, you'll destroy everything!" Elaina could barely hear him above the chaos. For a moment, the Drethlord's piercing stare shifted to Landon. On her hands and knees, shaking, Elaina was grateful to be free of that stare, even for a moment.

"You are trying to save her." The Drethlord said suspiciously, eyeing Landon. Furious, desperate, Landon grabbed the man's shirt. Elaina's heart sank—there was no way he'd survive it . . .

The Watcher did nothing more than narrow his eyes in warning. It was an understated gesture in the face of the dissolving reality around them.

"What's the matter with you? It's your life too!" Landon snarled, disbelief soaking his words. Elaina couldn't hold her head up to watch, but she could still hear the cool reply.

"You are like her Watcher, her shield, yes? Sworn to protect, your life before hers, that is the way with all the protectors in Asemal. You are trying to trick me and save her."

"I'm trying to save us all, you fool. Look!" From the ground, Elaina saw the Drethlord's feet adjust awkwardly. Had Landon really spun him around? Elaina managed to raise her head. Landon's hands were on the Drethlord's shoulders, and they both faced the chaos. She groaned.

The world has gone mad.
Water bubbles the size of small trees floated through the air, bursting when they struck anything, the only relief from the fires that raged unchecked. Those fires were sparked by the great flashes of lightning that arched among housetops and through the dead grass.

Thick black smoke choked the air, filled with the metallic smell of blood and the nauseating stench of burned flesh. Thunder rolled around them, never truly ending, an ominous drumbeat of ruin and death.

The ground crashed about in waves, causing great chasms to split open underfoot only to snap closed in the next moment, cutting off the screams of any who fell in. A city blinked into existence a half a league away, its banners flapping in the stiff wind, people moving along the walls. Then it vanished. Had she made that? Brought it from some other place, or some other time?

Elaina saw that the ring of guards had turned, facing the greater threat from a broken world before her head dropped again. It was too much . . .

"She said it will destroy Arith." Landon's shout was muted, hollow. The whole world sounded like it was leagues away.

"I know." The Dreathlord's response echoed strangely in her mind.

"THEN GO!" Landon roared. It was almost a normal noise, but Elaina couldn't tell anymore. Was the whole world coming apart, or just her?

"There is no stopping, once begun. If it is ended, she must do it. She must unravel the net." The Drethlord's voice was a whisper in the whirlwind, but Elaina could hear it clearly with the pillars of creation was roiling her.

"If she cannot, then she must die." The words were clear and ringing, filling her head like the power that filled everything else. _Must die. Must die. Must die._

Landon yelled something, but there were no more words, only noises. Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord, and silence closed in. Was this dying? Maybe she would die before they killed her. . .

A warm, rough touch on her shoulder broke into her peace.

Landon knelt in the grass beside Elaina, hand on her shoulder. She'd opened her eyes again, but he didn't think she heard him.

"Elaina, we can't get the thing far enough away. You have to undo the web, untie it. The Drethlord said it can be done." Her eyes drifted to meet his. Had she understood any of that, or had that thing already destroyed her mind?

"Untie, unweave. Can't undo." She murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. Landon felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the buckling of the earth. As soon as her eyes closed, he feared they wouldn't open again. He almost cried when they did—there was no focus in the way she gazed at the Orb. The dazed, lost sound of her voice matched when she muttered,

"Untie . . ."

Landon didn't know how she could stand to look at it, the brightness stabbed his eyes with pain. For his part, stone-face was focused on Elaina, watching her as closely as she did the Orb. The screams of the dying rent the air. Some ended abruptly.

"Hurry, Elaina." Landon whispered as he fingered the hilt of his sword. He didn't know when he had to make the decision, when it would be too late, but he didn't trust the Drethlord to tell him. That man had been waiting to kill Elaina for months.

At the moment, that murderer was gaping at Elaina, mouth hanging open in astonishment. Landon felt an odd rush of pleasure— _so he does have emotions like a normal human_. The earth trembled and groaned beneath them, as if it were as alive and in pain. His sweat slicked the hilt of the sword, making it twist in his hand _. If she does not do it soon . ._ .

CHAPTER 11  
_The Father_

A flash of light erased everything from his vision and a roar filled his ears until there was nothing but white and sound. Then silence. Stillness.

_So this is death._ It was less painful than he had imagined it. Perhaps that was because it had been done with the pillars—erased from the world by the pillars of the world. He wondered vaguely if his spirit had passed judgment or if that was later. He certainly hoped the Neverblind would be merciful. _I left home for good reason._

Specks of something floated across the white. Mutters interrupted the silence. A wind marred the stillness. The specks grew, shading out the white, mostly brown and green. Black took over the center of everything. A gleam of silver blinded him again for a moment. Something brushed across his cheek.

If he was to be pestered for the rest of eternity, he was going to get angry.

"Is he alive?" someone muttered. Landon frowned. Something jerked his shoulder roughly a few times.

"I think so." It sounded doubtful. The shapes above him grew and sharpened. Faces. Two men. There were two men kneeling over him. The clasp on one's cloak gleamed in the sunlight, flashing in his eyes. He blinked.

"He is alive!" The voice was shocked.

"I can't believe it. He was so close. . ."

"I know, and no _ashendari._ Yurick was twice as far and didn't take another breath." The other nodded solemnly.

"I saw him get swallowed by the earth itself."

"Perhaps she meant it to happen _._ " The first suggested ominously. "If anyone could do something to save him, it'd be her." They paused, careful not to look at the destruction around them.

"We should take him to her."

"She has been anxious over him. It's a good thing he lived, or we might not have." The one with the silver clasp on his collar noted. His fellow gave a vigorous nod.

"She's alive? Elaina?" Landon croaked. They looked down at him in surprise. He was surprised too, that his throat worked. _But if I am not dead, that makes sense. They don't think I am dead. Or Elaina._

"That she is, my Lord. Soon as you can stand we'll take you to her. She's in quite a state to see you." The speaker snapped his mouth shut, unsure if he had said too much. You couldn't talk about a Guardian like a fishwife, after all.

Landon didn't notice and lurched to his feet using the two soldiers to help him up. He was startled to see his clothes hung off him in tatters. Great holes gaped in his shirt and cloak. There was even a slash through his leather boots. Some of the holes showed matching ones in his skin, enough to sicken him. Others showed nothing more than the pink shine of a new burn. The sight made his whole body pulse and ache, as if it had been waiting for visual confirmation to start hurting.

The two black-coated men rose to their feet after him, one on each side to keep him upright. _Watchers. Who knew I'd be escorted by Watchers and not to the headsman's axe!_

His surprise didn't make the pain less searing. He felt as weak as a kitten who had tangled with a Cavilnese wolfhound. The only movement that didn't hurt was blinking, and that may have just been relative to everything else.

The three of them made slow progress toward what the only building standing in sight, Landon letting the two black-coated men hold him upright. The rest of the structures were twisted piles of smoking ruins, bits of smoldering wood sending up trails of smoke, ruined chimneys looking like a small forest of broken black fangs.

It took the best efforts of both of the Watchers to keep Landon upright as they made their way to the building. The stone-faced Drethlord met them at the door, grey robes looking a little worn and scorched. The Watchers were startled to see him acting the doorman, but only stuttered a moment.

"M-my lord? Her man is alive, sir." They hefted Landon forward another half step forward to prove it.

"Very good. Bring him." Lord Monren turned and allowed them into the room wearing a tightly-reined expression of irritation. Evidently he was displeased as his men were surprised. The room was large, enough to hold the kitchen, table, and open living area of whatever farm family it belonged to, now large enough to hold the wounded. Off to the side, a long narrow hall led to the bedchambers. Two other soldiers moved about dressing the wounds of the men scattered across the floor on hastily-made pallets. Monren gestured to an open pallet in the corner.

"Put him there. The Guardian will see him when the audience is over." Landon wondered what audience Elaina could be having in a scorched village in the middle of nowhere, but then the Watchers lowered him toward the bed. As soon as they touched him, the blinding pain sent him into merciful blackness.

In the hall, Mathwen paced restlessly. He had to duck his head to clear the ceiling in the low, dark space, and his shoulders were nearly too broad to allow him to turn in his armor. It was good armor, not his expensive parade gear. The silver plate was chased with gold and the helm he carried under one arm matched.

The sword at that swung to tap his calf with every step was the only one he had ever used since the death of his father. Its hilt was encrusted with rubies, save the grip, which was gold wire. Gems on the grip would just be foolish—your blade would twist and turn all over the place. His red velvet cape was heavy with a broad band of gold embroidery at the edge, but he didn't notice.

The door swung open, last rays of sunlight streaming from the room to catch the gold and the gems, sending red flashes chasing each other over the walls.

"You may enter," came the command from inside. Mathwen scowled and stalked in. The only occupant was a woman. She was not tall, her head came only to his shoulder. Her dress was only green cotton, and it was faded and stained from travel. Waves of honey brown hair hung loose past her shoulders. Her face and hands were clean, but a cut ran across her cheek and many more showed on her arms, all straight, neat lines.

For all of it, she stood like a queen behind a simple chair. At first, an observer might see a farmwife greeting a King, until they noted the angle of her chin, the cold gaze full of wariness. No farmwife had that look, like a cornered black leopard of the Southlands.

He noticed her white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair. _Either she's frightened of me—unlikely being what she was—or she can barely stand._ As he studied her the door shut on its own _. A reminder that she is not as weak as she looks_. He kept from flinching, barely. Casters made him jumpy.

"You are the one they call a Creator?" he demanded. An eyebrow twitched upward.

"I am the last of the Guardians. I am Elaina." She replied in as strong a voice as she was able to summon. He noted distantly the flash of resentment at his implication she was only _called_ a Creator even as his rage grew.

"I am Lord Mathwen Ren'jedal, High Lord of the House of the Seven Stars, Protector of the Eastern Marches, Defender of the Red Lions, King of Loth Daer," He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

"And you have kidnapped my son." He growled. If his control was lost to fury, hers was lost to stunned surprise. He did not think it was feigned, but that did not help much. _She still has Landon._

"Truth-drowned spirits of the Neverblind, _you're_ his _father_!" she gasped.

"Didn't think I would come for you, witch? Didn't think anyone would challenge you, Truth-blinded coward? Thought you could steal the First Sword of my Kingdom and we would snivel and hide from you? Well there's an army at my back, and we will have Landon or you will die!" He roared as he stepped forward, drawing his great sword from its scabbard.

It was vital that he catch her off guard, make her think about who he was. Besides, if the way she was gripping that chair was any indication, she couldn't cast anything too strong, she was too tired.

"Prepare for Evermore, sorceress! I will free my son from your bewitching!" He cried, advancing. She stiffened and stepped behind the chair. Suddenly, he lifted off the ground, feet dangling in the air. _Blast! She is not as tired as I thought._ She panted from the effort of holding him there, her eyebrows drawn into an angry scowl.

"Release me! Truth blast you, release me!" He shouted, kicking wildly. He wasn't one of those people that really thought all those who could touch the pillars of the earth were evil spirits that would be sentenced to eternal darkness on the far side of the River Evermind, but that didn't mean he wanted it used on _him_. Slowly, deliberately, he felt the band of air at his waist lower him until his boots scraped the wood floor. She _was_ tired, not able to hold him in the air. _Of course, that might make her impatient too . . ._

"Still yourself, sir, or I will still you!" She snapped.

_There it is—she's impatient_.

"I could kill you where you stand if I wished. Listen!" Breathing heavily through his hawk-like nose, King Ren'jedal glared at her, but fell silent and ceased kicking. There was no sense in pushing her too far, getting himself killed in a little girl's fit of anger would not help his son. He stilled, but his grip on his sword was as firm as ever. _If she tries anything . . ._

"I have traveled with your son, true. I do not deny it." The King took a breath— _she admitted it!_ —but she cut him off, " I do deny that it was against his will, or that I have bewitched him in some way. He told me only his name and House, I did not know he was a prince, or first sword of anything."

"His name and House! Both show him royal, you lying witch!" The King roared, throwing his sword at her. She ducked it, but the blade splintered the top rail of the chair's high back before it buried itself in the floorboards.

The stiffness of his back had interfered with his aim. A pity. If she were dead all webs would end, and Landon would be free. _The lad gets himself in the most troubling situations sometimes._

Her face was pale as flour, but she managed to keep from squeaking when she spoke. "Perhaps to someone well-traveled, well-versed in the customs and governments of the nations that would be obvious, but I lived my whole life until these past months on the other side of the Empire from Loth Daer! How was I to know the House of the Seven Stars was the ruling house? Or that its Prince was called Landon?" The girl replied coldly.

That level tone, that smooth face—her composure was forced, Mathwen could tell. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, clutching her skirts as if to keep from strangling him of their own accord.

"His name is evidence, fool! Ren'jedal means the royal family Jedal." The King spat derisively. He stopped shouting though, she looked close to snapping. A child throwing a tantrum with the pillars could well kill him, and then who could save Landon?

"It means royalty to you, but not to me." Elaina spat back, anger flashing in her eyes. "I have done no wrong, yet you would kill me! Me, the person your son has fought with and bled with against the Empire! In defense of your Kingdom and all the nations of Arith!" He knew she was angry. By the destruction that had surrounded this little hamlet, he knew she was at least a caster.

T _ruth, she could even really be a Creator—it is possible, though she looks young. But even if she can create and destroy worlds, she also has Landon._ It was worth any risk to get him back. She was young enough that volume and temper made an impression, so volume and temper it would be. It was easier than holding it back, anyway.

"Against the Empire! A Drethlord answers your door, you lying, sneaking—!" He roared, struggling to get at her, as if he would kill her with his bare hands. _Perhaps if I get the chance. . ._ Just then, Lord Monren stepped into the room as if summoned.

"You see!" The King raged. Here this chit who had stolen his son stood side by side with his most despised enemy. "Filthy, lying, Truth-blasted, Power-cursed—"

"Enough!" Elaina shrieked. "Enough! Before noon today this man tried to see me dead. Why do you think this is the only building standing where there was a village called Holdbrine at dawn? Why think you there is a ring of cinder and ash for leagues around this place? Lord Monren came to kill me. Landon and I defeated him!"

"And now he serves you faithfully, is that it?" The King sneered.

"Yes." The Drethlord said, clearly and coolly, voice cutting through both of theirs and stilling them like ice set to a flame. Truth, but casters made his skin crawl! Here the man interrupted a Creator and a King, and his voice was stone-hard, unapologetic. _The eyes don't help, either._

"My Brothers and I came to this shore to answer our prophesies, to find the one who will save our people. We sought the one who had the strength to defeat the Gift, the ancient Gift from this side of the Sea." The capital on Gift was clear in his voice.

"Only the one who could destroy it is strong enough to save Asemal. I have seen it, the fulfillment of the prophesies. The Lady Elaina is the one." He bowed to the young woman solemnly, one palm to his chest, back of the other hand to the small of his spine. It was much like the Antralian's peculiar salute, if Mathwen remembered correctly.

"Soon the Brothers at Hurndrith will hear the news and answer, for she is the Net-Breaker, the Falcon of the Morning, the One Foretold." He stated solemnly.

King Mathwen just scowled, though he did not shout. _Well that's news_. Did that mean both the girl and the Drethlords would be going back to Asemal? That would be a great opportunity. . . and a great bloodbath. A hole in the ranks of the most powerful always was, sure as a hole in the ranks of soldiers in a battle. But there were more pressing things to be concerned with.

"Then where is Landon? Where is my son?"

"He lives. He is in the front room even now." Mathwen caught the flicker of his gaze toward the girl and watched her eyes close as she took a deep breath. He would have guessed that was a prayer to relief—she had not been sure Landon was alive.

No wonder she had been so uncertain—coldly imperious one minute, hotly angry the next. She was tired, did not know if she had what he wanted, and did not have the energy to stop his army alone.

_But Landon is alive. Truth, the boy's mother would have skinned me if I had come home alone, if I had not taken my own life first_. Landon was his only remaining son and his greatest pride. Landon would be King of Loth Daer.

"Then I will see him!" The King demanded.

"Yes, as soon as you prove to me you will do me no harm if I release you." Elaina countered, smile fading rapidly. _Aha, definitely concerned about my army._ She would need time to recover before she could face him like casters did—demanding simply by her presence.

Normally Creators did not threaten or shout, they just _existed_ and that was enough to require respect and obedience without fail. That was how it used to be anyway, but much had changed since the Invasion.

"It has been a long day. I want no more surprises." She said with finality. That was an understatement, he guessed, but if Landon was well he did not want any disagreements breaking out that might endanger things before he could get the lad away from this woman.

"If my son lives and is not snared in your webs, then I swear no harm will come to you or yours by my hand." He granted.

"Nor at the hand of any you command." Lord Monren added. The girl gave him a sharp, grateful look. One of them, at least, was watching for holes in his promise.

"Aye, not at my hand nor my command." The King agreed. She peered at him a moment longer, then the Air around him returned to just air, and his cape moved freely behind him. Cautiously, he moved toward the door. Finding himself unhindered, he yanked it open and marched down the hall. _Blasted casters make me as jumpy as a crescent frog at harvest!_

Behind him, he heard the girl try to follow after. There was a shuffle, and when he looked back, the Drethlord had her arm over his shoulder and had a hold of her waist as well. He kept walking. If she was too tired to stand properly, then there was little chance she would try to stop him and Landon from leaving, not with the Company behind them.

CHAPTER 12  
_The Leavetaking_

By the time he awoke, Landon's plans had been made for him. He wasn't pleased about it, accusing his father of treating him like a child and Elaina of conspiring against him and betraying him in general. He even went so far as to suggest that by sending him home they were forever forfeiting Yaldra's chance of overthrowing the Empire.

Elaina's attempts to explain went largely ignored at first, but then she delivered a scathing lecture on doing his duty. It was odd talking that way to someone her age, and a Prince besides, but it was so effective she wondered if it was a tactic to use more often. She _did_ regret it, a little—he looked downright hurt when she told him he was sulking like a spoiled puppy—but he had agreed to go.

Thinking of it made Elaina snort—as if he had any choice! Not only was it necessary, but his father had made up his mind, and when Mathwen Ren'jedal decided something was going to happen, it generally did. Elaina had some doubt as to whether _she_ could have stood up to him, pillars or no. He was a . . . commanding presence.

For all Landon's reluctance, it was now the fifth day after their disastrous arrival in Holdbrine and he was on his horse—a bay charger his father had brought with the army. Beside him sat King Ren'jedal on an even larger animal, a chestnut that looked like it could kick through a wall if it had a mind to. Both men glittered in gold and rubies. Instead of his helm, the King wore the crown of Loth Daer today—a gold ring with paired red enamel lions supporting a ruby the size of a thrush's egg over his brow. Rubies dotted the band as well.

A few months ago all that gold and the stones would have made her jaw drop, Elaina knew. Now she was too tired to care and only wondered if it was awfully heavy, and if that was why the King had such a thick neck. Perhaps it just went with his bullish disposition.

Behind them rode men brandishing three banners, a large yellow one with the Red Lions supporting a crown, and two smaller ones with seven gold stars on a field of red and black. There were two trumpeters between them, but they carried odd, curled horns. Elaina wasn't sure how those made any noise at all. After them rode the rest of the small army that was the Company, the personal guard of the King.

Off to the left of the column, Elaina and Lord Monren stood waiting. Landon gave her a look of teeth-grinding frustration from beneath his ruby-studded helm and shot Monren a warning glare.

As unhappy as he was to be leaving Elaina and the freedom and adventure of their travels— _now_ he called it freedom and adventure, what used to be disaster and terror— he was even more displeased that Lord Monren would be staying. He refused to concede that the Drethlord had changed his allegiance, or rather expanded it to include Elaina.

Monren took all the accusations and objections calmly, whether they were direct or implied. As soon as Elaina had announced intention that Landon go and Monren stay, he had simply ignored the prince.

Despite the way he stared straight ahead, there was a small curl of a smile on his lips just now that made her doubt Landon had been totally dismissed. That was the insolent grin of the victor on any other man.

Truth, but the Drethlord is like iron most of the time! Between him and Mathwen and Landon, it's like I have the leashes of a lion, a wolf and a wolfhound by my fingertips, and I have to keep them from tearing each other to bits!

_No, that would be too simple; I also have to bring the three of them to heel, and I'm holding those leashes by my teeth._ She almost laughed.

Lord Monren was staying with her to arrange a meeting with the other Drethlords, where he would convince them that she was the one they were looking for. It was a pretty little mess, and she was in the middle of it.

At King Ren'jedal's impatient gesture the trumpeters lifted the horns to their lips and sent out a brazen call that brought Elaina's mind back from its drifting. _So those things do make noise! Lower than trumpets . . . I wonder if it is because they can be longer, all curled up like that._

The King gave her one impatient nod and Landon bowed in the saddle, then they heeled their horses into a high-stepping trot, wheeling east toward Loth Daer. A metallic rustle followed the trumpets as the army slowly broke into motion—greaves shifted with shuffling feet, mail slid against breastplate, and scabbards were settled on hips.

Like a river suddenly set loose from an invisible dam, the Company moved forward, gold-bordered bands of red on every arm. Behind the bannermen rode a handful of men with no red-and-gold, only black. They were an honor guard sent by Lord Monren, but were meant less for honor or guarding than to prevent them from sparking a war as they marched home. King Mathwen would not have accepted them for any other reason.

Elaina could only hope it actually worked. None of the others had seemed too confident. Even Monren had doubts, and it was his idea. _Perhaps the Watchers can keep swords in scabbards long enough for them to pass by before people stopped dithering about what to do. Perhaps. The Drethlords are less likely to hail as savior someone sowing chaos across their realm._ _Truth, but what did Landon think he was doing, running off like that when he was a Prince? And not telling me! Honestly!_

Once her view of Landon was blocked by the cavalry, Elaina turned abruptly, leaving Monren to follow her back to the only remaining structure in Holdbrine. With all the wounded Watchers either recovered enough to walk or buried, the large room of the farmhouse was now a command post of sorts. Elaina tried not to think of it as it had been those first few days—men lying about bandaged, bleeding.

She had tried her hand at Healing, but accomplished very little. Without much practice, she was not a particularly useful Healer. It didn't make it easier that Healing required a level of immersion in the injured person's being—the healer felt the pain as well. Trying to help Landon, she had discovered that he felt about like he'd wrestled with a cheese grater.

The Watchers had all refused her offer to Heal with odd looks. Perhaps it was some stupid male stubbornness thing. If they wanted to suffer, she wasn't going to go out of her way to feel their injuries and heal them. Still, the memories were grim.

It helped that a few rough tables had been built and now lay strewn with Lord Monren's collection of maps, they made the room look different. Between those maps and Monren's knowledge of Arith they had decided upon their plan. Riders had been sent to Hurndrith with word of Elaina, letters bearing Monren's seal, a branching oak in black wax. Those that were in the capital city would ride out to meet them. The rest of the Drethlords would be found eventually, until she met them all.

Then they would begin the negotiation for the freedom of Arith and the salvation of Asemal. At least Monren was perfectly confident that his Brethren would also acknowledge her as the Falcon and the One Foretold and all of that. She had avoided asking what happened after that on purpose. It seemed clear that she would have to go to Asemal if she was to save it properly, but she did not much like the idea. However, it was a small price to pay if that meant the Drethlords would leave Arith.

One step at a time, though, Hetarth had always cautioned her, don't get ahead of yourself. _Plan too far ahead and you'll fall over the first stone while thinking about the tenth._ She sighed and quickly pushed the memory of his face away, before the tears caught up with her. This was no time for that. She could not let them think her weak.

The first stone she had to keep from tripping on was meeting the other Drethlords. The location Monren had picked was a little speck on the map, a hamlet between Hurndrith and what remained of Holdbrine called Split Creek in the southern plains. Getting across the trackless expanse of Jernal would be trouble enough, regardless of what awaited them in Split Creek. Elaina sighed, staring at the map. It was a long journey, and things had a way of going wrong if a person traveled long enough. _Things have a way of going wrong if a person lives long enough, travel or no._

Following Lord Monren in the door was the peculiar man that went everywhere with him. As with the other Watchers, he just wore black. Everything on all of them was black, down to the steel of their swords—though she couldn't see how that was possible. They blades were black as night, but they shone like normal steel. When the Watchers practiced, they clash of the black metal was just as loud.

Elaina badly wanted to ask how they were made, or what of, but those unblinking stares kept her from actually speaking with the Watchers whenever possible . After watching them practice, she was sure she did not want to match swords with any of them—Landon's father had been absolutely right about that. Every last one was a master, even those no older than she was.

_Truth, someone must have been teaching them since birth if they already have that kind of skill!_ The particular bodyguard of Lord Monren made her shiver especially. It did not even seem he had a name, Monren merely called him Watcher when he wanted the man's attention.

The three of them were standing around the maps, Monren pointing out routes and discussing supplies with Elaina, when a different Watcher poked his head in the door.

"My Lord, my Lady, there are people here who say they are from this place. What do you want done with them?" Elaina straightened. _So. They're back_. The townspeople had fled as soon as they saw the black-cloaked men charging toward their homes on horseback. Now they came back to find those men in residence and most of the town gone. She hoped they had all gone far enough away to survive the disaster that was the Orb.

"Bring them in, please." She directed. The Watcher disappeared around the doorframe for a moment. Then about fifteen people shuffled in, all travel-stained and wide-eyed, crowding at the door only as far as the Watcher shepherded them. Likely they had been waiting for the army to move out. A few stuttered a greeting for the Lord and Lady, there were a smattering of bows and curtsies.

"You are all from Holdbrine, yes?" she asked them gently. They were probably scared out of their heads. All she got was nods in response.

"Then you have seen what has happened to your home." More mournful nods. "For that, I apologize. There was a very large web that went very badly wrong here." No sense in telling them the world almost unraveled before she could stop it. They had enough to worry about.

"I regret that it has so harmed your village, but I intend to see it fixed." At that some surprised and hopeful eyes flicked up to hers for a moment. "There is a table over there with a map of the area. If you all would be so kind as to mark out and describe the buildings that were here, we will see what we can do to go about setting things right."

The Watcher herded them toward the offered table as they murmured their thanks and wobbled a few more curtsies. Monren and his shadow were watching her closely, one as expressionless as a shadow ought to be, the other frowning sharply.

"Lady Elaina, we don't have time to be rebuilding villages!" Monren scolded, keeping his voice low. "The Brethren must meet you as soon as possible. It has been fifteen years since we left the Isles, perhaps even now the Empress is in danger! It could take us months to rebuild everything as it was, even if I send for more men. We do not have the time. If you must do something, leave them gold to rebuild and we can march for Split Creek."

"Oh, hush." She whispered back. His mouth snapped shut. Brother Monren was not used to being addressed that way. His Watcher's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, as usual. "I'll take care of it. It will not delay us more than an hour."

Still frowning, Monren muttered something about wasting energy and over extending oneself, but he didn't argue. Elaina didn't care what he thought. For once she wanted to leave behind something more than destruction and death. _Just this once_. The shadow watched her still, expressionless as a stone once again. If Monren was reserved, this fellow was ice. _Really, how does Monren put up with a companion like that all the time? Drethlord or no, the man has to make his skin crawl like everyone else's._

It was three days yet before they could summon up the supplies they needed to ride across the plains, along with the wagons and horses to carry them. The destruction of the Orb had not gone well for the local stocks of food and water. Much of what they needed would have to be found on the way.

As word had gotten out of the Loth Daean army's departure and Elaina's promise to rebuild, more and more townspeople had streamed in from the countryside. Now they all stood back by the only building with all the Watchers, Brother Monren, and his shadow. Elaina stood in what had been the town square. She had studied the map closely and rested up to do this.

Many of the homes had been wood and thatch, but she didn't know enough about holding a building together to use those. Instead she intended to use Fire and Air to melt stone. _If the villagers don't like how it turns out, they can just redo it themselves_. They would be doing the thatch themselves anyway—she didn't want heavy stone roofs collapsing on them three days after she was gone. She'd done enough to kill them all already. Thunder rumbled in the distance. _Those thick, dark clouds are going to make the ride miserable._

Elaina took a bracing breath and raised her hands. Casting this large a web she would use her hands to help her direct the Fire and Air—just because the buildings would be stone didn't mean she was going to try it with Earth. She pictured the first building in her mind and began to cast. In essence, it was what she had done when the little stone sparrows were made; Fire on stone, only the stone was underground and massive, and the goal was similarly vast.

There was a deep roll as the stones beneath the earth responded to her words, matching the rumble in the sky. Rocks broke through the surface like fish bursting from a lake. The stone rose, shifting and melting into red hot slabs, pouring upward into thin walls.

Dirt steamed and hissed, sloughing off the molten rock in waterfalls. It took only seconds before the skeleton of a house settled into the ground. There were openings for doors and windows and rafters across the top to fix thatch to. It was all one solid piece of dark gray stone, streaked with pale rose. Left to itself, that house would last thousands of years. Behind her gasps and murmurs rose until she could almost hear them, but there was no time to listen. Now that she knew what she was doing . . .

Molten stone rose from the ground, molding and forming itself into shops, more homes, and an inn. In a matter of minutes, dust was settling around the new town of Holdbrine. Empty windows stared like vacant eyes and doorways gaped. But with this done, it would be only days or weeks until the villagers of Holdbrine were back to their lives, instead of months.

She let her arms fall back to her sides. A few weeks ago, this would have put her on the ground, if she had been able to do it at all. The Orb had pushed her, stretched her limits. Now she was merely winded, as if she had run a league. She was certainly well enough to ride all day toward Split Creek. It wasn't creating, after all, just a lot of casting. _So there! Lord Monren can just keep his thoughts to himself._

After a few deep breaths Elaina turned her back on the town to face the small crowd of villagers and Watchers. They were silent, staring as if she were a dead spirit walking. No one spoke a word.

She couldn't believe it.

She'd argued with Monren, worn herself out before a long ride, and built their village in a few minutes instead of a few decades, and they just stared at her! _Ungrateful shepherds and farmers with dirt behind their ears! Well. If they don't like it they can just relocate, there is no way I'm going to tear it all back down again!_

One stout woman moved forward, walked across the square to the mayor's house. Elaina tried to keep the scowl off her face—there was no way she was going to put up with a lecture from an old woman. But the woman walked right past her.

Gingerly, she reached out a hand and ran it along the smooth wall, no thicker than fine porcelain, but sturdier than a thirty-year oak. Everyone watched as she finished and approached Elaina. For her part, Elaina struggled to keep her face straight and hold on to her temper—Guardians didn't get flustered by villagers, they _didn't_!

"My lady," she made a decent curtsy for a country woman, better than Elaina's own curtsey, certainly. "I don't know much about sorcery, Lady Guardian, but if this is what things were like in the old times, I'm sad I missed them. You've saved us all." The matron's chin trembled a bit with her voice, and tears filled her brown eyes.

"There's no one in Arith that has a place like this. Thank you. Thank you!" Without warning she flung her arms around Elaina in a crushing hug.

There was a sudden rush of movement behind her, and then all the townspeople rushed forward, patting Elaina on the back like their favorite niece or bowing so low they almost fell over as they tried to hurry toward their homes at the same time.

Laughter and happy chatter filled the square. Even the Watchers were peering about, clearly wanting to go examine the buildings themselves. One look at their commander stopped them, however.

Monren stood with his arms crossed, his impatience to be gone was as apparent as writing on his face. He didn't look unhappy, though, just . . . considering. His shadow was standing halfway to Elaina, sheathing his sword. Apparently he did not like anyone touching Elaina; Monren had probably told him to protect her or something equally nonsensical. _Monren is the only person around who has tried to kill me!_

Without a word Elaina went to join him. The groom offering her the reins of a horse was bowing so low his face was in danger of hitting his knees. She took the animal from him quickly, before he could topple. The horse must have belonged to one of the three men she'd incinerated, but Elaina didn't ask. She hoped those men were on the far shore of the Evermind, the blackened and burned afterworld that waited for any whom the Neverblind found unworthy. It was said that the two sides of Evermore, divided by the River Evermind, reflected the spirits of those that were sent to them. The near shore was supposed to be a haven, a paradise as lovely as the true spirits that walked it.

Before, Elaina had always been uncomfortable with the thought of a far shore. Could any soul be so twisted and false that it would create a such a place? Did anyone deserve that? Now, she only hoped it was worse than the fables. Men were more evil than she had believed, and she wanted their punishment to be equally severe.

Monren snatched his reins from another groom—only slightly less respectful with his shoulders parallel to the ground. Elaina didn't bother hiding her smug smile. _Months to rebuild, was it? Impossibly slow? Ha!_ For once in her life, she left _more_ than was there when she arrived. It was a nice feeling, and she wouldn't let Monren ruin it with his sour mood—he could be as unhappy as he wanted.

At the moment he was willing to help her. His help could mean everything, but that didn't mean she trusted him, or even that she wouldn't see him to the far shore in the end. For now, he was an ally, but he was still a murderer. He may have ordered the agents to go after her parents, and if he hadn't, he'd done it to Hetarth. So she would use him, the way he was using her, but she would never trust him.

"Ravin, mount." Monren snapped coldly to his shadow. He got a rare vexed look from the black-coated man, but no reply. Once he had given a last glance at the wall he'd been running his hand along, Ravin moved to his horse. So the special Watcher had a name after all.

"We ride now!" Monren called this second instruction in a carrying tone. Immediately, the Watchers left off gaping at the brand new town, emerging hastily from the skeletal buildings and scattering for their horses with quick glances at Monren, whose face was rapidly rivaling the storm clouds overhead. It was time to be gone, and quickly. Before those clouds broke.

CHAPTER 13  
_The Meeting_

The storm hit three hours later, and it did not let up for two days. At least it was warmer on the plain that it had been in the mountains. Up there it would be a monumental blizzard, and she _hated_ snow and cold more than anything. On the plain it merely froze on the ground in patches of slick ice. The weight of the horses was enough to break the thin sheet of ice, so they did not lose their footing.

Nonetheless, Elaina glowered at the sky from the protection of her web. It was a sneaky little thing that she'd watched Monren cast when the rain started falling, a simple dome of Air around the top of the body.

At first she had been too enthusiastic, encasing herself in a complete bubble that hugged tightly to her body. Soon, however, she'd been unable to breathe and grudgingly adopted Monren's version: a wider and shorter dome that stopped mid-chest. It kept the water off everything save her boots, yet the air was still fresh. He said it was simply an Air version of the oiled silk awnings the people of Ronam carried about. As strange as such a thing would be, Elaina didn't doubt him. It did not seem that Monren was aware of the concept of humor. The idea of him making up stories to trick her was laughable.

He was as jolly as a corpse.

To be fair to corpses, that wasn't true. Old Bern Luzor had looked quite cheerful after his death. A few people suggested that it was from relief at escaping his nagging daughter-in-law, but not too loudly. She was still alive, after all.

Old Bern aside, Monren was a singularly humorless man. To Elaina's astonishment, Ravin was not. At least, she thought he was joking when he remarked she was prettier than he had expected, that he would have been unhappy to kill her, and that a miner in Cavilnor would have spent half a year's wages to buy her.

She'd met a few Cavilnese men and none of those mentioned the tradition of purchasing a wife, so she thought he was joking. It was his delivery that made Elaina want to laugh: that expressionless face, absolutely blank while he made some quietly acidic comment.

Despite being the most entertaining of her new travel companions, Ravin was far from adequate at staving off anything more than a few minutes of boredom. Elaina found she missed the frantic pace of the past few weeks as well as missing Landon, with all his accompanying energy and boyish good-humor. Even at the end he had been a remarkably good companion. He just had this unending belief that things would work out, and somehow he was hardly ever wrong.

Without a friend or an impossible quest to distract her, Elaina had far too much time to think about Hetarth. In quiet moments, waves of grief threatened to overwhelm her, and she would duck her head to keep anyone from seeing her tears. She didn't think it worked very well. At times she would find Ravin watching her when she looked up. If he hadn't been a Watcher, she thought she might have befriended him. Watchers didn't have friends, though, she was fairly sure.

It was more than just missing her uncle, though that was enough to make her chest ache like she would collapse in on herself. It was everything together: losing the last of her family, her mentor, her only link to her parents, the only person who could ever understand or explain what she was and what she could do. All of it hit her at once, and so did the lonely and frightening thought that she was the very last of the Creators.

With all of this to think about, and nothing in the endless grassland to distract, the six day ride to Split Creek was torturously long. Even her mixed excitement and trepidation at meeting the rest of the Brethren could not overcome the bouts of boredom and mourning that filled the slow trip south.

In a few days, she might end the occupation and free the nations of Arith without bloodshed. Then again, the Drethlords were all murderers and usurpers, but would get everything they wanted without retribution. She shot a sideways look at Monren.

There he rides, bold as he can be, a murder and thief. And he brings me back like some fantastic beast he's discovered. If he expects I will go along meekly, he is in for a shock. They have removed nearly everything that binds me, and now they're going to see what happens when everyone I love is already in Evermore.

Elaina knew they didn't believe in Evermore in Asemal; Ravin had looked at her oddly when she mentioned it. When she asked, he explained shortly:

"When we die, we go to the heavens. If our spirits are bright enough, we will be seen in the darkness. The soul of the Empress is the brightest, always," he had said, gesturing to the sun, "so all others can only be seen when hers is on the other side of the world." Elaina had only nodded. So they thought spirits became stars, and their empress was the sun. She didn't ask how that worked when there had been more than one Empress, but there was only one sun.

At first, she thought that the desire to be a bright spot in the night sky couldn't be as powerful a motivation as the judgment of the Neverblind, but there was something in Ravin's voice that made her wonder. Perhaps she underestimated the desire to be remembered forever, your legacy untouchable in the night sky. The trouble was, for every hero people remembered, they also remembered a villain.

The hall was dark and close, but it was the best that could be found on this little hovel-speckled grassland. Brother Monren had always had a shockingly common view of the world. Really, to meet the girl in this little shack on the far edge of nowhere!

That this girl he wrote of was the one they needed he did not doubt. Monren would not lie to the Brethren, and he had seen this with his own eyes, felt it with his own hands. But Monren's interpretation of the prophesies were deeply flawed. This girl was needed to save the Empire—the one on this side of the ocean and the other, that much anyone could agree on.

Firstborn Keravel intended to make sure she did just that, whether she wanted to or not. A Wielder that strong could not be allowed to get the upper hand, and her simply being unrestrained in the same room as the Brethren would leave her a tremendous advantage.

First she must be controlled, then she could be commanded and the Empire would be saved, not to mention this new Empire of the East that Keravel had every intention of holding on to.

Monren and his Watcher—what was his name? They would need to be controlled closely at the critical moment, but even without A'lan and E'dan, the trustworthy Watchers and Brothers could take care of that. Those two were needed elsewhere. There was no _ashendari_ anywhere that could match them, which made them imminently useful. Once they had been made to see the reality of the Empire, anyway.

Keravel gave a dark chuckle. Once he got them bound to this girl, nothing short of the breaking of Arith would free her. His plan was flawless. Today he would begin the story that would fill the legends of the Ages to come—the tale bards of the Fourth and Fifth Aeons would write their epic songs about. This day was the beginning of his greatest achievement, his masterpiece. He would capture the Falcon and his star would be bright enough to see even in the day, even in the light of the Empress.

It was in the Prophesies that whoever ended the Gift would save Asemal, and whoever that was must be brought to heel:

She'll send to night the ones who train  
She'll kiss the hand that held the chain.

Some of the Brothers would die in this effort to train her, it said. Keravel was not troubled. Their lights were never as bright as his and never would be. This was the greatest mission in service of the Empress that had ever been tried and offered the greatest rewards. It was an honor to die in her service. And he would, many years from now, once he had built an empire as powerful as the one over the sea.

No, he would be the one who held the chain, whose hands she would kneel to kiss. She would serve him, and he would save Asemal. Firstborn Keravel considered that the Empress, may she shine forever, could even make him her consort for this—it had happened in the past for less. He could hardly contain a smile at the thought.

The fact that not all the Brothers at Split Creek knew of his scheme only made it more impressive that he would succeed. The other Brothers had been manipulated and negotiated into their present positions so carefully they did not know it was happening.

Brother Gervaine was too close a friend to Monren, almost as if they were blood-brothers. He was now out on the wall with Brother Rechane, supposedly so he could be one of the first to see his great friend again. Rechane would keep him out of the way until everything was over. Brothers Segarin, Sirean, and Halyar had all been a part of the planning, and were standing with their Watchers here in the hall with him.

Brother Menkar would do anything in the name of the Empire, and Brother Losdar would follow the crowd— they waited outside the door, unaware of what was about to occur. There were enough _ashendari_ out there to subdue them, Gervaine and Monren, if need be.

It was a dangerous plan, this, but you did not let a falcon hunt at its own accord. No, you caged it, put jesses on it, kept it with you until the hunt. Even once you'd trained it you still kept bells on the thing in case it lost itself. _Menkar will come around. A bird this swift, this lethal, will need most careful training. Oh yes, now that she is mine, many things would be changing. Many, many things._

Keravel gave up his pacing the dingy hall and settled impatiently in the enormous carved chair at the head of it. It was a ridiculous thing to use as the Seat of the Firstborn, but like everything about this little village, it would just have to do.

He felt a quick jolt of relief that he had been able to get to this pathetic excuse of a town with few of those who might side with Monren. Brother Cianfar was in Cavilnor and Brother Terlum in Jernal when Monren's news came to Hurndrith, so they were happily out of the way. Convincing Brother Dracen to head off on a fabricated mission to Vinyam just before the news broke had been a stroke of sheer brilliance on Rechane's part.

If Keravel had tried it himself they would have been immediately suspicious—Dracen in particular. That man would suspect his own shadow of stabbing him in the back. If Dracen had been here now, Keravel would have felt less certain of success. As it was, Monren might have to be destroyed and Gervaine with him. _Well, perhaps that would satisfy the prophesies . After Abelmedar and Valmeran, thirteen seems a much smaller number than the fifteen we began with._

CHAPTER 14  
_The Cage_

A flash of light in the window on his left caught Keravel's eye. It was the signal. Rechane had seen Monren and his party. The Falcon was in his sights, but any suspicion before that final moment would send her soaring away again. _Calm. Patience._

A twitch of his finger brought E'dan and A'lan to his side. These were blood-brothers; no one would doubt it. They were as darkly similar as the matched blades they were named for.

It was the way of their homeland to fight with two swords, but both were equally deadly with the single black blade that now rode on their hips. They had been masters when they'd been taken, young as they were. He had simply added to their twin blades the traditional black-steel one, kept them training, and they were the best he had.

Fierce near-black eyes met his grey ones evenly, openly. They never had seen the need for true deference, though after those first hard years they had stopped voicing their thoughts at least. That was often the trouble with training _ashendari_ here, the ones they had brought from Asemal as children were far more pliant and respectful.

"You know what is expected of you, yes?" He asked them. If his voice was quiet, it was anything but gentle. Everything depended on them. The other _ashendari_ could take care of Ravin and the others, and the loyal Brothers could handle Monren and his friends easily, it was the Falcon that he needed these two to handle. And if they failed, he knew he could not stop the seawall from breaking after that.

It rankled to have to rely on anyone this way, but sometimes these things were necessary. The Gift had not even been a threat to him, a mere weaver of Elements, and here this girl had not only been reached by it but had actually _overcome_ it. That made her the most powerful Wielder in Asemal or Arith in at least one hundred years, if not more. He strongly suspected that it was much, much more. _There is no shame in needing a few extra hands to deal with that, certainly. No shame, but it is irritating._

"Yes, my Lord." The brothers answered in unison. A'lan's voice was a hair lower, E'dan's eyes a touch darker, and the latter was a shade thinner, but they had the same cold stare, the same hard face. It was like looking at one man in a mirror. It seemed strangely unnatural when they moved at different times.

"I will be to the left of the door," E'dan began,

"And I to the right." A'lan finished.

"We each take her wrist, maintain contact at all costs, and do not stop until the band is secured. Then we will be sealed to her." They finished by rote. Keravel had repeated the instructions many times; there was no room for mistakes.

"Good. You are ready." It was not a question. The Firstborn stroked the deep red hoop on his knees. Inside the stone circlet stone was curled a long chain of the same color, connecting the collar to matching bracelets. E'dan would chain his right wrist to the Falcon's left, and the opposite was true of A'lan, leaving the strongest hand of each free to use a sword if needed, with the girl halfway between.

He had seen them practicing with their weak hands bound behind their backs. It did not look to slow them down. Any gap in one's performance was seamlessly filled by the other. It was fitting that they were named for the blades of their homeland—the e'dan was the left handed sword and a'lan the right—the brothers too were cold, lethal, and came in a matched set. He had seen them practicing with their strong hands behind their backs, too. It was a dance of death.

There was no need for two of them all the time after this was finished, though. Keravel supposed much of the time, once she had calmed down, one of them could have a break while the other was chained to her. Of course, after the Linking they would both be her Watchers, and she could not ever escape them.

"Once you have her in your hands, bring her to me. I will put this on myself." He ordered again. A quiet satisfaction flooded through him. The wine-red stone had been polished until it held a velvet sheen. The whole thing had been carved from one single block of Bloodstone, carved by the Elements with every scrap of skill he and those select Brothers had in them.

That was the only way to do anything to Bloodstone: alter it with pure Flame. A hammer and an anvil would not scratch it, and a natural inferno would leave it cool to the touch. It could only be molded with absolute heat, and nothing less. _But its powers! Nothing short of astonishing, and oh, how astonished the girl will be._

This was a day long in coming. He would put this around her neck with his own hands. The thought made him shiver with pleasure. His scar stretched with his smile. A gong's deep reverberation filled the air.

She had arrived.

E'dan and A'lan stepped back beside the doors. Keravel felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him. The Falcon would be his. He spun a net of Wind, opening the doors slowly. Destiny was his.

Elaina strode through the doors to the hall in what she hoped was a regal way. Monren was behind her right shoulder, Ravin behind her left. Chin high, back straight, she schooled her face to stillness. She was a Creator. She was their better, never mind her travel-stained dress with its ragged hem. _Keep on thinking that, don't grovel or look about like some country idiot!_ She reminded herself, training her eyes on the end of the hall.

It was not large, its walls only plain stone. The decorations were simple carvings, not glittering gems or stained glass, but the man at the end of the hall left nothing to be desired.

Lord Keravel was tall, with wings of grey at his temples that gave him a sneering dignity and a strength beyond anything she had ever seen. A scar slashing down from his temple to his chin gave him a dangerous frown. He sat on the carved wooden chair as if it were a golden throne. Eyes of fire watched her like an eagle watched a mouse.

Elaina's doubts that the Brethren would believe her claim faded like morning mist under the heat of that gaze; those were the feverish eyes of a man seeing his prophesies fulfilled. The way he stroked that red stone on his lap caught her eye. _What is that?_ Sudden motion just out of her sight, swift and smooth, set off alarms in her head.

Something was wrong. Elaina had just enough time to realize what Keravel was holding before the impact; it was a collar. _A collar for me_.

"Run!" The cry ripped from her throat as fingers closed over her shoulders, though she could not have said who she was calling to. She reached for the pillars, opening herself to Fire and Air. The hands moved to her neck, touched her skin. It was the guards, the ones by the doors dressed all in black like Ravin. _Watchers_.

The river of molten fire was gone. Darts of Air disappeared as if they had never been. It was Holdbrine all over again, only whatever protected the Watchers there was now being used as a weapon.

Elaina did not realize she was screaming until she saw someone clap their hands to their ears. Kicking with all her strength, she tried to fight free of the hands that held her.

They tightened.

Iron grips yanked her backwards, pulled her down. She saw the glint of black steel in the doorway, saw the flare of a fireball for an instant. There was a resounding crash in the distance. Then her back hit the stone floor, those hands still on her shoulders, on her bare neck. Two faces looked down at her—no, it was the same face twice over.

It was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. No one was that good looking. It was all she could do not to just lie there and stare at them in incredulous awe. Black hair brushing over skin like ivory, deep brown eyes that went on forever, all fine, strong features and lines, like a marble carving. It was as if spirits were looking down at her.

The force of the fall knocked the breath from her, but despite that and her preoccupation, Elaina did not stop flailing, arms straining, legs lashing out to hit anything. When she landed a blow on either of them, it did no more than when she struck the floor. She sank her teeth into the nearest arm. The taste of blood was sickening. A blow landed on her cheek and the limb was yanked from her teeth.

Dark, dark eyes stared down at her, concentrating, ignoring her fury. She tried to concentrate too, ignoring their beauty. At last the one on her right flung himself across her body, pinning her with his weight from hips to knees. She couldn't kick, couldn't move her arms, and the pillars were still gone.

_What have they done to me?_ It had begun as soon as they touched her. _What web do the Drethlords know, what do they have other than the Orb?_ The Firstborn was descending from the dais, bringing the collar toward her.

A hand reached out and gripped her ankle, getting tangled in the hem of her skirt for a moment before closing again. His palm felt hot against her skin. Skin.

_Could it be? Is it these two men and not their master?_ It was possible, but not certain. Sure or not, the thought only made her fight harder to free herself. Maybe there was a chance to escape, if she could just make the Watchers lose their grip for an instant . . . then maybe Fire itself would be hers.

There was nothing else to be done, she could not kick, could not thrash about at all. But she fought nonetheless. It did no good. Hands tightened around her arms, and she could not wrench herself free.

_How can someone so ridiculously gorgeous be so strong? It isn't fair to everyone else_ , she thought wildly, _and there are two of them!_ After a moment, the pressure on her legs lifted. They hauled her mercilessly to her feet over her resistance, careful to keep their fingers far from her teeth. A glance over her shoulder showed the doors shut and barred. Before them lay Ravin, unmoving in a pool of blood. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks even as she snarled at her captors.

She hadn't even known him! _How many people will stand in front of me and die in the end? My parents, Hetarth, the poor people of Holdbrine, and now a man who did not even know me!_ Only Landon managed to escape whatever awful magnetism she had.

Lord Keravel, Firstborn of the Brethren of the Emerald Throne stood before her. He was deranged. Long, thin fingers stroked the red stone collar in his hands, its matching chain hanging down to twin manacles sliding over the stone with his every step. The white scar across his cheek puckered with his slow, burning smile.

From around the chamber, Elaina could suddenly sense the eyes of many, some dark or blue or green, but more than a few had no color at all. Many of the others wore the all-black of the Brethren's bodyguard. They all waited in silence as she was dragged inexorably forward. Only her panting breaths echoed on the stones.

Elaina had never really needed to think about how physically strong anyone was. No one in Tar Haviel would have thought to lay a hand on her, and since they'd home left she'd been able to manhandle anyone with Air. Now that it occurred to her, these two were surely the strongest men she'd ever seen, even if they weren't the biggest.

They were as little troubled with her struggling as a leopards with a kitten. Two others dressed in all black hurried forward—if it was possible to hurry with that wolfish grace—and clasped one of the red stone cuffs onto the wrist of each of her Watchers. Even with one of their hands encumbered, she could not break free.

It was useless. Monren was gone. The Drethlords had betrayed her, even more monstrously than she had been watching for.

Arith is lost.

With a twisted, maddened grin, Firstborn Keravel leaned forward to snap the stone collar around her neck. Elaina heard it click. It was like hearing the twang of a bowstring sending an arrow to her heart, with nothing to do but wait for death.

When she lunged for his throat, she did not feel her collar cutting into her throat, did not feel the hands on her shoulders, and did not feel the blow to her head that sent her spinning into blackness. She was lost.

CHAPTER 15  
_The Forgotten_

When she woke, she was on a pallet in a tiny little room. The room gave a lurch, and the sounds of men and horses filtered through the walls. _Not a room then, a wagon_. Elaina tried to sit up, but her head felt like a ripe melon just ready to split. Looking around, she bit back her groan.

On a low bed to her right sat two men; she could just barely see them without lifting her head off the pillow. They were almost identical, with near-black eyes, dark hair, and light skin. Even the way they were sitting was similar, leaning back against the wall, wrists resting on knees, slouched in a sort of deadly grace to keep from hitting their heads on the second bed that hung from the ceiling above, watching her.

They were still the most attractive people she had ever seen. _If the true spirits had bodies, this is what they would look like._ But these were not true spirits—far from it. She wouldn't give them the pleasure of knowing how her head was pounding.

Elaina scowled at them.

"She is awake." The one on her left said simply. A chain of blood-colored stone drooped from his right wrist to the thick matching collar on her neck. _Why stone? It is lighter than iron, but so much more brittle. Though I doubt I'll get the chance to test that, with these two not two spans away._ The other nodded, sending a little wave of movement down the identical chain on his left hand. The first stood, somehow never in danger of hitting his head. _How do they move like that?_

"I am E'dan, and this is—" here he was interrupted seamlessly,

"A'lan" came the deeper voice as he stood too,

"—my brother." Elaina had no idea how to tell them apart and didn't much care.

"Please do not try to overpower us again, we do not want to hurt you." A'lan added without the slightest bit of sympathy. _He has all the human warmth of a fencepost. A fencepost that assaulted me when last we met and doesn't care if I mind. A very handsome fencepost._

Annoyed, Elaina reached for the pillars before she could think. But it was gone. All of it was gone. The gut-wrenching emptiness was as haunting as it had been the first time. _Maybe that is why they are called the pillars of the earth, because when they're gone, it feels as though the floor has fallen out from beneath your feet._

"What have you done to me?" She demanded, holding back panic and replacing it with anger. They seemed to know exactly what she meant: _what have you done to my power._

"We have chained you with Bloodstone. So long as you are connected by the stone to any of our kind, your power is gone. As if we were touching skin to skin." E'dan explained briefly. Elaina stifled her pleasure at having guessed what it was— _I'd have rather been wrong and seen some way to escape. Bloodstone! Why did Hetarth never mention this?_

"Your kind?" she pressed, "You and your brother?"

"And the others like us, the other _ashendari_." Elaina frowned, translating. It was a peculiar word, but it was certainly derived from the old language of the Order.

"The ones left behind? The forgotten ones?" she offered. They nodded.

"Forgotten by what?"

"The pillars." A'lan answered, sounding surprised. "Did you not travel with Monren and Ravin and the others? Ravin is a Watcher—all Watchers are _ashendari_. What good would a Watcher be that could be broken with the first web? We are unknown to your power, so we can defend when others could not."

"Ravin . . . ?" Elaina could not believe no one had told her what he was. _I never asked, but still!_ _There are people running about cut off in some strange eddy, immune to my power, and_ _no one mentions it?!_ _I thought it was a web, not something innate to them—anyone could be untouchable! Next time I see Ravin . . . !_

Then she remembered. He was dead. Dead at the hands of those he had trusted, the ones now holding her leash. Cold grey eyes met the dark ones at the end of the bed. They had her, it seemed, with no way to escape. But they were going to come to regret that as much as she did. Their lives were going to be a living nightmare in every way she could make it. And chained to her as they were, there had to be many, many ways. Oh yes, _everyone_ was going to suffer until they saw their mistake. Better to chain lightning than put shackles on a Creator.

"Now that you are awake, we will take you to the Firstborn. He wants to cast the Linking as soon as possible." E'dan said, rising to his feet alongside his brother. "Come." It wasn't a request. It was a command.

When she didn't move, one of them sighed and both moved in to grasp her arms and lift her to her feet. With their hands at each elbow, one on her back, and another on her neck, Elaina had little choice but to go with them out the little door of the wagon.

The brothers called a halt to the boy sitting on the wooden seat, then sent him running to the front of the caravan to tell the Firstborn the Wielder was on her way. As they marched her up the long line of wagons, Elaina felt her heart sink. There were so many. Men and horses and wagons filled the road in front and behind— _even if I could get out of these chains, how could I slip away from this?_

At last, the three of them reached the front of the procession. Awaiting them were some of the same people that she had seen before at Split Creek. They weren't standing at tense attention as they had been before, she was no longer a threat. Arranged in a crescent at the front of the group were a handful of men in charcoal grey. At their center stood Keravel.

"Excellent," he breathed, "Welcome, Elaina." Her only reply was a glare. "In my homeland, in Asemal, we had people like yourself not too long ago. The Wielders, the great ones that served the Empress, may she shine in the heavens forever. They were sent alone on the most dangerous, impossible missions in her service, and many died. Then, she sent them with protectors— _ashendari_ who were trained as swordsmen. They are equally rare, the Wielders and the Forgotten Ones, and equally dangerous once trained.

"After many attempts, a way was found that joined them together, an inseparable bond that brought their minds and spirits close. It allowed them to sense each other, to find each other when separated, and gave the mortal Watchers a taste of the long lives of their Wielders." Elaina felt a chill run down her spine—this captivity was going to go deeper than she imagined.

"When the Gift came to Asemal, it destroyed the Wielders just as it destroyed your kind here, leaving only Weavers. But you have untied the net—you alone survived. Today, for the first time in a five hundred years, the Linking will be cast, and there will be a Watcher linked to a true Wielder again." He declared dramatically, then gave her a cold smile that did not reach those crazed eyes, "there will be two Watchers, actually,"

"E'dan, A'lan, step forward." The brothers did, leaving Elaina standing alone. She didn't move, though the chains stretched out between them. Her head still hurt from before—this was not the time to attempt escape again, whatever this strange Asemaline tradition. _How will they link us? Did he not say the ashendari cannot be touched? What is this power?_ Elaina's head began to pound. _There is so much I don't know. Too much._

Sucking in a huge breath, Keravel began muttering as quickly as he could, waving his hands about in complex patterns. Watching the web swirl around her, Elaina smirked. She could still see webs, and he looked like an idiot with all the waving about. The web was complex. It used all of the pillars, but the true difficulty with it was when the others overlaid identical webs until Elaina and her captors were entangled in a six-pointed star of the pillars. Sharing webs like that was difficult, but if this was the best Asemal had to offer, it was no wonder they wanted her so badly. If they could not concentrate easily enough to cast in stillness and silence, they weren't half the casters that Hetarth was. She thought she might be able to do it herself. . .

Elaina did not have any more time to gloat before the webs hit her.

It felt as though lightning had run up her arms and struck her through the heart. There was only pain, exquisite pain that did not numb with time, but blossomed in her mind. She was dimly aware that she had fallen to her knees. The brothers were there, unmoving she thought. But then they were gone. Everything was gone. There was nothing. Only pain. Then beneath the pain something grew—flashes of emotion that were not her own, memories she had never lived.

She was riding on a night black stallion on the edge of a sea-side cliff, a boy child with dark hair blowing in the chill wind. Beside her rode another boy on a palomino just as large, laughing with simple joy at life. Pain like a sheer gust howling past her, through her, cold as death.

She was older, sitting at the side of a handsome, towering man, who brushed her dark hair from the eyes she saw through and turned to smile at the boy on his other side. The older man wore a circlet of silver and sapphire around his temples, and two matching hilts rose over his shoulders from the swords hung across his back. Agony stabbed at her mind with a thousand flaming knives.

She was older, yet still a child, on a field of dead men and dying. In their center lay the same man, silver armor stained dark with blood. He handed her and the other boy the swords with his last words on his lips. There was nothing but suffering. It billowed and consumed, destroying as it washed through her.

She was in a stone courtyard, dancing among men, killing men with her brother at her side. The men towered over them, stronger and older, but no matter. Her blade drove through a man's heart and she watched as the light left his eyes. But it did not stop those that were taking away a little girl, rough hands tangled in her dark hair, dragging her away. Tears glistened on her cheeks. She was an angel. Beside the angel child was a still form wrapped in blue and white silk. The dead woman had the same face as the little girl, matured and ripened. Anguish exploded, obliterating all else. It rang out like a bell, echoing, reverberating to her very core. She was undone.

As suddenly as it began, it was over. The memories, the torture was gone. The dark of the night and the road appeared again through the white mist that shrouded her eyes. Elaina shuddered back into her own mind, desperate for the pain and the memories to stop. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

What web was that? In the name of Truth . . .

She had invaded their lives, forced a path where there should be none. Had they seen bits of her memories? Felt something of her soul as well? _How can they do that, mere casters? And how did they touch these strange untouchable men?_

But it was too late for regret, and confusion did nothing. They were bound. All that remained now was a strange ache in her chest that was slowly subsiding with the pain, the foreign, dangerous, vibrant feeling of two souls, one a shade deeper than the other, one a hair darker. They were not perfect, but they were certainly beautiful. Tragically sad and terribly noble and beautiful.

It frustrated her that they were not as ugly as their deeds. _If their faces have to be so fair, why are their souls too, with all of the hideousness that they are a part of? How can chaining a person like a dog not leave some awful mark on them? What of killing Ravin, and however many more?_

As her impression of their true selves faded, some small barb remained. In her head something was different. Eyes closed and dizzy, Elaina felt she could tell exactly where the two of them were. Keravel's smiling face took on a new meaning— _of course he is pleased, now his hounds could find me if ever I managed to escape._

On her hands and knees, Elaina looked up to find the _ashendari_ exactly where the Link told her they were. Both had dropped to one knee, each with a fist pressed into the dusty stones and their faces was contorted with pain. It was the first time she had seen anything on those beautiful stony faces, all angles and planes, and it quickly faded. The first time she had seen it with her own eyes, she realized, instead of through their own. The thought made her flinch. _Perhaps if you suffered that much, the true spirits forgave a betrayal here, an enslavement there._

Firstborn Keravel examined his charges for a long moment, smile curling his lips. Elaina could hardly focus on his gleeful face through the ringing in her head.

"Well, that is finished. Do you feel her, Watchers?" Collecting themselves, the brothers rose and bowed their affirmation like a matched pair of horses. Keravel's smile grew. "Excellent. Now the oath."

" _Covemale dasfinya, ancirial escaraneal, av'hasimel priol'ar, av'itasangua priol'ar, orisasal priol'ar_ ," they swore to shield and follow in the language of the Guardians. their pain before hers, their blood before hers, their lives before hers. _They must not interpret that very literally, since they're happy to keep me in chains like a pet._ Keravel clasped his hands together pleasantly.

"Watchers, see to the Wielder. Return to your quarters, and keep me informed. Only one of you need be chained to her at a time, now. The other may come see me at dawn—I will have questions." With another bow that made the Bloodstone click together softly, they turned, lifted Elaina to her feet again, and led her back to their wagon while the reluctant stream of carts, men, and horses lurched back into motion toward Hurndrith.

CHAPTER 16  
_The Falcon_

A'lan sat watching his charge with no less interest now that she was asleep than he had when she was awake. If anything, it was safer now that she was not scowling at him from under lowered brows.

Those grey eyes that so despised him in the day were closed in peaceful sleep. The expression on her face, relaxed and calm, was so altered she looked a different person altogether. Normally those lips were pursed in vexed silence, or snarling around bared teeth.

By day she was a leashed wolf— _or a caged falcon as Keravel says_. A gift that had been stolen from her, and she badly wanted it back. _Like any creature she wants to be free, and like any falcon, she wants to fly._

He could see that yearning every time he looked at her, that and the fear that she tried so hard to cover: fear that centered around himself, his brother, and the Drethlords. To others, she might seem as calm and proud and brave as the day she stepped into the hall to meet Keravel, but not to A'lan.

His life had hinged on reading the expressions of others, and he saw her almost every hour of the day. _She is finally beginning to understand. Keeping up a brave front is to her credit, but it is only days until she collapses._ As inconvenient as she could be, he was still not looking forward to that day.

Brave or not, there was no other outcome. Keravel had decided she was the sacrifice the world needed, and that meant he was determined to control her. _Once Keravel has sunk his claws into you, there is no escape._

A'lan could have told her that himself. That was something he knew of, only his chains were not of stone, but blood. The blood of a single person, the only daughter of their father, that was what kept him here. He shoved the memories away, as was routine.

For the hundredth time since he had taken E'dan's place, he held back a yawn. It was exhausting watching her every minute of every day. At first she had only tried to free herself. It had taken two weeks of constant battles, each ending with her getting the beating of her life, for her to recognize there was no opportunity to escape. Nothing had been altered a hair by her resistance, but she did not stop. Stopping would mean defeat.

When they needed haste she dragged her feet, when they needed quiet she shouted, and when they tried to speak with her she was silent as a stone. She showed no respect to anyone with authority, but remained unfailingly polite to anyone without. E'dan and himself she merely called "Watcher" if ever she deigned to address them. From her lips it had the sound of someone summoning a servant.

With the Drethlords, she was even less respectful. All of them she referred to as "boy" or "child," though most were three times her age or more. It was not feigned—he could sense her compassion for the underlings and her contempt and hatred for their masters. He had lost track of how many stripes she had taken for it.

Then there was Firstborn Keravel, or, as she called him, Dog. And there was no mistaking the title with the affection one has for one's favorite hound, almost human and almost family. When she spoke to Keravel it was very clear that she meant 'dog' in the sense of a mangy pest of an animal that you tolerate only because you can't make it leave you alone.

The beatings she had earned from those words A'lan had not lost track of. There had been four in the first two weeks alone, each enough to nearly flay her to death. It was not a pain that A'lan would have relished for himself, no matter his training. She did not stop, but there was a slowly growing despair in the slump of her shoulders and the shadows of her eyes.

_It dawns on her that she might never escape_. Keravel himself took care of the more intensive aspects of her training. Rechane was generally in charge of torture, but his talents lay with the Elements. With the Bloodstone in place, Keravel took over. He had always preferred to use his hands, to feel what he was doing.

It made A'lan's skin crawl to see it. Keravel had an especial talent: leaving his victims flirting with death, but never losing them. The men normally in charge of interrogation turned an uncomfortable shade of green if they stayed to watch the session, and they were not soft men.

_After four of those, it is no surprise that she sees death as another avenue of escape, maybe the only one._ Only the devastating hopelessness of that conclusion could have inspired their conversation the next day. That had been the day she had stopped eating on her own.

"Why do you stare? You'll not get anything better on camp rations." I warned, thinking she wanted something else.

"I don't want it, Watcher." She said, not proud, just completely uninterested. But I did not understand.

_"If you do not eat it, you will be hungry, there isn't anything else." I should have known that quality was not the problem._ _She had eyes like ice when she answered,_

_"I know."_ _That was it. And then I understood._

Even the memory sent a shiver down his spine. It was chilling. _She welcomes hunger. She welcomes death like a cold man welcomes a fire, like a lover welcomes a kiss._ It was wrong for life to want death that way, and it haunted him.

Ever since that day, he and E'dan had been forced to watch her every move. The time she lurched for the huge wagon wheels would have ended in disaster if her slipper had not slid in the mud and slowed her scramble for death. Every man in camp kept close tabs on their tableware now, buried it deep in their saddlebags. Not so much as a fork was left unattended or unpacked. He had little half-moon scars on his forearm from her fingernails when he had tried to get the good metal knife away from her throat only a three days past. It was similar to the scar on Corin's arm inflicted by her teeth that first day. _Truth she put up a fight for so small a girl!_ _Now she is fighting to be free in a wholly different way._

He spent half his waking hours suspicious and on edge, watching for the sudden alertness that was all the warning he had. _This is not what the oath is meant to be, I am not supposed to be a shield from her own hand. But Watchers are not supposed to be leash-holders to their Wielders either._

The Linking, too, was intended to be the connection between the caster and their appointed guardian to keep them together, not to prevent one from escaping. And a Watcher was meant to be a legendary fighter bound to a cause. He supposed he was a fighter, for all it mattered, it was the cause to which he and his brother were bound that was the root of these peculiarities.

Whatever the purpose of Watchers or Wielders, this particular Wielder refused to touch any tableware as soon as anything dangerously sharp or hard had been removed from reach.

Feeding her was a trial– they trying to sustain her, she trying to choke or starve herself. If anyone got too close, she'd bite them as hard as an unruly mare. Eventually, they had thought up a device to help. They had bored a hole through a wedge-shaped bit of wood that they forced between her teeth to pour soup into her mouth. It disgusted him that it came to this. It was a disaster that he endured his role in twice daily.

Despite their moderate success, she was getting thinner and thinner all the time. Clothes hung off her like ill-made sacks instead of the tailored dresses that they were. The only effective way to physically force her to eat was to use Elements, and that was not an option. Threatening force only played into her plan to die.

He knew that no matter how she strained for death now, no matter how thin and weak she looked to him, the instant the Bloodstone did not connect them she would crush the Brethren like so many ants. Untouchable as he was, A'lan did not think he wanted to find out just how creative she could be. _A fist of Wind cannot kill me directly, but if it dropped a wagon on my head what is the difference? Dead is dead, by the Elements, with the Elements, or otherwise._

It had taken her a few attempts with loose reins and a strip of cloth torn from her dress to decide that strangling herself would not work, since one of them always noticed—it took too long to hang herself properly, and simpler ways failed when she went unconscious and could not keep from breathing. The body always wanted life, even when the spirit did not. Plus, one or other of them always noticed the fuzziness of the link and investigated.

_Truly, I do not think she wants to lose her life. She just doesn't think this is life. A fine distinction._ Every so often, when she forgot where she was, he could see it. Once one of the dogs that lingered around the camp following the casters came bounding up to drop a stick the size of a small tree at her feet. Faced with big hound eyes and a canine smile, the Wielder had laughed and hurled the log as far as she could. The game went on for nearly an hour, before the beast was absolutely exhausted and the Wielder was spotted with mud, bark, and slobber. It was the only time he had ever seen her smile. _She has a beautiful smile, a beautiful laugh. It goes as quickly as it comes when she sees someone watching._

It made him wonder what she had been like before being chained. The pieces of memories from the Linking were hardly indicative. A man and woman chained in a wagon, seen through a screen of branches, and a child's confusion and fear. A drop of dew shivering on a leaf in a net of silver and sapphire, and blood-racing excitement. An flash of white light on the horizon, and a world of pain and fear and loneliness. _Too few pieces of the puzzle to make out the whole._

Her flashes of life were always swallowed up by the Wielder's purpose, her drive to be free of himself and his brother. Sparkling eyes hardened right back into cold, emotionless slate. The brilliance of those moments was hastily choked off when she saw his surprise.

By itself that showed how peculiar she was; nothing anyone did made him surprised or happy or anything else. They simply were, and they simply did, with the exception of E'dan and Sarina.

Even if something did make him feel, it was never enough to show itself on his face. Yet here was this Wielder that genuinely surprised him with something as simple as laughter and noticed that she had. A truly puzzling occurrence. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a person of prophecy—unusual. Or maybe it was because he _knew_ she was unusual that it affected him this way, or maybe it was the Link and his oath. Whatever it was, he did not like it.

He frowned at the sleeping form on the blankets, ignoring the biting wind that snuck in the cracks of their wagon. _What a peculiar little cage on wheels_. The strangeness of it struck him yet again.

She is the Guardian, being guarded. I am the captor, but with the way she dominates our days, I wonder who is whose captive. We are Watchers, Linked to her and she to us in an inescapable bond. She is the most dangerous being in the world, and we have to keep her alive every second of the day.

She was Elaina Aridal Tristarine, Last of the Order of the Guardians, Wielder of the Elements, Mistress of Hasile. Or that was who she should have been; now she was a prisoner.

He was Cade A'lan Gidedrian, High Blade of the Thousand Lances, Lord of the Morayen Isles, Prince of Antral. Or he had been, once. Now he was just the best of the watchdogs. To guard her was the duty he owed to the ones who held the leash, and he would see it done with or without her help.

Oh yes, as surely as the sun rose, once Keravel has you, you are finished in the world of the living, regardless of how long it takes you to die.

CHAPTER 17  
_The Winter_

A week later, the first blizzard of the year reached the Yaltiran and found them on the road. Elaina hated the cold. Traveling with a crowd of casters, they were not even forced to halt and cower in front of fires and stoves wrapped in blankets.

That was what she wanted to do—spend every minute that frozen water spat from the sky under a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire. The kind of fire Hetarth would have rolled his eyes at and muttered about wasting wood. The kind of fire that inspired them to invite Landon home to chop wood.

How long ago was that? _It feels like a lifetime_. Elaina tried not to think about what he was doing. There was no hope of escape, and wild fantasies of Landon coming to a daring rescue were a waste of energy. She needed that energy to stay warm—which brought her back to the dream of huddling by a fire.

Every last person was out in the blistering wind and bone-numbing cold without any of those wonderful, warm dreams of hers. Well, only some were totally without fire. _She_ was without fire.

Nothing could burn properly with the high wind driving snow before it, but pure Fire could not be extinguished by nature. The Brethren had enchanted half the blasted camp with bonfires that she couldn't feel, thanks to the Bloodstone and Truth-blasted _ashendari_.

Elaina was convinced it was a new and awful form of torture. There were the fires, shining blue beacons fixed to upturned shields. Everyone else seemed to be taking great comfort from them. It _was_ torture.

She didn't mind cold weather—it was _being_ cold that she hated. Cold weather was about big fires and fur-lined coats and gloves that felt delicious and cozy. Being cold to the bone with no way to get warm, though, that was a nightmare. Wet, deep, unending cold was awful. _Like this._

Huddled on the wagon seat, Elaina glowered at the black-coated figures that moved through the snow on the edge of her vision—three spans in this miserable mess, the only shadows in a world of white. Half of them didn't even have their coats buttoned all the way. They were hard men.

Elaina was not. Even healthy this would have been uncomfortable, and as thin and weak as she was, it was only an hour before she shivered uncontrollably. Three cloaks, a wool dress, a camisole, two pairs of socks, wool-lined gloves, a scarf, and high leather boots weren't helping. She stared straight ahead and decided not to look at the fires.

In two hours her teeth chattered loudly enough to be heard clearly above the howling wind. A'lan glanced over at her once, but she stared resolutely ahead. If _he_ wouldn't admit he was cold, _she_ certainly wasn't going to complain. E'dan didn't seem to notice, though he must have. Watchers noticed everything.

_I am NOT going to ask to go inside, no matter how much I want to_. That would be weakness. Besides that, it wouldn't help. Keravel had ordered no one should hide from the storm in their wagon while others bore it. Never mind that some were at a huge disadvantage, thin and chained and freezing cold.

In three hours the tiny strip of exposed skin around her eyes was almost blue. That was when E'dan went inside with her, ignoring one order in the interest of following another: the order to keep her alive. A'lan merely nodded, hands steady on the reins in unlined black gloves.

In four hours, even out of the wind, she was no warmer. When E'dan stuck his head outside to speak to his brother, she gasped at the frigid gust that seemed to sneak past his body and knife straight through the pile of blankets she was enshrouded in.

"She's no better." She heard him say with her head ducked under the covers. "In fact, she might be worse, though I don't see how. Should I light a fire?" E'dan asked calmly. There was no hint of frustration in his tone, or worry. It was as if he had not noticed the awful gale that whitened everything more than two spans away.

Elaina peeked out to see A'lan look back with a tiny frown through the open door.

"This would be a poor time to burn the wagon with a loose ember." He noted. "Can you not warm her yourself?" E'dan gave what might have been a resigned sigh and shut the door again. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the pile of cloth over her that already included all three sets of bedclothes and her own cloaks. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached over one shoulder and stripped off his shirt without word or expression.

Elaina stared at him, shocked. The vague expression of a man doing a tedious chore lingered around his eyes as E'dan kicked off his boots and unbuckled his sword belt. When he slipped under the layers to lay down beside her without so much as a 'by your leave,' Elaina squeaked. She'd never been this close to a man before.

Strong arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back against him in a determined sort of way, and she could not find it in herself to fight him.

He was so _warm._ It felt like lying next to a furnace. Her scarlet blush of mortification brought the feeling back to the tip of her nose. The more grateful she was for his audacity, the more she blushed, and the warmer she felt. It was a difficult cycle that ended only when she fell asleep.

Elaina awoke slowly to find herself nestled in warm muscular arms. Blinking in the light that streamed in through the cracks, she slowly realized where she was and sat bolt upright, slamming her head into the low bunk above.

With a yelp and a scarlet blush, she scrambled out of what she now recognized was A'lan's bed across the small aisle to her own narrow pallet, one hand to her pounding forehead. A'lan, shirtless and now awake, propped himself up on one elbow to watch her with mild surprise.

"How dare you!" she snapped, gathering as many blankets as she could around herself. It wasn't against the cold—though it was little warmer than before, but an effort to hide from that piercing stare.

"How dare I do what?" he asked calmly.

"I—you!" she choked, "That's _your_ bed!" she hissed, blinking away the stars in her eyes and wishing she couldn't feel her pulse pounding in her ears. She had a monstrous headache coming on.

"Which is why I'm in it." He replied.

"Why was _I_ in it, you cretin! You're not even clothed!" she wailed unhappily, bright red from her collar to the roots of her hair. Something that might have been amusement moved in his eyes.

"You're upset." He noted, earning a growl of disgust from across the wagon. "You were not upset when E'dan brought you in and lay with you." He reminded her. His choice of words sent her two shades darker. "Why is this different?"

"I'm not freezing anymore, for one! And you moved me to your bed! And you've nothing on!" Elaina howled.

"You're only warm because you were with me, and my bed is larger than yours." He noted logically, "and I do have something on," A'lan offered, sticking out one trouser-clad leg. "My shirt was wet with the snow and ice—I didn't think that would be comfortable to sleep in. Or next to." He explained pointedly. Elaina glowered at him.

"I can't _believe_ you!" she murmured harshly under her breath. He might have chained her up, hauled her around, watched her stripped to her camisole and beaten, seen to her wounds afterwards, and lived in the same wagon, but this was unacceptable!

"Forgive me, Wielder, in my country it is common for men and women to share blankets for warmth on campaign. I can see this is not the way of the Northlands."

His calm sincerity was absolutely free of any mocking, but Elaina hated to let him off so easily. _To think I just spent the night in a man's bare arms! In his bed! Somehow that is infinitely worse. Oh how my head aches!_

Muttering to herself, Elaina resolved to be absolutely uncivil all day, but couldn't think of anything inconvenient that she had not done before. E'dan and A'lan took no notice of her glares, and A'lan even informed his brother of the reason for her headache—which he described as hitting her head while scrambling to get up like a drunken Tancat on ice—when the former asked if he'd finally struck the Wielder.

_As if I'm not right there!_ _Just because they treat me like an animal didn't mean I no longer understand human speech._ _And 'finally struck the Wielder?' They've been discussing the fact they want to hit me, have they?_

Elaina pouted for a few days, making sure she never got cold enough to need them again by wearing all her clothes and a few blankets besides whenever she emerged from the wagon. Her performance did not do one hair of good. Eventually, she gave it up and returned to being politely unmanageable and suicidal, like before.

Firstborn Keravel glared around the half-circle of Brothers standing around his chair. Loyal Rechane, Segarin and Sirean, and troublesome Menkar, Losdar, and Halyar. _So they do not like the way I handle the Wielder, do they? Feeling guilty about Gerain's death? Well. That is why I am the Firstborn and they were mere Brothers._

"She is looking positively meager, Brother Keravel!" Halyar protested in his deep, rolling voice. "I am not sure she will even make it to Hurndrith in this weather. You must stop whatever you have been doing." He snugged his coat tighter around his bulk. The tent did little to block the chill, but Halyar's bulk should have kept him warm.

"It concerns me that that is exactly her goal, Brother—never to reach Hurndrith, one way or another." Menkar added.

"Have you ever tamed a bird?" Keravel interrupted. Halyar blinked and gave a puzzled half-shake of his head. Keravel forged onward before the man could think of a response. "Well, I have. Some of them are pretty, colorful things that you put in a gilded cage and make to sing for you. Those ones sometimes go off their food at first, and you must feed them gently with your own hands, things like honeyed nuts and sugared fruits. he paused for effect.

"Then there are the birds you want to train to hunt, the proud, dangerous birds. No honey for them, it only makes your job harder. They get contemptuous if you coddle them, they are strong and only understand strength. So you show them who is stronger. Once they are sure it is you, they are a docile as day-old kittens. But they have to be sure."

The only sound was the wind against the tent, sneaking bitterly cold drafts around the seams. Then he thought he heard someone mutter about the bird freezing to death.

No one spoke loud enough to call attention, however. They still feared him—that was good. They ought to, he had not come to this position by being weak or foolish or binding himself with the petty morals of other men.

Keravel knew his presence, his rule, was a blessing to Arith like it had never seen, so logically any goal of his was likewise favored by fate. _What could stand before that? And, more importantly, what actions are forbidden to a man who carries fate on his shoulders? None._

Someone stirred, and the brush of fabric tore Keravel away from his musings to study the faces of those around him. After so long together, they were easy to read.

Losdar is doubtful, the dolt, but Rechane's dark eyes glitter as they so often do. He takes such pleasure in breaking things, even more than I do.

"These last few days before the end, brothers, we must be strong! All our work until today would be undone if we let up now. You know she lacks proper respect for the Brethren. If we allow it, she will only grow more proud, more unruly. No, we must be firm. The next time she crosses the line, Brothers, we will be ready to do _all_ that is necessary. Will we not?"

Calling them brothers curdled his tongue—as if Menkar and Halyar could really be of the same blood as he! Only Rechane was close, a small comfort.

But words were only words, to be bartered and traded and used even more readily than coin. If calling them brothers inclined them to agree, then that was what he would call them.

He was not disappointed.

One by one, they all nodded. Keravel held back a smile. _It would not do to let them see that they have just handed me victory. All I have to do now is wait. The girl will be kneeling to kiss his rings in a matter of days, now, just as the prophesies promise._

The Brothers shuffled out slowly, with polite nods and small conversation drifting among them. Keravel waited until they were out of the tent before he crooked a finger and brought a servant running.

"Bring the girl. Don't worry whichever of the Watchers is not on duty with her, only one will be needed." Keravel instructed absently.

This will be her warning—I am a fair man, I will warn her. Well, if I thought she would heed my warning I might not, but this will only serve to goad her directly into my trap.

Silently, the servant bowed double and left. Keravel did not notice.

CHAPTER 18  
_The Tent_

It took a while for the servant to return. It wasn't hard find the right wagon—it was the only black one and had red wheels besides—but likely the girl was dragging her feet again. Most of the time she made the Watcher practically carry her in. Unless she was trying to prove it was not fear that made her unresponsive—then they marched in as fast as she could walk. _Ridiculous child. As if it matters whether she was a coward or not, either way she will be broken._

At last the lad scuttled back into the tent. "A'lan and the Wielder, my Lord." He announced, folding himself in half again before he retreated to the wall of the tent. Well, he could stay. There was no reason the word of the Wielder's dressing-down needed to be kept quiet. That was one constant on any shore: servants _always_ talked.

"Good day, A'lan. How is your captive?"

"I am here, dog. You may speak to me." The girl broke in, imperious as ever. _That will be stopped._ The thought was cold even while the words made his blood hot.

"A'lan? How is our little bird on a leash?" he repeated mockingly.

"She refuses her food still, my Lord Keravel. She is unresponsive, disobedient, and generally troublesome. As always." The man bowed. Keravel wondered if there had been something of sarcasm in that response, but the tone was flat as a frozen pond and the face just as smooth. The girl at the other end of the chain on his wrist was now ignoring them both, or pretending to. She could not stop the splashes of color that flared on her sharp cheekbones. _She's awfully skinny_. It annoyed him.

"Ah, she does not yet like her cage. But she will, A'lan, just as all young, pretty things learn to accept their chains, yes?" Even that allusion to another young, pretty thing brought him no reaction from the _ashendari_. Stone cold Antralians! And this and his brother were the worst of them. Bah! It had been a pleasure to crush them in the Invasion.

"You are dismissed, Watcher. Take your little sparrow with you. Perhaps we will teach her to sing for us one day, but that is enough for now." Color flared in her cheeks. From what Keravel knew of the culture of Amanheld, where this chit had been raised, a woman singing in public was akin to her stripping her clothes off in front of a crowd. He didn't quite grasp why that was, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to use it.

"You are a fool, Firstborn, yet you prance about like a king!" She burst out when she could contain it no longer, "Had you greeted me as an equal you would have had my aid, gladly given. I would have been well pleased to be treated your equal. But I am not your equal, Firstborn Keravel, I am your better. You may be a caster, but I am a Creator."

The words seemed to echo in the stillness as she paused. The servant's eyes looked about to come out of his head, but Keravel did not care about him. _The chit has gone too far, now! I will—!_

"But no. You wanted power, as you always have, regardless of the good of the Empress, your "brothers" or anyone else. You spin schemes like a spider, and you are just as poisonous. You wanted to be remembered and now you will be," she was as cold and cutting as the icy wind outside.

"You will be remembered as a fool. You never should have touched me, Firstborn, for now you cannot win. Kill me, and your world dies because of you, if your prophesies are true. Let me live and I kill you. It is a double bind. You lose, because I swear I will see you dead."

Her oath was no more binding than any person's in the common language, but Keravel had no doubt that she would keep it if she ever got the chance. The thought of her unchained sent a chill down his spine, but he forced himself to sneer at her.

"The business of the Brothers is none of your concern, leashed one. And you will regret this day for the rest of your long life in chains." She did not react to his threat. _Well she will react to this!_

"Watcher!" he snapped, "take her to the red tent. I will be there shortly."

With a salute, A'lan began to gather the chains to drag his charge to the desired location. The red tent was where her punishments always took place. It was normally used for the interrogation of captured spies or scouts—the red did not show blood. In the course of their travel, the girl had been sent there often, sometimes to be punished for insolence or disobedience, sometimes for no reason at all, just to make her fearful. _After today, I swear she will fear me more than anything alive. She will fear me more than death._

For once, the Wielder led the way out, neither hurrying nor delaying, just walking. A'lan saw the servant's eyebrows rise as he followed her out. No doubt every last person in the camp would know what happened here today and know that Elaina had walked to her own torture like a girl walking through a meadow.

It almost made him smile.

_She has the measure of Keravel, certainly, and does everything that will most bother him._ But the thought of what was coming removed any amusement. He read the deadened, dejected resignation in her walk and the surges of absolute terror that stole her breath.

Of all the things he had to do, this was the one he hated most: watching Keravel hurt her. It made him think of his sister, the only reason he was here at all. Knowing that Keravel may have ordered the same for Sarina, may have done the same with his own hands, that sick smile on his lips as he did . . .

It made A'lan want to tear the man apart. But if he tried anything, this much and more would be Sarina's without doubt.

_Sarina_. He had not seen her in four years. She was sixteen then, even more beautiful than their mother, all ready for the balls and suitors of a princess of the Diadem of Storms. It was a thought he shook off quickly. There was nothing he could do but obey, dwelling on it only made it worse.

The walk was not short—the Brothers did not want to be bothered with the screams of the unfortunates unless they so chose. Every man they passed nodded to A'lan and held their weapons tightly with an eye to his captive. Today she paid them no more mind than so many trees.

When they saw where they were headed, men stopped peering after her and went about their business hastily. Many suddenly thought of something to do on the other side of the encampment or beyond. High-pitched screams carried in the cold air.

The camp's blacksmiths looked longingly after the men that walked the other way as they worked the bellows or hammered red-hot metal. They couldn't leave their coals, so they'd just have to work that much harder and pretend they could not hear what they heard.

Eventually, the crimson splash of the tent came into view among the wagons, mud, and dirty patches of snow. True to form, Elaina marched right in without hesitation. To another, the set of her jaw may have spoken of determination, but A'lan saw how her chest rose and fell quickly as fear made her heart race. The soldier sitting inside sprang to his feet.

"Good day, Master Leving. I hope you are well?" She greeted him, voice even and smooth. _Truth, but she hides it well._ They had been there often enough that she knew all the men assigned to the red tent.

"Well enough, I'd say, Mistress. What have you done now?" They were actually almost friendly, with her so polite it was hard for them not to be. _Hard men, but they do not quite know what to make of her._ A'lan could not fault them for it.

He himself didn't know what to make of the Wielder half the time. It seemed to him that they were torn between happiness and distress when Keravel came to do their task for them. They did not really enjoy harming her, some because they feared of her reprisals, others because she was a woman, but then their lord did a much more thorough job of it.

"I have poked the dog with a sharp stick." She said lightly. "He did not like it."

"The Firstborn coming down here himself, Watcher?" Leving asked. A'lan nodded, face blank.

"Must have been a sharp stick!" He muttered.

"The truth hurts, when you are a fool." She observed in turn. Leving gave a wry smile. "I'll just wait out here for the Firstborn." He nodded to A'lan and slipped outside.

Leaning easily back against the wooden contraption she would soon be strapped to, the Wielder openly considered the tools laid out to the side. Watching her studying them, A'lan thought she looked more like a woman choosing ribbons for her hat than one wondering which of the pinchers, brands, and blades would be used on her. A deception, but he could admire the effort.

The tools were all clean, gleaming dully in the weak light. Keravel insisted that not one of their special prisoners die of infection and escape their fate. Even the glass-studded whipcords were cleaned each time, though Keravel avoided those—far too messy for his prize. The whole tent reeked of blood and burnt flesh though. _Some things just cannot not be washed out_ , he thought, turning away while she removed her dress.

When he turned back, she was stepping onto the peculiar stand to which she was bound for these sessions. It had once been a table, he thought, only the legs were sawed off, and the whole thing tipped up on one edge like a very steep ramp. The boards were studded with leather straps that could hold a victim in a variety of positions.

"Would you do the straps, Watcher? I would just as soon not have the dog do it." She stood on two wooden blocks nailed into the boards, leaning back against the tilted surface. Her feet were half a span off the dirt and her head was just below his shoulder. She wore only her camisole, which reached far enough to cover her knees and had straps for sleeves.

If she hadn't taken off the dress, Keravel would have cut it off, and the blue one was her favorite. Without a word, he bound her ankles and wrists to metal hoops driven into the wood, ignoring her blushes; she always blushed that they saw her in her camisole. A'lan adjusted the strap that went around the outside of the Bloodstone collar. When he was finished, she was firmly tied down.

Keravel tended to pull the straps too tight and cut off blood flow. Then they had to stop later to fix it when her hands and feet turned purple.

It was a good thing the collar prevented him from fastening the neck one too tight—she might have died before A'lan could have intervened. As it was, she'd come near to losing a hand the time Keravel had removed the standing blocks in order to peel the skin off the soles of her feet. _At least he contains his work what is not covered by the camisole_. _No doubt the Firstborn hopes to include her in his breeding program once he's broken her. What an addition she would make to his harem of casters._ The thought of those unfortunate women made A'lan flinch.

As if summoned by grim thoughts, the Drethlord swept into the tent. He had not bothered to change from his gold-embroidered grey robes—he seldom did. _Blood may not come off easily in soap and water, but the Elements leave nothing behind_. There was no need to heat the coals that stood in an iron tray in the corner either, Flame could do that. Only the actual contact with her skin had to be without it, _would_ be without it, no matter what he tried. With the Bloodstone linking her to the _ashendari_ , it would be just as useless as trying anything on him. _Not that it slows him down._

Unlike most of these sessions, the Firstborn did not start with the pinpricks and punctures that he often used to build suspense. His anger was colder than that. A'lan had heard that the Brothers had met this morning and wondered what new permission Keravel had wrangled out of them while the man began pummeling his victim.

His lips tightened briefly when Keravel's blow sent her head back against the boards with a crack. He would have to make sure the Firstborn didn't forget himself and kill her. The Firstborn was that sort of man, to lose his head in the pleasure of it. _Weak. Weak and twisted._ But A'lan kept his opinions to himself.

A'lan watched in silence as the blades came out and the real work began. The inside of her forearms, just above her collarbone, her fingertips and hands—it took only minutes before the Wielder was screaming, no matter how she tried to bite her tongue.

A'lan didn't mind the blood, though he certainly didn't enjoy it. That he was used to after years on battlefields before years of service. He had even gotten used to the smell of seared flesh, Truth help him. It was the blood of a woman that he hated. He didn't think he would ever get used to that. Or the screams.

All too soon the Firstborn reached for the irons. They were just metal wands, about two hands in length and of varied widths, from narrow as a piece of straw to wide as the palm of his hand. Laying the first in the fire, Keravel fingered a knife thoughtfully.

In silence, he reached out to grab a fistful of her camisole. With one swift motion, the Firstborn made a slice down the middle to her naval, baring a pale strip of skin. Tears overflowed from the girl's eyes, squeezed shut as if to deny the reality of what she couldn't see.

A'lan watched with narrowed eyes. _What is the animal doing now?_ His eyes flicked along the ruined front of her camisole before he jerked them away _. Just because Keravel is a twisted vermin of a man doesn't mean I have to leer at her, too._ Reaching for the white-hot brand, Keravel spoke for the first time.

"I have enjoyed watching you struggle, sparrow, but for this you must stay very still. If you thrash about like you usually do, you might do some serious damage. So. Don't. Move." The Wielder's breath came in ragged gasps. A'lan watched with sharp concern. The caster had never done this before, whatever it was.

Keravel laid the glowing metal against the side of her neck just below the collar. The Wielder's cry of agony made A'lan's blood curdle. It was unearthly. The hair on the back of his neck, on his arms stood on end.

But she did not move a muscle. If she had she might have killed herself, destroying and cauterizing her jugular in one jerk. A sick smile of delight lit Keravel's face as he traced his way down her body, leaving a trail of angry red skin that whitened and flaked off as A'lan watched. The wail that ripped from between the Wielder's teeth seemed never to end. _Truth, make it stop!_

Finally, the brand reached just below her navel. Still she did not move. If she were to arch her back, she would be dead for certain. With a vicious twist, Keravel laid the flat of the brand against her skin, tearing another piercing cry from his victim before he finally lifted it away. _Truth!_ A'lan clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling.

A stream of tears flowed down the Wielder's cheeks, and she shook as she had in the snowstorm. A low whimper escaped her lips through clenched jaws. Hatred and despair blazed in her eyes. In one instant, determination replaced fear, and a rush of hope eased her breath and brightened her eyes as she looked up at them both for a brief moment. They were the glazed grey of a winter's dawn. _Cold, empty, and dead._

Keravel lifted the brand again. With a lingering glance at A'lan, she closed her eyes. The Watcher frowned. _There is something familiar about that look, that haunted hope . . ._

The brand hovered a hairsbreadth off her skin and Keravel's eyes shone with fervor. A'lan reached forward and grabbed his arm, yanking the man halfway around. Startled, furious grey eyes turned toward him. To touch one of the Brothers that way was an assault; it stripped the Firstborn of the Elements. A'lan wanted his attention and now he had it.

"Not that again, my Lord."

"What?" the word was hissed, soft and sharp. A'lan was not concerned. They both knew what he could do to Keravel, and they both knew what could be done in return. There was no way Keravel could harm him like this. _But he still has Sarina . . ._

"Do not do that again. She will kill herself before you can stop her. Do something else if you must." A'lan released his arm. For a moment they stood staring at each other while the rage in Keravel's eyes cooled at the prospect of losing his prize.

I will do what I have to do. I will not let the Wielder die, no matter how far the Firstborn thinks he can go. If he forgets himself . . . perhaps the others will be merciful in light of the Wielder's importance and not harm Sarina.

At last Keravel stepped back from his victim, still eyeing A'lan. He was perfectly aware of what a trained _ashendari_ could do to him at this range.

"I have had enough for now. She will bear that scar forever, to remind her of the cost of rash words." Keravel did not spare her another glance. A'lan bowed silently to Keravel, as if he hadn't just determined to kill him if he tried again. Before he straightened the Firstborn was gone.

The benefit of the stand in the little red tent was that only one side of her was ever bruised or bloodied. Since she was often secured with her back to the boards it was easy enough to carry her to the wagon. Keravel preferred to work on her front—he liked to watch her face.

This design also made it easier for her to sleep, since there was at least one side she could bear to lie on. A'lan carried her through the camp without care that the wind ruffled back the gaping tear in her camisole.

Getting her back quickly was most important. She couldn't stand to lose blood, skinny as she was, and there was no need to waste time before treating her. Most of the men looked away with flinching relief when they saw her, anyway. It meant an end to those screams.

She was lighter than she had been before, so much so that it was hardly a burden to carry her so far. He imagined it was similar to carrying a child, though of course, he had not ever been close enough to a child to be sure. There were few children in Hurndrith, and those that lived in the Fortress were kept far from the _ashendari_ and everyone else.

A'lan was grateful to see E'dan was waiting for them at the wagon. He had always been better with herbs and bandages, and the girl was going to need all his skill this time. Together they cleaned and bound her many wounds. At least it was not her feet again—that had been inconvenient. Even so, she was unconscious for most of their work.

Once they were finished, E'dan laid her just outside the door. There was a little porch-like area there that served as a wagon seat when they were on the move. The Wielder fit right in between the door and the seat. They could drape a sheet over her from the bench to the doorstep so it didn't touch her, but covered her from the snow and cold and prying eyes while they tidied the wagon.

CHAPTER 19  
_The Storm_

Elaina felt on fire as soon as she awoke. Her vision was fuzzy, but she knew where she was by the white sheet that filled her view. The voices around her were muffled and lower than was normal, _like telling secrets in a crypt_ , she thought. But she was not thinking very well.

"—going to slip one day, I tell you. Like he did with that Sarina girl years ago. And if he slips up and kills her too, what's to be done with the Prophecies I ask you?" The speaker sounded resigned to doom.

"The _ashendari_ are watching this time, you fool. Don't talk about things out here—look where you are!" The second voice was sharp, venomous. There was a startled pause. Then,

"I didn't see that there." The first voice muttered, moving off. _Odd conversation_. There was movement on her right, she felt the chain shift. Off went the sheet. It was even colder. _Hate that_. She grimaced. A'lan's face peered down at her.

"Awake." He called over his shoulder. Elaina didn't know how true that was.

"Sarina?" She murmured curiously, voice raspy from her screams. A'lan usually ignored everything she said after a session with Keravel. He would say it was pain talking and didn't make any sense.

This time he was listening though. Eyes like daggers pinned her in an instant. His face had gone intensely still. _Handsome face._

"What did you say?" His voice was tightly reined, taut as a drawn bowstring.

"Slips with Sarina-girl and kills her." She paused and frowned, "Her. Me?" That made her worried. _Why does the Watcher watch so much today?_

"Said pross—prossef—"

"Prophesies?"

"—too." she finished, using his word. Her words were going all mushy in her mouth, like a drunkards. Elaina tried to put it all together again in her head, but her head was too busy trying to ignore everything below her chin. This was important though. She was scared.

"Me? Kill me too?" She asked again. A'lan was watching her, tense and unmoving, with something like dread tightened the muscles around his eyes.

"E'dan."

His brother leaned around the doorframe, eyebrows raised. He looked calm but weary—not tired, but a man who had seen too much. "She babbling again?" he asked.

"Repeating things she heard, I think. Tell E'dan, Wielder. Tell him what you said to me." His voice was still restrained, quiet, almost strangled. Elaina blinked at him. _Lots of feelings for a Watcher._

"Kills me like Sarina-girl, slips and dead." She finished obediently in a sing-song voice. _Odd thing to do._ She wondered why she had done that.

"No more prophesies?" she asked, concerned. It still came out pross-fees. _Oh well._ Those were important, she thought. _Or somebody did. Or something_.

The Watchers were ignoring her, staring over her head to make eye contact. They did that sometimes, like a wordless conversation _. Annoying_. For some reason, watching their faces made her sad.

"They killed her, Cade. After all these years. They killed her." He sounded lost. She didn't remember Watchers ever sounding like that, but she didn't remember too much. _Lost. Watchers are never lost. Or angry. Sounds angry. And sad._

She peered up at him. He was right where he should be in her head, but was she sure he was a Watcher? _He doesn't feel like one, or sound like one, or look like one—could be any man. Any handsome man. Very un-Watcher._ Maybe this was one of her dreams again—A'lan told her she dreamed things after the red tent.

"When we stopped seeing her." A'lan replied quietly. "We had seen her at least twice every year, before that."

"Slips and dead." It was a whisper. There was a pause. Elaina blinked up at them. The sun was bright in her eyes. When she blinked again, purple spots still marred her sight. That sort of thing didn't happen in dreams. _So this isn't a dream?_

The two of them were down by the six horses that drew the wagon, arguing over the animals' backs as they unharnessed them in tandem.

"You will take the Wielder? She made me think of Sari every truth-blasted day we chained her." E'dan said bitterly.

"Come with me, Corin. You cannot take them by yourself." Elaina thought she heard tears in their voices. Impossible. _A Watcher? With tears? Never_. _This_ is _a dream._

"I'll give you time. Take the Wielder. Bring them all down, brother. I will take as many as I can. _Lodamno chai,_ _ilandri, lodamno chai._ " E'dan drew his black blade and leapt up on one of the horses.

" _Lodamno chai,_ brother." Their voices were full. _It's a farewell._ Elaina knew, but the words were just out of her reach. A'lan made a peculiar salute, one fist to chest, the other flat on small of his back. It made the Bloodstone chain ripple. E'dan returned the salute and rode off, his cape billowing out behind him. _He looks like Death_.

"Lodamno chai." Elaina repeated. She thought she might know what that meant, maybe. _When I can think_.

"Into the storm," A'lan translated softly, watching his brother disappear. His face was smooth, but his dark eyes made her want to cry. Through the Link, she felt the other Watcher moving away from her.

Abruptly A'lan turned from his brother. Before she could blink at him, he was no longer standing, but kneeling beside her, strong fingers closing on the collar on her neck. _When did he move?_

The chain trailing from his wrist grazed her fresh wounds, making her flinch. There was a soft click. The weight of the stone was gone. In another moment, she heard an identical noise. Stunned, she watched A'lan wrap the chain around the collar quickly. _What in Arith? Must be a dream, for sure._ She couldn't move anyway. That often happened in dreams, didn't it?

He disappeared inside the wagon, emerged a moment later with his saddlebags bulging. Jumping down from the wagon tongue he tied the reins of five horses together. Then he came back for her. Ignoring her cries of pain, he wrapped the sheet snugly around her and hoisted her onto the lead horse before swinging up behind her.

Wheeling the horse one last time the way E'dan had gone, the Watcher dug his heels in and they galloped off in the other direction. Men leapt from their path as they charged through, leaving angry shouts in their wake. But none raised a weapon or called the alarm. In seconds they were free, racing away from the other wagons, the cookfires, and the tents across an empty field. Elaina scrambled for her power.

It filled her like the noon-day sun, warm, familiar, and radiant. She was too tired to do anything at all with it, but to hold it! _Bliss_. The burning wounds faded into the background. All was well. She was free. It slipped away, and she was dimly aware she was losing consciousness as well. Her last thoughts were vague and mist-shrouded.

The crash of thunder split a still blue sky. The ground shook, setting the horses ears back in fear. They ran faster. She frowned.

Something was missing. The other Watcher. For the first time since her capture, she couldn't have pointed to where he was. One was right behind her, but the other?

He was gone.

She felt A'lan tense behind her, but when she looked back at the fireball that lit the horizon, his dark eyes were looking straight ahead. There were no tears on his face or in his eyes, but his expression made her want to curl up and weep. At that moment, with blood running fresh from wounds broken open in their escape, with the burns aching in time to the hoof beats, Elaina knew that she was hurt less than the man behind her. Darkness covered her eyes.

A'lan felt the tension go out of the body in front of him. It was harder to hold her up, but at least she wasn't in pain. The horses were running on pure fear from whatever had been thrown around in the camp. They could sense the Elements, animals could, and it made them nervous.

He pushed the thought of what was behind him back into a dark corner of his mind. _Not now_. Now he had to get away, to get them both away. For one thing, he was not a slave to those people anymore and he wanted to be rid of them. And then there was the girl.

They wanted her—that was reason enough to his mind to take her away. But it was more. She wanted to be free, she deserved to be free. Like Sarina had. _Sarina_. He pushed the thought away. This was no place for that either.

Wind caught the sheet around the Wielder, cracking it like a whip and trailing it back onto him, peeling it off her. The camp was long out of sight and the horses were tiring quickly. Reining in, he dismounted, holding the limp form of his companion in the saddle with one hand. With the other, he dug about in the bags for something to cover her with, since her camisole no longer properly managed the job. At last he freed a long black coat.

It wasn't easy, but he worked smoothly and efficiently. By the time the horses' sides had stopped heaving he sat again behind her, and the coat was buttoned up to her chin.

He hadn't the time to be gentle, any of the wounds that had not broken open during their flight were open now. It did not show on the black wool, but he could feel the wetness of her blood through the sleeve of the arm he had around her waist.

After the first push, he slowed the horses to a canter and trot every so often to let the beasts rest, but never for long. The first fell underneath them after a full day. The Wielder did not even flinch. He hauled her onto another, but it had been running too—just not carrying the two of them. The second ran itself to death that afternoon. They would have to stop at nightfall, or risk losing another. A'lan had gone almost straight north from the road. If he remembered correctly, they would be close to a tiny hamlet called Beradon just after sundown. With any luck, the Drethlords would not be able to look far enough, fast enough in every direction. Cade was counting on it—the Drethlords didn't have enough horses to ride that many into the ground. It would take extraordinary luck for the Drethlords to catch them now.

But then, he'd never known Keravel give up on a thing he wanted, either.

CHAPTER 20  
The Calm

Elaina came to on the back of a horse. Everything ached, and every cut Keravel had inflicted burned with sweat. She itched. It was the wool coat she was wearing. There only a camisole underneath, and it had ridden up quite high as she straddled the horse. Truth, but her legs itched!

They were approaching a village, its little buildings just barely visible through the darkness, windows casting bright rectangles of light onto the road. A'lan seemed familiar with the place, riding straight to an inn by the name of the Merry Maiden with a picture to match painted on the sign in crisp paint. Light and the sound of laughter and music spilled through the door. _Merry_ _indeed_.

It seemed utterly foreign. Outside the wind whipped about, changing direction in little eddies down every street. Elaina was only awake enough to notice it was strange, not to care why. She felt if Death came for her now he'd take one look and refuse to accept anything so pathetic.

Without a word A'lan went into the inn alone, saddlebags over his shoulder, leaving Elaina on one of the three sorry-looking horses in the dark street by herself. Elaina was fairly sure they had begun with more and felt sorry for the poor creatures that had run themselves to death.

Painfully, she managed to slide to the ground. Only the thought of dismounting in only a coat in front of someone had motivated her enough to do it. Her feet were freezing on the dirty cobbles of the street, and the wool coat rubbing against her flesh was agony.

Shadows and night noises made her jump. Every footstep on the cobblestones was a Drethlord coming for her. Every twitch of a gate on its hinges sounded like the click of Bloodstone chains. When A'lan came back with a stable boy she was relieved beyond words. She still could not focus well enough to cast, and her body hurt. At this point, Elaina did not think she was fit to overpower a puppy.

She leaned against A'lan as they entered the inn, his arm around her waist. For whatever reason, she trusted him. He had been her jailer, she'd been chained to his wrist like a pet, he had seen her stripped and beaten and abused and not lifted a finger _. But then he reached forward with his own hands and taken that collar off. That is enough. For now_.

"Keep your eyes down." He murmured as they stepped over the threshold. True and a wise order—she couldn't manage to hide her eyes and the Changing would give her away—but it smarted that he still issued orders and expected to be obeyed. _He is not the leash-holder anymore! But now is not the time to argue._

Apparently, he doubted her good sense, because he cast a sharp look at her and briefly tightened his grip in warning. _Well, he needn't worry_. _I am not about to give myself away just to spite him._ _He had just better watch himself, is all._

"Merlo took care of your horses, good master?" The solicitous innkeeper bustled up to inquire. No one else seemed to have noticed their entrance in the dimly-lit alcove by the door, as far as she could tell. For that she was thankful, aware she was quite a sight, not something anyone would forget. And she most definitely wanted their passing to be made with as little attention as possible. She didn't catch anyone staring, but it was hard to look about and keep her grey eyes out of sight at the same time.

The innkeeper was a skinny man with an overlarge nose and bugged out eyes that made him look like a potato. She supposed she was in no position to be judging anyone else's appearance. The innkeeper's small frown and sidelong glances at her proved that.

"Yes, thank you. My wife is not well, we had trouble with bandits on the ride, is there a healer in town?" A'lan murmured, holding her tight to him like a concerned husband might. She was grateful for the excuse to lean into him, with her knees bending like broken reeds.

"Well, there's Mistress Devlin, I suppose." The man offered, eyeing them cautiously. A'lan waited. With a conspiring air, the innkeeper leaned in, glancing about as he muttered,

"Then there's Master Zulor. He's . . . he's the sort you go to if you've a real serious problem, see? The sort of problem . . . well, the sort you know when you've got it, eh? But you didn't hear it from me, good sir?" A'lan nodded.

"My thanks, Master Balgor, for your understanding," He pressed a few coins into his palm, "and for your discretion about my wife, of course." The coins disappeared in a flash.

With a low bow, Balgor assured them both that he could be very discreet, very discreet indeed. And would they like to send for Master Zulor? He could come in the back way, and nobody'd be the wiser if the lady couldn't be moved. A'lan declined, getting directions instead. Elaina kept her head down, chin tucked into the high collar, grateful that his story let her act just as she felt—unwell.

The night did not seem so threatening with A'lan at her side as they walked as quickly as she could manage. Still, she did not want to be out here any longer than they had to be. Every shadow seemed to be watching them, hunters in the night. _But Truth, it feels so good to be free of that weight around my neck!_

Without doubt, if anyone came after her with a collar again she would kill them in a blink. And if that didn't work, she would kill herself before she was chained. No one would put a collar on her ever again. _No one_! It was a bold claim, considering she barely had the strength to walk, let alone defend herself.

When she stumbled for the fifth or sixth time, catching her toe on an uneven bit of road with a sharp cry, A'lan gave up all pretenses and scooped her up in his arms. How he had the energy for it she couldn't fathom. There were many things she couldn't fathom. Like why the stars were sliding about so oddly just then, with little halos and bright trails behind them.

They passed beyond of the relative clutter that was the village, following the road into the countryside. Houses were scattered the blackness, lights in windows shining from hillsides. When a path forked off to the left into a grove of ash, they took it. In a few minutes a tidy little building appeared in the moonlight, whitewashed walls a faint blue in the darkness. To Elaina it looked slightly blurry. She wondered if there was something wrong with her eyes.

A single candle stood on a windowsill, lighting the face that looked out at them. It was an old man, very old, with wild white hair and a hunched back and baggy eyes that almost disappeared under his bushy eyebrows. That face was clear enough, but she couldn't sit up to look any longer and let her head tip back over A'lan's arm.

A'lan walked steadily to the door, holding the Wielder tight to his chest. Her head was lolling about—she wouldn't be awake much longer if she was at all. The old man in the window didn't seem troubled by them, beaming and hobbling to the door to let them in. A'lan wasted no time with formalities, just walked right in with her as soon as the door swung open.

"Great stars above, young Master, young Mistress! Truth and the true spirits! What have we done?" He hobbled over and laid a hand on Elaina's forehead. After a moment, he frowned sharply, etching the lines in his face even deeper than before and grimacing at A'lan.

"You may set her on the chair there, I don't mind the mess." He ushered his guest toward the only substantial piece of furniture in the room then bustled about gathering bottles from the walls—dried herbs, bits and pieces of things floating in jars, and piles of bones and dust lined the shelves from floor to ceiling. As he did, he talked without ceasing.

"Travelers, I suppose? Yes, yes. Of course you are! I know everyone in little old Beradon, I do. So you've just got in and the Lady's feeling the ride, is it? Yes, yes, we can take care of that in a jiffy."

As soon as he assured himself that the girl was ensconced in the large padded chair, he motioned for his other guest to take one of the small three-legged stools that dotted the room. Taking one himself, he laid his hand on the Wielder's forehead again. It made A'lan wary, having anyone touch her, but he was close enough to stop the man if he tried anything with the Elements. _Or to end him if he succeeds_.

"So! Let's get to it and I can send you both back to Master Balgor all nice and well, again, yes?" A'lan blinked. _How did he know who sent us? It may have been a lucky guess, but it wasn't a wheedling tone, and he had not looked up from the girl to try and read a reaction._

This fellow was very odd. But then, he looked to be quite ancient, and he was a caster. _Explanation enough, right there_. Harmless or not, A'lan watched him closely. He'd not brought her this far to lose her now, but without this caster's help they would not make it far enough fast enough to escape.

"She is weak," Mastor Zulor said after a while, no longer smiling. "If she weren't so powerfully connected to the pillars of the earth, she'd likely be dead already and I wouldn't be able to help if she was not. Since she is, she'll make it. Without it, there is not enough left in her to heal all of this. She's not been eating." A'lan met his accusing glance grimly. _That is certainly not my fault._

"I've seen strong men die of less than this, and die quickly." The old man muttered. A'lan moved closer.

"Do not touch me, lost one, I need to focus." He muttered. A'lan scowled. The man had not been able to feel the girl's problems or her powers when he had been carrying her—the nape of her neck had been touching his arm.

"I suppose the Drethlords did this, boy?" Apparently the need to focus did not rule out speech. A'lan did not take offense at being called boy—to this man, that was exactly what he was. Master Zulor looked older than the trees.

"Yes." Was all he said in reply.

"So you've freed her, have you? Fallen in love with her, then? She's very pretty, or she was when she had some meat on her bones." A'lan was not troubled by the question—he was glad the man finally got something wrong. _How he knows what he does is troubling enough._

"No. They lost their hold on my brother and myself, and we were her guards and her Watchers. Freeing her seemed right and the best way to harm them in one."

"Your brother. You're Antralian by the cut of your clothes and those eyes. She isn't though, no matter the coat and the Changing."

"You are correct." A'lan watched the old fellow unbutton the coat far enough to lay a palm in the center of the Wielder's chest, exposed by the split camisole. Ignoring the wounds he was covering with that hand and the other, which remained firmly on her forehead, the caster frowned in deep concentration. A'lan frowned to see the him so calmly settle his hand between her breasts. _I am just suspicious, that is all. And I don't want that burn to get infected._

"So. You and your Antralian brother were her minders, you did not enjoy serving the Drethlords, and you are one of the Forgotten Ones. And your brother is not here, but being Antralian you would never have left him behind if he lived. She is so deeply bound to the pillars, I'd say she must be the Guardian I heard rumors of. Well, Prince Gidedrian, what will you and the last of the Guardians do now?" Zulor asked, glancing over one shoulder at him.

Before he could blink, A'lan's hand was hovering around his throat. _True spirits, who is this man?_ Only the girl's need kept him alive. _How does he know? Who_ is _this man?_

"Do not push me, caster. I have little patience left." He warned softly. The old man searched his eyes and nodded. It did not take any special power to see a man balanced on the edge of a knife. A'lan was close to the breaking point, and it would only take him closing his fist to end the old man's life. They both knew he could do it.

"Does she know who you are? And which are you, anyway?" A'lan let his hand fall back to his side and shook his head. They both knew he would not kill the old caster. Not just now, anyway. _The need is too great._

"She does not know. I am A'lan. Cade, you would say. Or I was—that boy died a long time ago."

"Oh, I am not so sure." Zulor clucked.

"I am." He said coldly. "Antral is dead. My people are gone, my family is gone, and my land sown with salt. The Border Forts are broken, the cities of the cliffs are burned to ash. I am heir only to death. Once I get her to the others, I will end this."

His voice was harsh, he knew, but he did not care. Everything had been taken from him by Keravel and his vipers. _I will take their prize, take their hope, and then I will take their lives. Once she is safe, I can rest._ _Rest as my people, as my nation, as my family rests._ _Forever_.

_But not yet._ He raised his head to watch Master Zulor again. He his hands did not move, but the girl's face was no longer blank. She looked like a person having a pleasant dream, a soft smile on her lips. _Still, she is far too thin._ Slowly, Zulor lifted his hands.

"Give her a few moments and she'll wake." He said. "Perhaps a minute or two."

"Can you destroy these?" Cade asked, pulling the collar and its chains from the bag he had slung over his shoulder. Zulor scowled darkly,

"Bloodstone and _ashendari_ , so that is how they did it. I'll melt them gladly." He growled, taking them. "It must have taken them years to find such a large piece—I doubt they will find another, once I destroy this. At any rate, she will never allow herself to be trapped like that again."

Crouching down on the dirt floor, he muttered a few words and a shallow pit opened up before him. He set the shackles in it, and with a few more words, the stone began to glow, then melt. The pool of molten rock trickled deeper into the hole, burying itself in the dirt.

The caster made a motion like he was smoothing a bolt of cloth, and the pit filled in, leaving the dirt floor looking exactly the same. Cade held back a sigh of relief. That damned thing was gone. Zulor turned about quickly to stare at the girl. Grey eyes fluttered open.

"How do you feel, Lady Guardian?" Zulor asked with a smile. She shot a startled and accusing look at A'lan and sat straight up, wide awake and wary.

"What did you call me? I'm just Elaina."

"Very well, if that is how you wish it." Zulor bowed his head, "How do you feel, my lady?" She watched him suspiciously and began doing up the buttons of the coat she wore until the stiff, high collar brushed her jaw again.

"I am well. As well as I have ever been. But I think I will sleep well tonight." She replied, still watching him carefully and glaring at her companion every so often. It was a fierce look, the sort that promised trouble later.

_That sort of look on a woman means trouble for any man._ A'lan suspected they learned it in the cradle, which was about where men learned to flinch when they saw it.

"Yes, I daresay you will, my lady." Zulor said with a chuckle. "But you can stop shredding your companion with your lovely grey eyes, my dear. He told me nothing. As if I could touch you and not know what you are!" The old man shook his head with a grin. Elaina's startled look was a relief to A'lan.

"Of course. I thank you for your help, sir. I do not think things would have ended well for us if you had not been here. Is there anything we can do for you? I fear gold is not enough."

"Gold is both too much and too little." He said, waving away the purse A'lan was unstringing from his belt. "The Donath a'Anciri are sworn to such service, and it is gladly given. I'd ask something else, though, if I may." Elaina nodded. _So she knows of the Friends of the Guardians? Perhaps if she knows how to find them, they could help us. There must be some signal, some mark on the doorframe or symbol in the window . . ._

"Anything we can give, Master Zulor." She agreed.

"Yes. Well, from you Cade," A'lan tensed as the caster turned to him. _If he gives anything away to Elaina—_ "I want a promise. I want you to promise not to try to follow them. They've gone somewhere you've no business getting to by yourself." A'lan ignored both his sad smile and Elaina's confusion, keeping his expression flat. There was a long pause. _It does not really matter if I swear not to open my veins myself. Plenty of opportunities could be found to let someone else do that for me. It is not much of a promise._

"I swear." A'lan said at last. Master Zulor nodded.

"And you my dear," he turned to Elaina, "from you I would like the privilege of a teacher. I would like to show you a web."

"I'd be happy to learn anything you wish to teach." She replied. A'lan could tell she was surprised and a little embarrassed at the idea of so ancient and practiced a man seeking the honor of teaching her. Master Zulor's calm words could not hide his excitement.

"Very well. It is called Scattering the Winds. I can't do it properly, but enough to show you." He held out his hands as if cupping an invisible goblet. A'lan couldn't see it, but Elaina studied whatever it was closely, no doubt seeing the currents of Water, the eddies of Air, and the streamers of Fire that shifted through it. From her frown, it was not a simple form at all.

"You cast this, just like this only larger, as high into the sky as you can make it go. For me, this is it, just to the rafters. For you, it's probably halfway to the moon. The higher you send it, the wider it spreads at the end, yes?" Zulor explained. "So when you are ready, you put underneath the column whatever it is you want to be untrackable—in this case, you." Elaina nodded. "Once you do that, you let the form do this . . ." his hands moved down and out until his palms faced the floor.

Watching Elaina's eyes, A'lan knew the web moved with him, each element sliding out and around in a lacework of power, spidering across the floor. That was how he imagined it, at least. The Wielder was impressed, if her wide eyes were any indication.

"So, the taller it goes, the wider it spreads in the end, and the larger the area they cannot track you. Then they cannot follow your trail on the winds anymore. Fly fast, fly hard, and you will be free, Elaina." He smiled warmly.

"Now I am for bed, children, so off you go. Use that web soon, mind! On your way back tonight, I'd say. Someone is going to get a death of a headache when they Search the Winds for you, my dear! Fare you well, you two. Look after each other, eh? There's no one else to do it, and old Zulor can't be going with you, now. Fare you well!"

CHAPTER 21  
_The Name_

Thanking their host again, they let themselves be herded back into the night. Elaina cast a gentle glow around them—what a joy to use the pillars again!—brightening the moonlight so they needed no lantern. She could still feel her wounds, but whatever the old man had done made them dim and easy to ignore. Once they were on the road again, Elaina spoke, as much to break the strained silence between them as anything else. A'lan didn't seem troubled by silence, but it was making her jumpy.

Theirs was a peculiar sort of relationship—formerly enemies, captive and captor, but now saved and savior and traveling companions besides. Plus the awkward fact that he had hauled her along in a saddle for two days while she bounced around like a sack of potatoes in nothing but the coat he put her in. She was extremely glad the caster had mended the chafing from that along with everything else. Only a Creator could heal disease or great injury as if it never occurred. Casters did very well on superficial damage, however, and Zulor had smoothed her horrible scars. _The horrible scars on the skin, at any rate_.

"A strange old fellow, was he not?"

"Indeed. How he knew half what he did, I've no idea." A'lan replied. "I don't see him bringing us harm. He melted the chains." Elaina nodded. He was an odd man, yet she had not felt he was lying to them, or manipulating them at all. _A very strange man indeed_. _What had he called A'lan?_

"He called you Cade and so did—" she stumbled at this, it came to her lips before she had thought about it, but there was nothing for it but to continue, "so did E'dan. Is that an Antralian word?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. His hand had not left the hilt of his sword since they lost sight of Master Zulor's.

"You could say that. It is an Antralian name. My name."

"What!" Elaina cried, astonished.

"The name my parets gave me was Cade A'lan Gidedrian. The Drethlords called my brother and I by our second names, trying to break our ties to the past. To remake us as different people, with different names." He explained. Even as he spoke, his head was constantly turning, scanning the night for a threat. And his voice did not change when he talked about his brother.

"Well, they failed then. You freed me and disobeyed them. Now you're free too." For a moment, he left off glaring at the vegetation to look at her. It was an empty look, one that made her feel like shrinking into a corner. _Is it because I have seen slivers of his past, or would those eyes darken anyone's spirit? Truth_ , _but I have never met anyone so utterly_ foreign.

"No. I am not the boy they captured fourteen years ago. And I may have freed you, but I am not free. I doubt I will ever be free." He murmured into the night. Elaina did not argue. Fourteen years he had been a captive. Five weeks had been enough to teach her suspicion, hatred, and despair. _Fourteen years!_

"Shall I call you Cade, then?" she said at last. After a considering moment, he nodded his agreement. The lights of the town were twinkling ahead of them when he asked,

"Do you wish do try the web," he paused with a frown, "I cannot call you Wielder. What may I call you?"

"Elaina, just Elaina."

"Very well, Elaina." Her name sounded strange on his tongue. "Do you wish to try the web now, or do you need to wait? I don't know what he did to you, but you seem well as you ever were."

"Oh, yes. I am well. There is hardly a mark on me. My skin is whole again." She tried to smile, not wanting to think about the marks that went deeper. One glance was enough to convince her that her companion knew exactly what she was thinking. Her smile faded and she finished shortly, "I'm well enough for this."

Stopping in the middle of the road, she began casting. The wind swirled around her for a brief moment. Not past, but around her in a tight circle _. Searching the Winds indeed_. A'lan—Cade—had taken to prowling around her, staring off into the dark. His cloak had not moved a hair in that last breeze. Someone was seeking her with that unnatural gust of Air.

The column grew, no thicker than the trunk of a birch tree, she cast it high into the night. It pierced the sky, a spire of Air and Fire stretching toward the stars. When it was as high as she could push it, she let it fall into the controlled tangle she'd seen in Zulor's home, concentrating as hard as she could.

Unlike the caster's, it did not simply slide out, it collapsed into itself and shot out over the ground in every direction like ripples in a pond. Waves of Fire and Air spilled over each other, surging, gushing off into the night. Slowly the ripples smoothed, and the form sank into the dirt, stretching into hair-thin filaments before finally disappearing. The wind stopped tugging at her coat. It was gone.

Cade still studied the darkness, a weapon walking, seeking only a target. Elaina recalled the Linking, seeing him standing there. He had been important, before. With the crown on that old man's head, the great halls and fine horses—he may have been royalty. Before Landon, that might have impressed her more. _And before Keravel._

Sensing her attention, Cade turned and dark eyes met hers, but she could read nothing in them, nothing at all. It was like locking eyes with a jungle cat, all power and deadly grace, but not a hint of its intentions. It made her shiver, but at least the web was cast.

It had been difficult enough, her legs buckled beneath her when she took a step. Only with Cade's arm under hers was she able to get back into town, looking not much different than when they left, only now she was merely tired and not bleeding.

Her coat was stiff with dried blood and short enough to draw looks when they finally entered the Merry Maiden, even without her bare feet. The musician was gone, but a few patrons still sat about nursing their ale or wine and gambling over dice and cards. Elaina flushed at the attention, especially with half her legs showing—exposed to the knee with the white lace hem of her camisole peeking out. She clutched the coat closer around her.

Cade ignored the anxious Master Balgor, half-carrying Elaina down the hall. The innkeeper stopped when it was clear he would get neither a word nor a look from him. He began wringing his hands and opened his mouth once or twice, but he did not speak to Cade—Elaina glanced up quickly and knew why.

_No one approaches a man wearing an expression like that._ _Truth, but he is a dangerous sort of person._ The look on his face would have sent her scurrying away just as the poor innkeeper did, if she could have scurried.

He kicked open the door to their room when he got to it, now using both hands to keep Elaina upright. She had forgotten how tiring it was, using the pillars. If she hadn't been so exhausted she would have felt the nausea that went with over-exertion. As it was she didn't even have time to think about what she was going to wear to sleep in, or where exactly Cade was going to sleep. Her eyes simply locked onto the narrow, lumpy bed shoved into the corner of the room like it was her only salvation. She was asleep before Cade lowered her onto it.

Shaking his head, Cade tossed the saddlebags he onto the floor. He had shoved a clean, whole camisole and a dress for her into the bags, but that they would just have to wait until she could stay conscious long enough to change clothes. Those filthy things she wore could not be comfortable, certainly not the coat on bare skin, but she slept just fine.

With a last long look at the Wielder—Elaina—he wrapped himself in his coat and laid down on the floor in front of the door, saddlebags his pillow. Sometimes people got ideas when they saw weakness, but they would lose those ideas quickly if they came through this door. And if they did not, he would see to it they lost whatever might be necessary to convince them.

Elaina woke up to find she was still sprawled awkwardly across the coverlet of the scratchy old bed. There was a slightly rumpled dress and a pristine white camisole folded loosely and thrown across her knees, and Cade was rummaging about in the saddlebags. He must have thrown them on her—that was why she was suddenly so very wide awake, not at all like her usual. Then those airy thoughts sank in.

"I have CLOTHES?" she cried, sitting bolt upright. Cade looked over his shoulder at her.

"Of course." His raised eyebrows asked if she'd really been thinking about riding to truth-knew-where in a filthy wool coat that hardly hid her legs and a blood-stained camisole cut down the front. Elaina flushed.

"Well, you could have given them to me earlier!" she said stiffly, laying them out across her knees and examining her arms. There were no scars from her most recent wounds, and the old ones had faded. The thin white lines and ridges that remained would be there forever.

"Yes." Cade acknowledged, "but I thought it would be best if you were conscious, so that eliminates much of our time together. I also assumed you would want to wait until you were healed. Forgive me." There was no mockery in his tone, but Elaina blushed a deeper red.

"Oh. I see." He had a point.

For a second he did not respond, then, "I will wait for you in the common room. Please don't linger."

As he wished, they were gone from Beradon before the sleepy inn noticed the slice of rosy dawn on the horizon. Cade sold the third horse to pay for the room and then some, so it was just the two of them and their mounts. It was a quiet ride in a quiet country—the antithesis of what her travel had been before, chained or otherwise.

Elaina could not help but examine her companion right along with the scenery. As much time as they had spent together, she had no concept of him as a man. All she knew was that he was expressionless, silent, and positively lethal. They would always be able to find each other through the Link, and he had sworn some oath, but it didn't seem to require much of him. He had once had a brother, and a sister, if her hazy memories were correct, but the Drethlords killed them both. That was all.

After half a day's uneasy ride with their shadows disappearing under them, she asked,

"Where are we going?" Elaina hated asking, hated relying on anyone—especially him, but to ride along and pretend she knew was ridiculous when they both knew she didn't.

"Hennelea. There I will put you on a ship to the Brethren. The Brothers who do not approve of what Keravel has done are ready to support you in Vinyam, from what I understand." That was as far as she could get from Hurndrith on this side of the ocean. Elaina narrowed her eyes at his straight, unsuspecting back. _Put me on a ship, will he? Pack me off like a child, will he?_  
"And where will you go?" she asked, tone betraying some of her sharpness. Only silence answered her. Elaina glowered at him. _Just because I never would have survived the last two or three days by myself, never would have gotten away at all without him, does not give him the right to act like Keravel!_

A faint blush stole across her cheeks before she could snap at him. That was hardly what he was doing. He was difficult, to be sure, but he freed her. In fact, he had never hurt her, save that first day at Split Creek. And then she may have bit his brother, to be fair. Even when she'd clawed him that day with the knife—Elaina had seen the scars from her fingernails—even then he hadn't hurt her.

Torn between guilt and annoyance, Elaina resolved to keep her mouth shut no matter how demanding and rude he might be. If he wanted to try to save her skin and get her to Monren, she wasn't going to interfere. Not yet, anyway.

CHAPTER 22  
_The Ride_

They were traveling off the roads and pushing their horses hard as they skirted the border south. At least it was getting warmer the further they went. Elaina knew it was still too slow for Cade by the way he kept staring up at the sky marking the position of the sun.

In three days of travel, he never scowled, but she was pretty sure she would have stopped if she were the sun, or at least slowed down. The stars were winking to life in the heavens when they finally halted each night—always the first break since around noon, when he would allow her to dismount and she and the horses could take a drink.

Her and the horses—she felt a lot like one of them, actually, for all he noticed her. In fact, she thought the animals might have the edge in that contest. Clenching her teeth, Elaina patted her bay's round cheek while Cade built a small fire. Perhaps he was not intentionally being rude, perhaps he didn't realize that people generally exchanged more than four words if they spent an entire day together.

Elaina remained determinedly silent and stared unblinking at the flames as Cade brought out some salted pork and hard bread from his saddlebags. He sharpened two long sticks and speared alternating chunks of salted pork and bread on them. One he handed to her and the other he held over the flames, sitting not an arm's length from her. She took the food with a nod and held it as he did, rotating to keep the juices soaking into the bread.

Their dinner started to smell delicious in a very short amount of time, making Elaina's stomach rumble. She cast a sideways glance at Cade, who apparently did not think the food was done. She kept twirling the stick, trying to ignore her stomach. It was all she could do to keep from licking her lips while they waited.

Finally, Cade drew his back from the flames to inspect it and was satisfied, resting his hand on his knee while he waited for it to cool. Elaina couldn't wait and set about tearing the food off the stick with her teeth, sucking in air to keep from burning her whole mouth at once.

It was far too hot, and she looked like a fool, but she was well past caring that Cade watched with a hint of surprise. As her hunger receded, her frustration rebounded to its previous levels and then some. _If he hadn't starved me, I wouldn't have eaten like a wild animal_ , Elaina groused in her head, watching Cade slide his food off piece by piece and pop them neatly into his mouth. Once finished, he tossed his stick on the fire and they both watched it burn and sizzle.

"You are frustrated by our pace, but we can go no faster nor any longer—it would be dangerous for the horses to continue past sundown." Cade said without warning, making Elaina jump. For a long moment she stared at him, almost counting the words. That may have been the longest sentence she had ever heard him utter unprovoked. He looked back solemnly.

"I know. I could not have gone on much longer anyway—I've been in better health." She thought she saw one eyebrow twitch upward at that and a blush spread across her face. _Of course, he would know all about that. He is the man who force fed her multiple times a day for many, many days._ The thought made her wince. He knew her far better than she wanted.
"It is not the pace, then." He murmured. Elaina caught the obvious implication: it wasn't the pace, but there was something bothering her. If he asked, she wasn't going to tell him why she was frustrated—let him stew on that for a while! He didn't ask. _Naturally_.

The next morning, they reached the road that ran from Hurndrith to Matriem, the one they had traveled on only days before. Cade insisted on scouting up and down the road for the place the trees grew up closest, wanting to stay as hidden as possible.

Elaina didn't argue, no matter how she wanted to. It really was a reasonable idea— how many times did things go wrong in the stories because someone was careless? And it was a relief to dismount. Even someone used to the saddle would have felt the last few days' ride. Well, anyone but the Watcher, he moved with the grace of a hunting animal regardless of how many days they spent riding. Annoying, to say the least.

That was why she wanted to argue: because it was him, because he ordered her around from dawn to dusk. The offending person rode up just as she was beginning to scowl again.

"Run now, well into the trees. Go!" he commanded quietly as he slid off his horse and darted across the road. Fuming, Elaina could do nothing but follow. _How does he do that? How does he manage to order me around without ceasing, yet refusing always seems unreasonable?_ It was infuriating. Try as she might, she could think of nothing to say to him that didn't make her sound like a petulant child.

It didn't matter anyway. By the time she was hidden by the branches on the far side, he was already mounted and moving south.

Cade ducked under the low sweeping boughs of a pine and was disappointed to see there was no clearing on the far side. Tree trunks blocked every line of sight in a few paces, which didn't help his plan. He wanted to halt earlier tonight than last. The Wielder was exhausted. He pursed his lips. She wasn't just tired, she was in a towering rage.

He had no idea what it was—and last night's guess hadn't helped at all. Cade could admit to himself that he was baffled. Women were a maze in the dark in the best of times, he knew, and he hardly had the experience to manage this one. It was clear that she was angry, and it only got worse when he spoke to her, so he kept his mouth shut as much as he could.

Hopefully, whatever it was would go away if he left her alone. And if not, well, soon she would be on a ship to the Brethren in Vinyam. He found himself thinking about the two groups of casters that way: the Drethlords were those led by Keravel, and the Brethren were the exiles in Vinyam and elsewhere. He wasn't even sure which those were, only that some of Keravel's Brothers refused to join the Firstborn and Monren was one of them.

It would take them four days to reach the river and at least two weeks more to make it to the City, the only settlement deserving the name in the whole country. The country was the city, actually, having grown and spread from the walls of Hennelea to gain some small autonomy in War of a Thousand Banners. From what Cade remembered of his schooling, that was largely due to the fact that they controlled trade going upriver to Loth Daer and Fiandar.

Hennelea had been at war with Ronam on an annual basis from their creation through Cade's grandfather's rule. During that time, they came to an agreement: Hennelea would tax the ships going upriver, and Ronam would tax them going out to sea. If anyone tried to slip past, both navies would intercept them. Fortunately for the less scrupulous, Ronam and Hennelea hardly ever sank these ships, preferring to haul them in and hold them ransom.

No one liked money as much as the people of the Bay. and in the Bay, money meant ships, so ships they had. All he had to do was get the Wielder to the docks, and there would be a ship for Vinyam willing to take her. She would be off his hands and on her way to the exiles in no more than a week's time.

Unsurprisingly, Cade thought even less of the exiles than Elaina did. They had not meant for her to be chained, but they had never lifted a finger for him. The uncomfortable thought occurred to him that he had taken quite a while to lift a finger on Elaina's behalf. Even then it was spontaneous—not a matter of courage and honor, but sudden freedom and frantic flight.

It made him wonder about that oath he'd given the day they were Linked, part of the Asemaline ritual, though given in the formal language of Arith, the language of the Guardians. He'd sworn to shield and to follow, his pain before hers, his blood before hers, his life before hers. _Keravel certainly never expected my brother and I to fulfill it._

He glanced back at her for a moment, struggling between thick branches. Perhaps that was the source of her fury: she had not forgiven him for holding her captive, but was too scared to part ways. Cade didn't delude himself, she was not frightened of the world at large and seeking protection—though he thought she should have been.

If he knew anything of her at all, he would have wagered a great deal that she worried he would give her away to the Drethlords or something. With the Link, he was the only person in Arith that could find her now if she got it in her head to disappear.

She needn't have worried. His reasons to hate them were ten times what hers were. Keravel chained her for weeks, him for fourteen years. They killed her uncle, took her parents to their deaths, and turned to Wilds the land she would have grown up in. He lost a family, a country, a people, and a future. The newness of his freedom and the necessities of survival were distracting him from it, but Cade felt the raw emptiness of missing his brother constantly. It had been hell before, but at least he had not been alone.

A curse word drifted up to him as the pine branches swished back to catch Elaina full in the face. It was one he had not heard before, which was impressive. _Well, I am not alone now, for all the good it does me_. He pushed back another limb and almost smiled. Finally, some good luck.

Elaina burst into the clearing on Cade's heels, muttering under her breath at the ever-present trees. Her traveling companion was still as talkative as a rock and almost as expressive. As she scanned the clearing, Elaina felt her mood improve.

_At least there is enough space between the trees to take a free breath._ Ten paces across, the openness was marred only by a tenacious willow that clung to the earth between two large moss-covered stones. A small brook meandered cheerfully off into the trees.

"This is nice." She said in surprise, vow of silence forgotten for a moment.

"It is." He agreed shortly.

"We think so too." Elaina jumped and Cade spun, black sword out to face the wall of trees to the left. There was a rustle, and two figures emerged.

CHAPTER 23  
_The Strangers_

They entered the small space without a care for Cade's weapon, which was either very brave or very foolish. And they did not seem to mind the ball of Fire in Elaina's outstretched hand that bathed the clearing in an unearthly glow, which made them one of two things. Either they were _ashendari,_ or . . .

The beautiful woman with long, raven-black hair calmly held up a twig, which suddenly twisted and grew until it was a cage around Elaina and Cade. She held it only a moment before making it wither and die, collapsing around them back into twigs and leaves. The equally handsome man with hair like burnished gold bowed courteously, and the large stones in the clearing groaned against the earth to level themselves out and move into a circle around them.

They were both casters, strong and experienced enough to fully control the pillars they could touch. So the man had Earth at the least, and the woman had Air and Earth and Water.

_I'll stick with Fire then, so they cannot be sure I am even a complete caster._ Elaina didn't bother to brush off the leaves and twigs that now littered her hair and shoulders. Tiny licks of flame leapt up just long enough to burn them to cinders. Elaina's smile was cold and decidedly unwelcoming. Cade had not moved an inch.

"I'm Darin Cirshan, and this is Miranya Sarith." The gold-haired man introduced them arrogantly. "This is one of our campsites. Miranya has a gift with growing things, she has convinced the trees to leave this spot alone." He explained, waiting for their names.

"I am called Maile." Elaina said at last, using the name she and Cade had agreed on in advance. That 'conversation' consisted of him saying they needed aliases and each of them saying a new name.

"This is Dominic." she was forced to add when Cade neither spoke nor moved. Elaina noticed that Miranya was watching him closely. Sometimes she forgot that Cade was so handsome. _Silly woman, he is not that sort of man._

"I see you are a fire caster, Maile. How long since the Changing?" He asked politely. Elaina thought it a little odd, but she supposed it was common enough to ask a swordsman how long he'd had a weapon.

"In the fall. And you both?"

"Mine was eight years ago, I think." He said casually, flashing her a confident smile. Elaina supposed he thought her impressed. _Foolish popinjay_.

Miranya tore her eyes from Cade to say, "I'm younger, only five years."  
"Where do you travel?" Darin asked solicitously, taking a seat on one large stones now gathered around and laying level. This time Elaina waited for Cade to speak. Their three-line conversation had not covered this.

"We head south." Cade said. Sheathing his sword at last, he took a seat on the far side of the ring of stones from Darin, and Elaina split the difference between them. Miranya sat across from her, though decidedly closer to Cade than to her companion.  
"Southeast, I hope, Dominic," Darin rejoined with a laugh, "Hennelea is the safest place to visit in the Southlands. The Fiandish are still smarting under the Empire and Antral is overrun with savages."

Elaina saw no reaction from Cade, but Miranya looked up sharply. Darin stared boldly at Elaina and didn't notice his companion's glare. Perhaps Miranya was from Antral like Cade. Elaina filed the thought away, smiling politely at Darin.

Cade continued to stare indifferently into the dirt. Miranya continued to stare at him. Elaina suppressed a giggle of amusement. He was totally unmoved by the woman, which she'd likely never experienced before, lovely as she was.

"Well, you are welcome to stay here, or to travel with us if you wish." Darin offered. "Company is always welcome, and the company of another caster is always interesting—I'm sure there is much we could teach each other."

His promising smile made Elaina uneasy. She had no desire to learn anything from this man, and didn't dare risk them noticing the depth of her ability. As it was, he knew only that she could draw Fire and maybe Air. Unless it was an especial skill of his, he would know no more than that until she cast something else.

She held onto Fire, just skimming the surface so she would be ready if she had to be. It was difficult to keep from plunging as deep into her power as she could, she'd been without it for so long. The thought only made her more careful. Never again would she wear a collar, anyone's collar.

Cade watched from the corner of his eye as Darin did his best to seduce Elaina. It gave him a twist of pleasure to see her so aloof and cautious. He'd worried that with her so angry with him, she might do something dangerous to just for spite. Cade could admit he had underestimated her—suspicion was a wise policy.

Beside him, he felt rather than saw Miranya inch closer to him. She was pretty, he supposed, and her eyes certainly lingered on him in a willing sort of way, but that was beside the point.

She was a meddling web-caster, a cat that found a mouse it particularly wanted to play with. He kept his face blank. If she tried anything, she would find he was ill suited to playing the mouse, even for a beautiful woman with an Antralian name.  
"Where do you hail from?" Darin asked softly, shifting closer as if to catch Elaina's answer. Cade held back a snort—if he was able to hear from across the clearing, Darin's ears were not the motive for his move.

"A trading town, Donlin, in north Amanheld."  
"I fear I've never heard of it. I am from Matriem, in Newythe. Perhaps you have been there?"  
"No—" Elaina began and was cut off,

"Oh but by the Truth! It is the loveliest city in the world, Maile! All the buildings are painted every color of the rainbow, with arches and spires like lace. Canals run deep into the city, with little bridges all over. Even the docks are enchanting—the whole city smells of flowers in the springtime and the sea in the winter. It is the city of lovers. I will take you there sometime." He smiled winningly.

Cade's eyes narrowed at that, but quiet alarm and annoyance flickered on her features. Clearly, Elaina was not impressed with this caster's soft words and sensuous smiles. _Good girl_.

As night darkened, conversation continued mostly between Darin and Elaina, though Miranya joined them periodically and Cade found himself dragged in by her direct questions. Darin ignored him, no doubt wondering what he was to Elaina other than traveling companion, and Elaina didn't seem to care if he wanted to be silent.

Miranya and Darin produced a fine meal and invited them both to help themselves. A Fire was cast, and the conversation lagged as they all ate. Cade was pleased to see Elaina wasn't shy, taking what she wanted with Darin's profuse encouragement. She was still far too thin, and she'd be needing her strength.

Neither Darin nor Miranya said anything about their guests not eating or drinking until they had themselves, though Cade was sure they noticed the suspicion of poison.

To sleep, Darin and Miranya produced two hammocks from their packs and hung them from the trees with little trouble—Miranya had apparently prepared the trees for the task in the past.

Cade had seen hammocks before. They were invented by the Fiandish, who once sent a fine one to the Palace in Alcondar for the royal family. Corin slept in it as often as the weather allowed when he was young, and when he played with his toy soldiers, he would arrange them in a Fiandish sleep circle of hammocks before bed. The thought made Cade sigh. _Corin is gone, and the Palace and the city that put swampy Matriem to shame is a pile of charred rubble._

Elaina, however, had never seen a hammock before and was shyly fascinated. Watching closely how they were set up, she drew the line when Darin invited her to sleep on his for the evening—the assurance that he would sleep on the ground added two beats too late. Cade found himself trying not to smile at Darin's vexation.

Her suspicion was increasingly evident and quite strong; he noticed Elaina took care to set up her blankets on the far side of the circle from Darin, with Cade between them. As she laid them out, Cade came over and asked quietly,

"Does he trouble you?" Elaina shrugged one shoulder. "If you wish to get rid of him, we may act closer than Watcher and Wielder." He offered tonelessly and slipped away. _It is an offer for her protection, nothing more, and if she decides to take enormous offense I do not want to be too close._ Her surprise was evident in her sudden stillness, but she neither responded nor moved any closer to him.

_I suppose that is a no. Well, if she wants to tempt the man that is her business._ Scowling, he shoved away the memory of how pleasant it had been to wake up beside a warm body in the chill of the morning, as they had in that blizzard.

_That is not my motive_ , he told himself harshly as he laid back and rolled up in his blankets. _As if it could be, the way that morning went!_

She had sulked for days after—he had felt like a monster every time she glowered at him with that embarrassed, shocked, violated expression. He hadn't _done_ anything! No matter how much time he had spent in Hurndrith and elsewhere, there was no getting used to the strangeness of Northerners. _Or the strangeness of women!_

Elaina was the last one up the following day, when the crackling of the fire and the near-constant sound of Darin's low voice finally intruded in her sleep. The others were sitting as they had the night before, Cade across from Darin and Miranya as close to Cade as she could manage without looking it.

Despite his peculiar offer of the night before, Elaina was glad to see that Cade was still between her and Darin. Nothing in her Truthing proved Darin false, but she still didn't trust him. The idea of that man being nearby while she slept had been unsettling enough that she had almost accepted last night. Well, not quite almost—she remembered the awkwardness of waking up with someone who held her like it was some kind of duty.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rose and shuffled to the warmth of the fire, still clutching her blankets around her.

"Good morning, my dear!" Darin greeted her with a winning smile. She managed to nod and smile in his direction. _His dear!_

"We will leave as soon as you are ready." Cade said quietly. Elaina felt herself bristle at the implication that she was slowing them down, but that was absurd— _I am slowing us down_. This wasn't the time to make anything of it, either: Darin might decide to interfere. So instead of scowling, she smiled at him and took the hot sausages and hard travel bread he offered, settling in right beside him to eat.

For a moment he looked at her blankly, then those dark eyes flicked to their audience and a warm smile followed. Elaina found herself staring at him and jerked her eyes away with a blush.

Hopefully, that would look like a shy lover to Darin and Miranya. It hadn't been just the surprise of seeing an expression on the Watcher that startled her. Sometimes she was so angry with him, she forgot just how gorgeous he was. _When he smiles that way . . ._

Elaina wolfed down her food as fast as she could manage without burning her mouth. Anything to take her mind off of that uncomfortable feeling.

_True spirits, I hope he can't tell exactly what just happened!_ _It certainly is not my fault he has a face that can make a girl melt when he catches her by surprise. Not my fault at all._

"Our thanks for your hospitality, but we must press on." Cade announced as soon as Elaina was finished, which came quickly the way she'd been eating. Once or twice, she thought Darin had looked startled by her appetite. _Well, perhaps that will make him lose interest, with Miranya so slender_.

Elaina mounted and followed Cade out of the clearing with only the barest civilities to the casters, just enough to not occasion comment. Since she was avoiding looking at Cade either in case she start mooning at him like a love-struck cow, Elaina spent much of the departure considering her horse and the scenery.

Not long after they parted ways with Darin and Miryana, Cade began talking as they picked their way through the trees.

"Darin seemed quite taken with you." He noted in an offhand manner. If he had said more than three unnecessary words to her in a week, it might have been as casual as it seemed. Since he hadn't, Elaina gaped at him until he turned halfway around in the saddle to see why she didn't answer. Closing her mouth so fast her teeth clicked, she hastily replied,

"Oh. Yes. He was friendly, to be sure. Miranya wasn't upset by your company either." She added. The accused twitched one shoulder in a shrug.

"It was good of you to be suspicious of him—you can't trust people the way you are used to, Elaina." The pleasant feeling she'd had about being spoken to more than the horses evaporated. _How much older is he anyway? He has no right to talk down to me that way!_ _What does he know of how I used to be, or how I am now for that?!_

"When I send you to the Brethren, you must take care whom you speak to and how—I won't be there to protect you like this morning." Cade continued, apparently unaware of her rising anger. He ought to have paid more attention to her thorny silence, but it was too late by the end of that sentence.

"Send me? Protect me! Like this morning? What are you talking about?" she sputtered.

"Come now, you have never sat so close to me before—Darin frightened you. You needn't have worried, I would not have let him trouble you." He assured her. It was too much for Elaina.

"Frightened me?! I'm not some fainting flower! I could have crushed that upstart caster in an instant!" Cade turned to look at her incredulously. She snapped.

"What? You disagree? Well, you have only ever seen me when I'm chained to unnatural creatures like yourself! You think he frightened me? The most frightening thing I've ever met is you!" Elaina had reined in her mare to yell at him, and Cade wheeled his own mount to face her.

"I am the most powerful caster you'll ever meet it isn't worth being ordered about like a dog, staying with you. I believe they made you incapable of human emotion. Is that all you know how to do? Give orders or take them?" The vague surprise on his face was fast fading to stony stillness as she went on,

"As if I would flee to you from Darin! And last night! Ha! Here's a tip for you, Cade: next time you ask a woman to your blankets, don't make it sound like it is some kind of penance you've set yourself!" She paused only to draw another breath,

"I can make it to Hennelea by myself, Watcher. Good bye!" With that she spurred her bay right past him, chin in the air and color high on her cheeks. A triumphant smile grew on her lips when Cade did not move to follow.

At last, I am free!

For a few long minutes, Darin watched Dominic, or Cade as he appeared to be called, through the screen of trees. Head down, he had not moved since Maile—Elaina, apparently—had thrown her fit and rode off to the south.

If I'm lucky, this fellow will go off someplace else and leave that scrumptious little treat to me. If she thinks she is the more powerful, it will be that much easier.

Darin smiled. He never used all his power in those greeting demonstrations—better to have everyone underestimate you. _This tart has underestimated me quite a bit if she thinks she doesn't need protecting_. Even if she was the stronger, unlikely though that was, he knew a great deal more about webs than a caster not a year old. _Oh, will she be surprised!_

Peeking out at the black-clothed man, Darin could see the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw. At last, he straightened, and Darin held his breath.

To his delight, Dominic-Cade pulled his horse in a tight circle and headed off to the west. The caster grinned, stepping out from behind the trees. In this dense forest, she would not be going much faster than he was on foot, and she would never see him coming. Setting a quick pace, he followed her south. _Now that the dark one is out of the way, this will be much, much easier. It is never too early in the day for some fun._

Elaina's happiness had not worn off by the time she stole across the Ronam Road. In a few short hours she would be across the river, that much closer to Hennelea and that much farther from the Drethlords. Soon she would need to recast Zulor's web, just in case it she was getting near the edges of her first attempt.

At least Cade was safe from them without her help. She didn't know where he was going, but no matter how she felt about him, she didn't want the Drethlords to catch him. Beyond the fact that Elaina wouldn't wish that on anyone, he was the only person who had a realistic chance of finding her now, so long as she was very careful and a little lucky.

Free to stop as she pleased, Elaina took contrary delight in halting for a leisurely lunch by a creek. She sat on a mossy log to nibble her travel bread and drank as long as she liked from the cold stream. Relaxed and pleased, Elaina was lying on her back smiling to herself when there was a rustle nearby. Seizing Fire and Air, she sat up.

"Who's there?" she demanded, scanning the woods with narrowed eyes, "Show yourself!"

"Maile?" A voice called from the undergrowth. Darin emerged from behind the sagging branches of a bearded pine. Elaina was tensely suspicious. _How did he find me? Was he following?_

Cade's warning echoed in her ears, but she was careful not to draw as deeply as she wanted to. _No one can know how strong I am unless they are going to be a span under the ground by nightfall. As nervous as Darin makes me, I am not ready to kill him._

"Maile, it is you!" he said happily, "Has Dominic gone hunting?" Elaina merely shook her head, moving to sit on the log again.

"What coincidence, you finding me here!" she said in warm welcome, watching his reaction.

"Indeed! It seems trackless, this forest, but really everything and everyone follows similar paths—the easiest ones, with the widest space between the trees." He rambled pleasantly, taking a seat beside her on the log.

"Where is Miranya?" Elaina asked as casually as she could. Darin shrugged.

"No idea. She mentioned Filyamin, but I didn't ask."

"Were you casting?" he asked with a hopeful smile. Elaina nodded, unable to think of another reason she would be holding a half-finished web of Fire and Air. She couldn't really just say, _Yes, I was about to turn you into charcoal._

"Don't stop on my account, please!" Darin encouraged. "What did you have in mind?" he asked innocently, but Elaina was very aware of his leaning in towards her.

"Ah, well, you know—just an old thing I picked up." She babbled, trying to come up with something else with Fire and Air while her brain was spinning about anxiously. His open curiosity forced her to go on, and Elaina hit on it at last.

"Scattering the Winds, that's what it's called."

"Really? That sounds like an old one. Hiding from someone, are you?" he asked mischievously, voice low as he moved closer.

"Oh, no one in particular, just a precaution," Elaina added hastily, voice getting higher pitched as Darin moved closer. She could feel his breath on her neck.

_Sitting too close in not an offense deserving death,_ she reminded herself, and shifted the web back into Zulor's. It had been sliding into a death web for Darin.

"Perhaps you could give me a . . . demonstration of your skills," he whispered in her ear, lips moving to her neck. Alarmed, Elaina pulled back. _Fire? No, not yet, it would be murder. Get him away though, have to get him away!_

"Darin!" she protested, "What's the matter with you?" Grinning wickedly, he closed the space between them again. Taking her wrists in his hands, he said,

"Let me show you," and leaned forward to trace his way across her collarbone with his lips. Elaina jerked back, yanking her hands from his grip to rise to her feet. She kept her hands out in warning, backing towards her horse. That unfinished web shifted back into a weapon of Fire and Air. _Charcoal it is._

"I think you have mistaken me, Master Darin. I'll be going now." She said coldly. He chuckled confidently.

"I'm afraid it's you who are mistaken, Miss _Elaina_ ," he replied, "You'll stay." Without warning, a stabbing pain shot through her skull, daggers behind her eyes. Elaina felt her knees give out, saw the ground rush up to meet her, but she could do nothing. Her hold on the pillars weakened and slipped away with her concentration—there wasn't room in her head for anything but the searing pain.

Elaina felt Darin's hands on her shoulders, turning her over. Looking up into his twisted face as he wedged a knee between hers, Elaina was unable to do anything but scream. The daggers in her head grew and multiplied until her piercing cry was reduced to a whimper.

"You're a tease whoever you are, so talkative in the evening, so standoffish in the morning. Well, I'm not the sort of man to go merrily on my way, little sorceress." He growled, yanking at the laces of her dress. Vaguely, Elaina saw her arms rise to push him away, but without any strength.

It was like watching a nightmare, everything moving slowly, dimly, outside her control. Hot tears trickled down into her hair. With one hand still tugging at her bodice and the other tangled in her skirts, Darin froze, grimacing a maniacal smile.

Three inches of black steel glittered wetly where it protruded from his chest.

The pain in her head disappeared, and Darin's body slumped forward, pinning her to the ground until she could scramble out from underneath the dead weight.

A quick dark stain spread across the back of Darin's tunic. Elaina's eyes drifted from her blood-smeared hands, following the sword up to the black-shrouded man holding it.

Cade yanked his blade free and knelt down beside Elaina, an arm behind her shoulders lifting until she sat upright. Automatically, her arms went to hold up her dress. She stared into concerned brown-black eyes.

"Elaina?" Cade said quietly, searching her face. "Did he hurt you?" Elaina began to shake her head no, but found herself nodding. Cade pulled her close to him, and suddenly she was sobbing into his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

For a few minutes she didn't care who he was or what he'd done—he was there, and she was scared. She wept until his tunic was damp with tears. Once she had recovered, Cade moved enough to look down into her face.

"What happened? Why didn't you crush him?" Elaina did not meet his eyes. She tried to wipe her hands on the grass one at a time.

"I thought I could wait—make sure. I was already holding Fire, but I didn't want to kill him just for trying a kiss . . . and then, that's not . . . that's not what he wanted." Shakily, she wiped her hands on the grass began retying the laces up the front of her dress.

"He's so much older, he knew exactly what to do, and I didn't even know enough to worry about it. His web made it impossible to concentrate, I couldn't hold on, and then I couldn't do anything." Elaina finished in a childlike voice. In a moment she asked quietly,

"You followed me?"

"Not at first. I was angry. Then I remembered my oath and tried to head you off at the road, thinking it would be easier to see you there than in this mess." Cade explained, "When I heard a scream I came as quickly as I could. My horse is somewhere back that way," he gestured, "I could move faster on foot."

"I'm sorry. Thank you for coming back," Elaina said with difficulty, breathing harder than he was, she noticed, though he was the one who had run through the woods to kill a man when all she had done was collapse.

She was never very good at being meek, but this was certainly a time to try. Cade shook his head as he leaned over to cut a section of Darin's tunic off and dipped it in the brook.

"Don't think anything of it." He said brusquely, "I swore an oath." Elaina recoiled from the harshness of his tone. Reading the hurt in her face, he sighed and amended, "I never should have left. You were right—I am not very good at . . . this." He admitted, taking her hands and cleaning them on the cloth. "I will improve, if you help me."

Elaina did her best to keep her eyes in her head. _That was a turn-around!_ Hearing a Watcher apologize was astonishing, like watching a sheep and a wolf curl up together in front of a fire. Cade didn't notice, now wiping off the black steel blade with the rag and tossing it back to its owner.

"Help you?" she managed.

"Yes, tell me when I am doing something wrong—or tell me what it is, since it is clear when you're angry." Cade observed, "I got used to giving orders, but you are the Wielder, I am the Watcher. I will leave the commands to you." He finished, resolute.

As gratifying as that sounded, Elaina didn't think it was practical. Cade could force himself into an obedient Watcher, but they had just escaped from a life like that. There was little sense in simply reversing the leash. She would not be anyone's Keravel, and he deserved the chance to really live, even with the link.

"I have a better idea, Cade. I will show you how to be a friend." His expression was inscrutable, studying her.

"A friend." He repeated, "I have never had a friend. Only a brother." Letting her go, Cade stood. "I think you might be the strangest person I've ever met." He said at last and offered his hand with a tiny, encouraging smile.

"Come then, friend, it's time to leave." Grinning broadly, Elaina took it and pulled herself up.

"That was exactly right."

CHAPTER 24  
_The Star_

Keravel watched the ceremony in silence as everyone else did. In the darkness, every star was visible from the top of the citadel of Hurndrith where they stood. Around the circle, he could just make out the faces of the Brothers from the light in their hands. The funeral rituals always made him feel like he stood in a ring of stars, as if he had already died himself, just as they were intended to.

His own star-light did not flicker in his hands as many others did when Brother Halyar's body was raised into the night on a spire of air. He joined in the slow, deep chanting that came next and walked in time with the incantations. The two circles moved opposite directions, with Keravel himself, Rechane and Losdar in the first going to the right, and Menkar, Segarin, Carinat, and Cianfar in the second moving left. They had burned Sirean's body the night before.

The Firstborn stepped and spoke exactly in time with the others, but he was not thinking of the soul of Brother Halyar and its journey to the heavens. He was not concerned with how bright or faint it would be. Keravel was counting.

Five dead, Abelmedar and Valmeran in the Rebellions years ago, Sirean and Halyar by the Antralian boy, and Gervain at Split Creek. One unsound of mind.

He glanced across at the fevered eyes of Segarin, who had not taken Sirean's death well—they were blood-brothers. _His passion may be useful, like a rabid dog can be useful against your enemies, so long as it does not bite you first._

Then there were other numbers. _Four at Hurndrith who will be loyal: Rechane, Carinat , Menkar, and Losdar, one who will not be—Cianfar. Two abroad: Terlum, and Dracen._ Keravel doubted Terlum would actively join a rebellion, but neither would he return after word of this great failure reached him. Dracen, though, had the steel to revolt. He had also never liked Keravel's appointment to Firstborn. _And of course, he and Monren survived Isolban together._

Keravel glanced up at the heavens. _Six of us that can be counted on, if indeed Segarin can keep his wits about him. Against four, if I am truly unlucky under the stars._

He preferred more certain odds _,_ though he did not think all five would oppose him. _Only Dracen really has the nerve for it, and Monren, now that Gervaine has been killed. Cianfar has the nerve as well, but his ridiculous sense of honor will demand that he confront me—I can take care of him then. But two could be enough, with the girl._ There would be no trapping her again, he knew. _This time she will have to die, or she will never let me live._

Word had gone out to every city offering rewards for information and promising retribution for those who aided the Wielder or her Watcher. _They may have slipped through my noose of Wind—where did the chit learn to Scatter the Winds?—but time is running out. Arith is not large enough for a pair like that to hide._

Miranya wrinkled her nose at the smell that filtered among the trees. Darin was a fool, she'd told him this wouldn't work. She waved her hand. Roots of snaked out of the dark earth, engulfing the body and burying it deep in the dirt. A finger twitched, and grass ran across the black soil, sprouting to full growth in moments.

They'd both seen something they wanted, but Darin was rash. Somehow she'd find those two again. When she did, she would be more careful. The moment she laid eyes on them she knew, even if he was calling himself something else: his name was Cade. She also knew he wasn't one of hundreds of Antralian boys that age named after the prince. He _was_ the prince, Cade A'lan Gidedrian.

He hadn't recognized her—Miranya had changed since the fall of their homeland. Then she had been a scrawny child, dark-haired, dark-eyed like nearly every other girl in Antral, his little sister's playmate, little Mira. Her eyes were grey now, and no man would ever call her scrawny. A smile twisted her luscious, ruby-red lips.

All she had to do was find them and take care of the wench. Then Prince Cade would be hers, just like her childhood dreams.

As they had before, Cade and Elaina traveled from dawn until dusk, stopping only for a brief lunch at noon. Everything else had changed. Elaina was no longer frustrated, angry, or sharp, and Cade managed to speak to her much more like a normal traveling companion.

Each day ended with a comfortable goodnight, and each day began with Elaina's cheerful "Good morning!" while Cade made breakfast for both of them. The two weeks it took to get to Hennelea went by faster than any one hour had gone before. They began to hope they had truly escaped.

They rode to the city gates at nightfall.

"Who goes there?" a bored voice came from the guard's stand, followed by a worn and rumpled man in a chain mail tunic and half asleep.

"Travelers. We're meeting a ship here." Cade informed him. They _were_ meeting a ship here, in that they would be getting on one, but the implication that any one ship was planning to take them on was false. The guard didn't seem interested in pursuing it.

"Names?"

"Master Dominic and Mistress Maile of Lotriel, Amanheld." Cade replied, hooking his thumbs through his belt like a weary man might.

"Do you know of any place to sell these?" he asked offhand, gesturing to the horses, "It isn't worth it to bring them aboard." Cade explained. The guard shrugged.

"Give the tracks a try. All manner of horseflesh bought and sold there, running stock or no." he offered without enthusiasm.

"I shall, and thank you for your trouble, sir." Cade said heartily, pressing a silver into the man's hand. "Come, my Lady, we'll find an inn. I'll deal with the horses on the morrow as the good man suggests." He said to Elaina, who answered faintly for the benefit of the guard.

"Oh good, my Lord. I do so need to rest, and we must find a pleasant place for the poor animals. We've become such companions, I hate to leave them." Cade nodded his approval and led her deeper into the city with the wave of the disinterested guard.

They rode past a good number of inns before stopping at one called the Three Sail Bounty, with a great carved ship hanging over the door. It was a decent place, quiet and well lit.

The stable boy came to take their animals with a smile, and the innkeeper, a somewhat dour and stringy old man, didn't try to overcharge them. That was unusual in Hennelea, where nearly everything for sale worked on a sliding scale. The finer your clothes and titles, the more everything cost you, whether it was a loaf of bread or a string of Morayen pearls.

Traveling as husband and wife, they shared a room. It was well enough that they did. Selling the horses was just barely going to cover the cost of passage to Vinyam, and the money was running low. The coin Cade brought with them in their sudden flight barely covered their stay in Beradon and the room here.

Elaina slept on the bed and Cade on the floor—though this time she insisted on giving him a pillow and the blanket to replace his saddlebags and cloak. When she suggested they alternate who got the bed each night, Cade drew the line, reminding her that she had slept on a pallet of hay while he had a proper bed during her captivity. Neither mentioned sharing the bed as they had during the blizzard.

Cade decided it was best that he go alone into the city in the morning to sell the horses and look for a ship to Vinyam. In a city so large as Hennelea, there were bound to be agents of the Drethlords.

All it took was one _ashendari_ to catch sight of those grey eyes and match her with the description Keravel was sure to be distributing, and they were finished. Unhappy as she was to be left with the baggage in the first real city she'd ever been in, Elaina understood and resigned herself to a day of boredom. Once he was out on the street, Cade had never been so relieved that she listened.

In the city proper, there was no sign that the Drethlords were missing what they most prized. Vendors filled the streets crowded with lords and ladies in litters and on fine horses. Wagons and carriages inched through the masses, and hordes of the poorer people filled in every gap. Heading to the tracks with the horses, Cade moved through the crowd in silence and was grateful for the anonymity.

As the gate guard had said, every sort of horseflesh was for sale in the space around the racing circuit. Wandering past broken-down nags and fine stallions, Cade approached a man with horses slightly less fine than the ones he was selling.

Tired though they were, the Drethlords did not tolerate weakness in their animals—even these wagon-horses were strong, hardy animals with good lines. The man wore the rough clothes of the country and glanced up at him with a keen eye.

"Looking to buy, or sell?" he asked in a low voice. Either by the quick glance under bushy brows or the gravelly voice, Cade was reminded of nothing so much as a Cavilnese wolf hound.

"Selling." He answered, "My wife and I are taking a ship from here, so we won't be needing them. Are you interested?" The man shrugged one shoulder and moved to the horses, clicking and making odd little noises to make their ears prick forward. With a practiced eye, he peered at their teeth, examined their hooves, and ran his hands across their chests and flanks. When finished, he straightened with a grunt.

"Good animals, and young, though they've been working hard. Could use a rest, but I imagine you know that." He said gruffly, eyeing Cade."How many did you kill, riding like that?" He asked bluntly.

"Two." Cade replied evenly. "But those are not the ones I am selling."

"No, you've given these a bit of a rest, anyway. They're awake and sound. Not quite so fast as a hull and sails though, I would bet." He noted. Cade didn't comment.

"The name's Elyot. I've got twenty marks for the both of them, and ten more for the saddles and bridals."

"You'll make more than that in a season, using them as brood mares."

"I don't deny it. But you don't have time to wait a season and breed horses, do you?" Elyot pointed out with a wry grin.

"It's a fair price. Be good to them, they've had it hard with us." Cade said in agreement, handing over the reins with a pat to the bay's cheek. The mare's dark eyes considered him thoughtfully.

"Aye, they have. And not likely any better from whoever you stole them from." Elyot said dryly. Cade looked up and rested one hand on the hilt of the black sword at his waist. Elyot spread his hands.

"No need for that frog-sticker." He said, "I can see you know how to use it, and it's not my business anyway. I warrant you had reason." Elyot said with a shrug.

"True. Theirs are not the hides our owners would be most happy to reclaim." Cade agreed darkly.

"So it's not just the horses that have had a bad way of it." Elyot said, "and that's something I can understand. Seeing the way men treat such smart and lovely beasts," he ran one hand down the mare's nose, "that are happy to help you. It is no surprise they'd treat a man as badly, or a woman."

Cade said nothing. A man who did to a horse what Keravel did to Elaina would be run out of any town in Arith for his cruelty. A man who did it to a dog would have, for that, or even a rat. Nodding to himself, Elyot counted out thirty gold marks into a leather pouch and tossed it to Cade.

"Thirty, as promised. Enjoy your sailing." Cade nodded and turned away to lose himself in the chaos around the race track. He tensed when Elyot grabbed his arm.

"In case you find it hard to gain passage," the man growled in his ear, "try the Wave People. They care less for the rules of the land, if you know my meaning." Cade nodded again. With a last significant look, Elyot settled back to tying his new horses to his line.

Drifting into the crowd, Cade made his way north through the city to the port. With thirty marks, he was confident he could find a ship that would take them to Vinyam. He was certain they could be out of Hennelea before nightfall. Then he reached the docks.

CHAPTER 25  
_The People_

Cade knew at once they would never get a ship to Vinyam. Suddenly, it was all he could hope for that he'd get back to the inn and get Elaina out of the city before dawn. The crowd was no thinner, though it was certainly louder and dirtier than before, but Cade felt like every eye was on him.

His face was plastered over every spare surface, and beside it was Elaina's. Beneath the faces the papers declared in bold letters:

REWARD  
10,000 HURNDRITH MARKS  
for those who return these  
FUGITIVES to the BRETHREN.  
Extremely DANGEROUS.  
Wanted ALIVE.

Cade sauntered as casually as he could to a shadowed doorway, stripping one of the papers from the wall as he went. In his dark alcove, he studied it.

Ten thousand gold marks of the heaviest weight. That was a King's ransom, he knew. A death warrant. There wasn't a single person in Hennelea that would pass a chance to earn that sum. _True spirits! How did I think we might escape the Drethlords?_ _They have the money, the men, and the endless energy to pursue what they want._ _All we have is a single man's sword and a single caster's webs._

Two against the whole world, it seemed. With a long look across the forest of masts of the ships they would never get on, Cade spotted the tall, narrow spires of a ship of the Seviade Cotar, the People of the Waves. As little as they cared for the troubles of the shores they visited, there was no way the consummate merchants would trade a year's worth of profits and the favor of Hurndrith for fifteen marks a head and a trip to across the Yaltiran.

He leaned farther into the shadows as two men walked by in the uniform of harbor officials. All ships coming into or leaving the harbor were required to have one aboard, ostensibly to prevent collisions and check for smuggled goods, but everyone knew they got a cut of the smuggler's profits. That was just Hennelea's way of taxing the black market.

"They stopped the ship at the mouth of the harbor and searched the blasted thing from bilge to sails!"

"Did they find the false floor?"

"Yes! The caster found it, cool as ice with those unnatural eyes, and the others pried the whole thing up. I was sweating like a bluefin on hot sand, I tell you."

"They took it all, didn't they!" the other man wailed, "All that I paid to get you this job gone for naught!" Cade shook his head in the shadows. _That's Hennelea to the core: bribery to get a job that involved officially extorting smugglers_. No wonder Hurndrith was stepping in.

"They didn't!" The first man exclaimed. Cade's eyes narrowed and he slipped out of his hiding place to follow the men through the crowd.

"What?"

"I don't know why, but they sent us along as if they'd not seen a half a hold of smuggled goods. And I've heard the same thing from Iago's men." They shook their heads and muttered.

"I wonder what they're looking for . . ."

Cade side-stepped into an alleyway and began to jog, twisting and turning through the back streets to the inn. He knew exactly what the agents were looking for.

Elaina had just finished mending the holes in her stockings when Cade slipped back into their room. The leather purse he tossed on the table landed heavily with the clink of coins.

"You sold the horses?"  
"Yes. A fair price."

"And a ship?"

"There are no ships for us, Elaina." Cade said with a sigh.

"No ships!" she cried, bewildered, "I thought this was one of the great ports!"

"It is. There are plenty of ships in the harbor, but none that will take us."

"You can't possibly mean that. Surely one of them—" she cut off when he tossed the crumpled paper in her lap. "Ten thousand!" she breathed, eyes drawn to the large letters below their pictures. "You could buy the whole of Tar Haviel with that!"

"You could buy half of Hennelea," Cade corrected, "and they have. Half this city would sell their own mothers for a sum like that." He said, settling onto a stool beside the table with a tired slump to his shoulders. "If they have these at the gates, I've no idea how we'll ever get out. If they have _ashendari_ watching, we never will, even if you can hide your face from everyone else."

"There isn't anyone who would take us?" she asked dejectedly.

"The Seviade Cotar might. The People of the Waves are hard to predict. If the reward went against their idea of honor or if they took a liking to us they might help, but we can't even get to their ship without being noticed—especially you. A woman stands out at the docks like a black leopard among tancats, and once they're looking you'll be recognized." He tipped his head back, eyes closed.

"If we could get aboard, is it worth the risk? What if they prefer the reward?" Elaina asked.

"They may not—they always liked Antralians. We could swim to shore if we had to, I suppose." Cade mused.

"I could cast." She amended.

"But we can't get aboard." Cade pointed out.

"Because a woman would stand out." Elaina repeated, and Cade nodded the affirmative. "Well, then I won't be a woman." She declared. He opened one eye to observe her doubtfully.

"Too risky. An _ashendari_ could see right through Illusion, and we wouldn't even know until they had you."

"I wasn't going to use Illusion." Elaina explained, "I'll hide my hair under a hat, rub dirt on my face, dress like the boys that roam around the docks. No one minds them—I'll be invisible."

Cade opened his eyes, considering for a brief moment. His gaze raked over her once, and she blushed. _As always._ _Men in Amanheld must have a devil of a time if all the women blush as soon as you look at them._

"No." he decided at last. "I heard that agents are tearing the ships leaving the harbor apart, and they're not after smuggled goods." He could see that she understood.

"Oh." Elaina frowned, staring at the floorboards in thought.

"A letter then? Could we send a letter to Vinyam telling them to meet us elsewhere?" Cade looked at her thoughtfully. _That isn't a terrible idea._

"There'd be the risk of ambush if it fell into the wrong hands." He mused.

"Then we meet somewhere the enemy can't blend in. Someplace remote, deserted. If they're enemies, we'll know soon enough to get away." Elaina reasoned. Cade nodded slowly. _That just might work. Meet the Brethren at an abandoned port—plenty of time to see them coming—I could see through any webs set to deceive us . . ._

"Antral." He said decisively. "The Drethlords have no friends there, and we can wait at one of the old port cities—no chance of missing each other. It would take us about as long to get there as to get a message to Vinyam and have them meet us." Elaina grinned.

"So we ask the People of the Waves to take the letter, which will get past the agents at the harbor mouth, and we sneak out of the city and wait in Antral."

"It might work." Cade admitted, "Though we'd still have to get out of the city, that's easier than on a ship with agents around. I'll sent one of the stable boys to get some urchin's clothes for you, and get some parchment from the innkeeper. We'll write the letter, and go to the docks tonight."

"I can come too?" Elaina asked in surprise.

"You might help. The People of the Waves might be friendlier to a caster, and if not . . ." he paused at the door. "If not, then I'd rather we tried our escape together. Watchers and Wielders should work together." He declared, then slipped out the door.

He felt the danger of their plan hum in his blood. It was the best way he could think of, but every second in Hennelea felt like another step towards the headsman or worse. Elaina was handling it beautifully, though. Sneaking out in a city full of agents and bounty hunters to convince the Seviade Cotar to deliver a forbidden letter seemed to have awakened her sense of adventure. _Truth bless her, she's recovering better than I ever would have expected. Poor girl has probably had far more adventure than she ever wanted._

Pausing at the door of the inn as if he were fixing his boot, Cade glanced around the street before he stepped out among the people. There was no one particularly suspicious, no one even gave him a second glance. He made his gait awkward and tried to relax the severity of his expression to look more like a minor lord from the edges of the city than a highly dangerous fugitive. He ducked into the first bookstore he could find.

Bookstores always had parchment, quills, and ink in addition to any volumes they'd invested in. Books were expensive and the market for them limited, so booksellers kept a constant stream of little business coming through their shops by selling similar odds and ends. Although it was tempting to go read the titles on the shelves in the back, Cade kept his focus on the front of the store, gathering simple parchment, a single quill, the smallest bottle of ink, and a stick of black sealing wax, which was the cheapest.

He kept his head down as he paid, and he was back in the inn with Elaina in a matter of minutes. Setting it all on the table, he hesitated,

"My handwriting is distinctive." He said at last, "It would be better if you could write the letter?" He didn't want to ask her outright if she was literate—it would embarrass her if she wasn't. She only smiled at his half-question and picked up the quill.

"Very well." Elaina said, trimming the nib quickly. "What shall I say?"

Relieved, Cade began to dictate, "'To our loyal brothers,' not capitalized. They'll know which brothers we mean and there's no need to spell it out for prying eyes." he explained.

"Then, 'We are disappointed by Hennelea, and cannot find a ship suitable for our journey.'" Elaina shook her head as she wrote. _The truth we are telling is certainly misleading._ Cade went on,"'If you wish to meet us still, please send a ship to the old southern port—the jewel of my homeland.' Sign it, 'With our hopes.'"

"That's it?" Elaina asked. "You didn't tell them where to go! How will they even know it's us and not the Drethlords trying to trick them?" Cade fished a chain out of his shirt and held up a large silver ring.

"Monren knows my seal. It won't be in blue wax, but he'll know it's from me. And they will sail to Ashira, where we'll meet them."

"Ashira?"

"Of the three cities in the cliffs, Ashira is the closest," Cade explained, "That was where we spent all our summers, my mother and the three of us. My father joined us when he could." He mused thoughtfully, "How many perfect days we spent there." Elaina still frowned.

"I didn't write anything about a place called Ashira," she reminded him.

"You did. Ashira was called the jewel, and they'll know it is Antral we mean and not Amanheld because of the 'southern.'" He assured her, taking up the paper and blowing on it to dry the ink.

"You have a good hand." Cade said, reading over it. He'd seen clerks with poorer handwriting. Hers was simple, but elegant, and obviously female. If it did get intercepted, perhaps that would help disguise the seal's origin. Elaina smiled at his compliment. _She truly has a catching smile—warm and real._

"My uncle taught me. I suppose he knew I would need it, even if I didn't at the time."

"He was a caster as well?" Cade asked, looking at the letter. _She never speaks of her family._ _Then again, we seldom speak of mine, and she knew Corin._

"A Guardian, yes. My parents, myself, and my father's brother are the only ones I know of who lived more than a few years after the Invasion." She said, heating the stick of sealing wax over the lamp on the table. _Truth, but that is even worse than Antral—four survivors, out of how many?_

Elaine rotated the stick of wax over the flame until it was ready. She let it drip over the folded edge of the paper. Cade reached forward and pressed his seal into the hot black wax. In black it looked sinister, a single curling wave in an oval.

"This is different from Corin's?" she pressed, "They will not fear a trap?"

"His ring was the opposite of mine." Cade explained, "the wave turns the other way. Mine is intended to face west in the wax, because I was Prince of the Morayan Isles. My brother was Prince of Doran, the plateau that rises in the east, so his went that way."

"Will Monren know this? Will he remember?"

"He commented on it once, that mine went left and I am the right-hand sword—the a'lan. I doubt he forgets anything." Cade said without expression, staring at his ring before he dropped it on its chain and tucked it back under his shirt. _Corin. Who is Prince of Doran, now? What is the West without the East to balance it, what is the right hand without the left?_

"The right-handed sword? What does that mean?" Elaina asked, confused.

Cade went to his bags and pulled out the rolled up cloak that held his Antralian swords. He hadn't been wearing them since they fled, lest it draw attention.

"In Antral, we fought with two swords, one in each hand. The one for the right is called the a'lan," he picked them up to show her, "and the one for the left, the e'dan. My mother named us after them because we looked so alike it was difficult to tell us apart, like the swords." Elaina nodded, but ask more about his family. _Families are a touchy subject when they've been murdered._

A knock at the door broke the stillness, and Cade tossed the coat back over the swords before he answered it. One of the stable boys stood there, pile of grubby clothes in his hands. Cade handed him a few coins and shut the door.

"Your costume," he said, holding out the ragged heap. Elaina grimaced.

"Well, I will certainly smell enough for the task." She said, taking them from him with two fingers and a doubtful look. Cade hoped she knew a web to drive out vermin. As if she'd read his mind, there was a flash of heat around the clothes.

"There. That should take care of any little livestock the previous owner may have kept." She said, shaking out the rags. Cade glanced at the pillow and blanket he had used, folded neatly on the foot of the bed. _I do hope—_

Elaina followed his gaze, "I did those last night," she assured him, "Don't worry. I clean the water, too. And check everything for poison. We should be alright." Cade blinked.

He didn't know she'd been doing all that. It was sweet somehow, that she'd been looking out for both of them that way without saying anything. _I ought to have guessed traveling with a Creator would be different._

"Turn around, would you?" she asked, "I want to make sure these things fit."

Cade obliged. There was a short struggle and the sound of fabric rustling, then there was a long pause. Just when he was about to ask if he might turn back around, she spoke again.

"Don't look, but I don't think this is going to work."

Facing the far wall, Cade crossed his arms. "Why not? If you're worried about the way you look, it is only—"

"Ever worn a camisole under your trousers?" she interrupted bluntly. _Oh._

"I confess I never have." He replied, struggling not to laugh at the picture in his head. "What will you do?"

The sound of dressing went on, then the _whist_ of her retying bodice strings. Cade fought the sudden urge to turn around. _Steady, what's that you're thinking?_ He asked himself with a frown. Her voice made him jump.

"There's a store down the street with fabric on display, I saw it coming in. I'll be right back—you can watch from the window." She said, snagging the purse from the table as she left. Before he could protest, Elaina was gone. Shaking his head both at her and at himself, Cade followed her out. He would loiter by the stables. If something happened, the window was too far to help.

As promised, it didn't take her long. An hour later she was finished cutting out a pair of soft cotton trousers to wear underneath the street urchin's. While she sewed, Cade lounged by the fire watching her work. She'd never win prizes for her needlework, but he'd seen worse. At least she was quick about it.

By the time dusk fell over the city, Elaina was winding her hair up on her head and squashing the hat over it. She took a half-burned stick from the fireplace and smudged her hands and face with it, then rubbed it around with her sleeves and collar and wiped her hands on her trousers. Thoroughly filthy, she turned to Cade with her hands out.

"You're a perfect disaster," he said in answer to her unspoken question, "Let's go."

Elaina snuck out first through the back courtyard, slipping into an alley to wait for Cade. Dressed in his usual black, Cade followed.

As night darkened, the streets emptied. Instead of being concerned with the cutpurses and vagabonds that were the only other persons in the alleys, Cade was grateful their reputation kept most of the city indoors or on well-lit streets. After all, who would try to rob a vagabond and dock rat in the dim alleyways? And if anyone tried that, who would succeed in robbing a Guardian and a Watcher?

A few times the narrow alleys turned the wrong way, or came to abrupt dead-ends, and they had to go back. Elaina found the darkness didn't bother her with Cade beside her. In fact, it seemed positively friendly. She shied away from the bright rectangles that windows cast on the street.

It took two hours before they were crouched at the shadowed opening across the wide dock area from the ship of the Seviade Cotar, proclaimed the _Sea Hawk_ by the large white letters on the stern.

"You go first," Cade instructed, "meander about like you're looking for dropped coins or the like. Wait for me by that pile of crates at the bottom of the ramp—I don't want you to go up there alone."

Nodding, Elaina straightened and slunk out of the alley, stopping here and there to paw through the jumbles of trash and junk. _No one will even look at me. I'm not a woman, I'm a filthy urchin picking through garbage. No one will even look._ It was a speech to herself as well as a prayer to the true spirits. _No one will even look._

She was right. A few dock guards strode past, and a harried figure strode quickly under the inadequate light of the dock lamps, but no one spared a glance for the urchin.

When it was clear, Cade strode out of the alley and straight up the ramp of the Wave People's ship. Elaina rose from beside the heap of broken and rotting crates to follow him. At the top of the ramp, a man rose up to block their way aboard. He was clad in only baggy white trousers, gathered at the knee.

"You may not board." He said gravely, arms crossed across his bare chest. Elaina felt exceedingly exposed, teetering on the ramp above the dark water. Now _that_ seemed threatening.  
"We seek to negotiate the price of passage." Cade replied.

"This is a ship of trade, not of passengers—there are no cabins. Seek elsewhere."

"We seek passage for this." Cade answered, holding up the letter. Frowning, the man uncrossed his arms and reached out to take it. He examined the seal.

"This is yours?" he asked Cade, peering into his face. In reply, Cade pulled the chain from his shirt to show the ring. Frowning, the man returned the letter.

"I will take your request to the Sailmaster. You may board." He said, stepping back from their path and leaving them alone on the deck. The guard retuned shortly with another man in similar dress, only he wore wide bands of gold above each elbow. It drew attention to the bulging muscles.

With them came a woman whose appearance made Elaina's eyes widen. She wore trousers like the men, gathered at the ankle, but they were brilliantly red even in the dim light. A ruby would have been jealous. Her top was just as vibrantly yellow, but that wasn't its most startling feature. Instead of sleeves, it had broad straps that looped around her tanned arms just off the crest of her shoulder. If that wasn't scandalous enough, it ended well short of her naval, which had a strange tattoo around it. Her only jewelry was a pair of matching golden bracelets two fingers thick, one on each wrist.

The outfit was exotic enough to attract the attention of anyone nearby, but if it had been a burlap sack, the way she moved would have drawn every eye. The woman strolled across the deck with the graceful sway of someone used to adjusting to a rocking ship, and there was simply no way to avoid noticing the curves that only bare skin covered.

Elaina shot a glance at Cade, who appeared unmoved. She wasn't buying it. _Anyone_ would have noticed that woman, even an Antralian Watcher. _A half-dead blind man would have noticed._

"Welcome to our decks," the second man with the massive arms greeted them. "I am Sailmaster Hamal, and this is my Starmistress Hatysa. You have met Sailman Izar."

Cade bowed slightly, touching his fingers to his forehead. Elaina imitated him.

"You seek to send a letter, Cade A'lan Gidedrian?" The Sailmaster asked.

"Yes," He answered. Elaina would have asked why they knew his seal, but she was too preoccupied watching the Starmistress' peculiar behavior. Hatysa stood with her head tipped back to stare at the sky. For a moment, she watched the heavens with wide eyes. When she looked down again her smile was broad, on the verge of breaking into laughter.

"Welcome to our decks, those who come with the stars. The Wave Star passes between the Undying Lights—it is a night of prophecy and prophecy fulfilled." Hatysa said. Hamal glanced at her in surprise.

"Do the prophesies mention carrying a letter?" Elaina began impatiently. All eyes turned to her save Cade's, who flinched. She wasn't supposed to speak—her voice was hardly masculine. After a moment's inspection of her disguise, Sailman Izar reached out and swiped the hat from her head.

"You are not the boy you seem," Hamal offered dryly as her hair tumbled down in honey-brown waves. Elaina blushed. "Why keep such beauty hidden, Gidedrian?" he asked. Cade did not have time to answer before Hatysa cut in with quick words and a fervent tone, eyes locked on Elaina.

"We will do as you ask and sail where you steer. What is our cargo and our bearing? Speak and we will listen." Cade's eyes flickered up to the heavens for an instant as if he could read whatever it was that the woman saw there. Then he glanced over to Elaina, evidently uncertain.

The two other men gaped at the Starmistress. Since nobody else made a sound, and Hatysa was waiting, Elaina went ahead and answered.

"We wish a letter taken to a man called Monren, who awaits us at Vinyam."  
"I have beheld the Star at the Dawn, and we obey." Hatysa replied, still beaming. Touching her forehead with her fingertips, she took the letter.

"There are inspectors at the mouth of the harbor—they would be happy to find this." Cade warned.

"We have seen them," the Sailmaster said, just as Hatysa promised,

"We will evade them." Hamal turned to her slowly.

"Starmistress," he began in a tightly constrained voice. "Do you think to become the first Sailmaster who wore bracelets instead of bands?" He asked, fingering the gold ones on his arms pointedly.

"I invoke the right to follow the stars, Sailmaster. It is yours to obey, salt of my heart." Hatysa replied quietly. The Sailmaster gave her a long, searching look, then squinted at the heavens. Baffled, Elaina searched their faces, trying to decide if they'd all gone mad.

"So the stars speak tonight," he resigned himself to his orders, "we must follow. We sail to Vinyam, and your letter remains unread until it arrives in the hands of Monren, on my sails." He promised.

"We thank you," Cade said cautiously.

"It is we who are thankful, our honor to serve," Hatysa rejoined, touching her forehead again with a smile. "You will leave the city?"

"Tonight, yes." Cade agreed tersely. The Sailmaster and Starmistress nodded. Bowing again, they returned the way they had come, silhouettes swaying with the gentle rock of the ship.

"I have seen your faces before this night, I think." Sailman Izar said, leaning down to pick up a loose rope. "So I think that perhaps many in the city have seen the same. Even the guards at the gates." Cade didn't interrupt, and Izar went on, winding a rope into a coil around his arm.

"There is a strange thing I have seen from the decks," he continued, nodding toward the city. "The houses on the south edge, they are built right into the wall. The roofs come almost to the battlements," He noted.

"Thank you," Elaina said. They seemed sincere, even if they were out of their minds. _Perhaps this is normal among the Seviade?_

"The Starmistress wishes to help you," he said with a shrug, "so I do as well." He thrust the coil of rope at them. "Take this and use it well. The guards walk the walls only once in the hour." Cade took it with a nod.

"The inspectors of the port have just passed us. Go, and the stars guide you on your journey."

Cade touched his forehead, and replied, "May they shine on the waves for you and yours." Then, taking Elaina's hand, he pulled her down the ramp and back into the deep shadows of Hennelea

CHAPTER 26  
_The Walk_

"Ho, there!" a wrinkled old man called to them from a wagon as it trundled by. It was still early morning but they had been walking since they climbed down the walls of Hennelea in the middle of the night. Elaina had stumbled a few times, but she had not complained.

She was nervous about her eyes—she hadn't cast Illusion in a while and couldn't check her work since Illusion wouldn't reflect and he could never see it. Cade stared straight ahead, she kept her head down, and they kept walking.

"I say, there!" The man pulled the plodding cart horses to a halt. "Would you and the lady be needing a lift? We're going south as far as the Nerith River, if you care for a ride. It's a mighty long walk and not too civilized a road, if you know my meaning." He said with a wink.

Cade finally stopped to examine him and his wife. The man was younger than he seemed, Cade was sure, with skin darkened and lined by the elements like the roots of an old oak, likely around forty or so. Between that, his sturdy but well-worn and simple clothes, the bags of seed in the back of the wagon, and his destination, Cade guessed him to be a farmer. His wife wore simple clothes as well, and if her face was less weather-beaten under her deep bonnet, it was just as warm and open.

"We would be grateful for the help," Cade said, taking Elaina's hand and leading her over. "I'm Dominic, and this is Maile. What might we pay you for the trouble?"

"Never mind that, lad, always enough room at the table for a few more friends. The wagon's a going south with or without you, just the same. Join in, join in." He replied with a smile, waving away Cade's purse before he even loosed it from his belt.

"Our thanks, sir—"

"Pyers Dawson, and this is my lovely bride, Braewyn." He introduced them both. "The young ones are waiting at home with her mother—they'll be right sad to have missed meeting you, sure." He said frankly. "Though some of them are not so young as that—you look about the age of our oldest." He said with another broad smile.

"Up you get, there. Sit on down." Pyers settled them in behind the couple on a seat made of a long sack of beans slung over the tops of three little barrels—a year's supply of brandy, he informed them.

It was better than walking, and Cade knew that Elaina could use the rest, but balancing on a sack of beans in the back of a rickety wagon was hardly comfortable. He preferred a saddle or his own two feet any day. At least then he would have been able to go up ahead a bit and miss out on the chatter of the amiable farmer Dawson. His wife was mercifully a quiet woman, as if the Neverseen had plucked her from the Well of Fates to make up for her husband's talkativeness.

In a matter of minutes Pyers had asked where they were from, where they were going, how they'd met, and a half dozen questions about their families and their futures. Cade found himself spinning a tale of young lovers running from a wealthy but boorish suitor, seeking refuge in the forgotten south until the uproar blew over.

Cade wished he had been able to think up a better story. He had no idea how the man believed that he and Elaina could be passionately in love. He knew he was less than expressive, while Elaina was as modest as ever. They made an effort to convince the Dawsons. He threw his arm around her protectively, and she brought him his meal that evening, then made a quiet show of stitching up a hole in his shirt.

Retiring to sleep was awkward, even with the two of them on the ground while the Dawson's hollowed out a spot among the other items in the wagon bed. There was enough of a history that Cade wanted to flinch when they went to their blankets, and he couldn't imagine she felt completely at ease either.

Fortunately, Pyers took Elaina's shyness to be the mark of a newlywed from the north, blushing to show affection in front of strangers, and he chuckled at it instead of wondering. Cade thought Braewyn looked oddly at them now and again. Once or twice he caught the question in her eyes when she watched them, but she never gave words to her thoughts, the blessed woman

Elaina peered past the little house on wheels she shared with E'dan and A'lan. Her chains clacked together loosely in her hands. If she could make it to the blacksmiths, perhaps she could break the chains. As she prowled between the wagons of the caravan, a shout went up.

"There she goes! After her!" Elaina took off, darting between horses and great wooden wheels. Red chains trailed after, marking her path as the dogs barked and men yelled. Her lungs burned and her legs felt like water as she ran. There! The forge! Elaina reached out for a hammer that lay across the anvil and—

She was jerked to a halt by the collar around her neck. Behind her came Keravel, reeling in the Bloodstone chain hand over hand. Tears filled her eyes as she stretched her fingers out to the hammer.

"He's coming, he's coming," she panted, straining for the handle. Her fingers brushed the wood worn smooth by a thousand uses. Behind her, Keravel laughed.

"Too late," he hissed, yanking her back with the chain so that she tumbled onto her back. Above her, his eyes burned like embers, and the metal wand in his hand glowed with heat. "Too late, little sparrow." The Firstborn smiled, leaning for her with the hot metal.

"No, no, no—please! Please, no." she cried, curling into a ball.

"Sing for me, sparrow." He commanded, and the metal hissed as it burned into her skin. Elaina screamed.

Cade awoke well before dawn. The moon was huge and bright, casting everything in a thin silver light. Beside him, closer to the wagon, Elaina was murmuring and moving about in her sleep.

"He's coming, he's coming," she breathed in her dream.

"Maile," he whispered, reaching for her shoulder with a frown. "Maile, wake up!" Crying out softly, she cowered in her blankets.

"No, no, no—please! Please, no." she begged. With a glance over her shaking form to the stillness of the wagon, Cade leaned over her to whisper in her ear.

"Elaina! Wake up!" Grey eyes fluttered open. Staring wildly, Elaina gasped and flinched from him with a look of unbridled terror. Cade felt it like a kick in the stomach.

"It was a nightmare," he managed through clenched teeth, "go back to sleep." He yanked his blankets over himself roughly as he turned away from her.

So _I am in her nightmares. So she shrinks from me like a poisonous viper. I stood there and watched her tortured, didn't I? Led her to that little red tent more times than I want to remember, didn't I? How else would she dream of me but in nightmares?_ He shut his eyes against the moonlight and deliberately ignored the shifting of blankets behind him.

"Dominic?" came the quiet voice in the stillness. He did not react.

"Cade . . ." she said again, softer, moving closer to avoid being overheard. "I would have flinched from anyone, you know. I was still half-asleep." Silently, Cade wondered how she'd known exactly what bothered him. Perhaps he was far more transparent than he thought. _Perhaps I am only transparent to her._

"I know you wouldn't hurt me," she tried again.

"And what of handing you over to Keravel? I should sooner have given my life protecting a woman, but I stood by and watched. No! I even took you to him!" He whispered vehemently into the darkness.

"You _were_ giving up your life to save another—Sarina. My claim was never greater than a sister's, Cade. You did what you had to, and you never laid a hand on me, though Keravel would have approved if you had." She pointed out.

"I did." He maintained grimly. "I struck you that first day, at Split Creek." Cade insisted. _I will not hide my crimes, once committed. A vicious man I may be, but not a coward too._

"I'm surprised you remember that." She did sound vaguely surprised.

"Why? Did you think I have hit so many women I cannot remember them all?" he asked bitterly. "No wonder I am a nightmare of yours."

"That is not what I meant, and you are not—you saved me from it when you took that collar off." She reminded him. Cade snorted.

"Which you would not have needed if I had not put it on you in the first place."

"If you hadn't chained me, another _ashendari_ would have. But would any of other have freed me?" Elaina shot back. "Only you and Corin, the instant you discovered you were not protecting Sarina." She laid a hand lightly on his shoulder, urging him to turn and face her, but he resisted.

"Even so. I struck you." Cade maintained.

To his surprise, she huffed, "Only to get my teeth off your brother—hardly in the realm of civilized behavior. I'd strike anything that bit me like an animal. You even resisted when I clawed your arm that day you took the knife from me; you still have the scars, in case you've forgotten," Elaina declared in quiet triumph.

"So you see? You feature in no nightmares of mine. _Dasfinya,_ " she promised, "Truly." She would not tell a lie in the old tongue. Cade rolled over to study her face, and she didn't move back despite his nearness.

"How do you do that?" he asked quietly, searching her grey eyes in the moonlight. She glanced away.

"What?"

"How do you take the worst things I've done, the darkest parts of my soul, and make them light?" Cade watched her with a small frown marring his forehead. Elaina considered him for a long moment, then her lips twitched mischievously.

"Magic!" she declared in a whisper, eyes laughing as she waved her fingers through the air. Cade held back a smile. _Here is a spirit that will not be repressed._

"Now sleep! And wake me from my nightmares—the ones that you won't be in." She instructed flippantly, turning in her blankets to face the wagon again. Cade shook his head and lay back, staring up into the heavens. He was asleep much sooner than he expected.

The Dawsons set a slow pace along the great road south, but Cade found it did not trouble him. Once Pyers was satisfied with Cade's story of young love, they talked of other things, and he could often retreat with Elaina to the wagon bed to sprawl across sacks of beans in a comfortable silence.

It was strange for him to live so sedately. Everything in his life had been discipline for so long. Even before the Invasion, his childhood had ended relatively early, replaced with the training he would need to take his father's place.

Watching Elaina, Cade found himself wondering if this was what she had been like before agents had been sent after her, before the chains and the Link and all of it.

Her smiles were quick and free and open, as was her laugh, and with each passing day she lost more of the sickly pallor chilling her skin. She was even making her dress look like a dress again, instead of a shapeless sack. Braewyn treated her like a grown daughter, and they could talk together for hours—something Cade was not altogether in favor of, since that left him with Pyers, a man who did not understand the concept of silence.

The four of them had been on the road together for nearly a fortnight when they reached the River Nerith. Although the Dawsons were not crossing, Pyers insisted on helping Cade pull the ferry across, drawing it hand over hand along the sturdy rope strung between the shores. In better times, it had been the business of some enterprising soul to shuttle people, wagons, and horses back and forth, but the ferry over the Nerith was long-since abandoned. There was little need for it—few ventured into the waste of Antral anymore.

Though they left the heavily-laden wagon on the north shore, Braewyn made the trip too, unwilling to stay behind and miss the proper goodbyes, she said. She and Elaina stood in the center of the raft, and the farmer's wife had one hand resting affectionately on the caster's shoulders. Cade wondered what these simple people would think if they knew exactly who the imposter newlyweds were.

"Well, here's our end then, I suppose." Pyers said frankly, offering his hand to Cade with a smile. "It made a pleasant trip, having you youngsters along. We thank you for it."

"On the contrary, sir, our thanks for making our walk that much shorter." Cade replied courteously.

"May the true spirits guide you," Braewyn said affectionately, patting Elaina's cheek like older women do. "They'll give you the peace you seek one day." She assured them both. Cade nodded, but Elaina replied with an enthusiastic hug.

"And may they be watching over you as well, and your family." The Wielder murmured over the woman's shoulder. For a moment, they held each other at arm's length.

"Perhaps we'll meet again." Elaina suggested.

"Perhaps," came Braewyn's response as she stepped back onto the raft. Pyers took twice as long to get the ferry back across to their wagon, not because he wasn't strong enough, but because he was constantly stopping to wave at them mid-stream. Shaking her head, Elaina waved back.

"An interesting couple," she said as they watched the little figures on the far side of the river clamber back up onto the wagon seat.

"Many are, if you look close enough." Cade agreed. Elaina glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"We're the proof of that."

Cade had no argument there. "Come, we've a long way to go yet," he said, setting off toward the west. It would take another ten days of steady walking along the faded and overgrown track that ran along the cliffs to get to Hennelea. Much of it was tediously similar, scrubby, pale green brush sweeping into a dusty and little-used path, but the first view of the Sea of Yaltiran was breathtaking. The two travelers reached the spot four days after leaving the Dawsons and the River Nerith.

Elaina stopped at the top of the rise, staring out over the endless water. She had seen the sea in Hennelea, but it had been a crowded one edged by the smudge of Ronam on the horizon. This was vast. It was immense.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Cade asked, coming up behind her. "Antralians have always been a people in love with the sea. We moved inland to defend the southern border and farm the good land, but we are of the sea. Our crown is called the Diadem of Storms after the ones that rise against these shores, and where all our forts are called after the great kings and warriors of our past, the cities by the sea are named for their loves."

"Who was Ashira, then?" Elaina asked, turning from the sea to watch him watch the waves. There was a softness around his eyes, and he looked peaceful. It was not an expression she had seen on him before.

"I'll tell you as we walk," he said, nodding to the left down the cliff-top road. "Don't get distracted by the view—a wrong step could be . . . unhealthy." Cade noted, peering down at the rocks below. With a shiver Elaina obeyed, keeping to the far edge of the path and ignoring the beacon of the sun's long glimmering finger across the water.

"Ashira was called the Jewel," Cade began as they walked, "She wed the third child of Gaildren and Aldebaron, a man named Landor. The southernmost fort at Landoram was built for him by his father, and the Prince was the commander there in the Great War."

"The Great War?"

"That is what we call the first war after Antral's founding. Aldebaron united the people into a nation to repel the attacks from the Lostlands after the fall of the Balthesar Dynasty. The War of a Thousand Banners seldom spread so far south," Cade explained,

"Aldebaron was the governor of the region under the Balthezars, and was very nearly independent of them most of his rule. He built up the border forts and founded the first of the cliff cities, called Gaildena after his wife. During the Great War the peoples of the Lostlands were trying to take advantage of the collapse in Arith and were constantly challenging the new nation of Antral."

"How did they meet, Ashira and Landor?" Elaina asked. Cade smiled, thinking of the many times he told this story to Sarina when she was a child. Of all the stories—Aldebaron and Gaildren, Ayslinora and Jayden, Jeor and Eloysa— she loved Landor and Ashira the best.

"The fort was besieged, and though a great commander called Jayden held the ridge to the east, the city was suffering. Landor rode out with his best men to destroy the enemy's siege engines, but was ambushed and captured. With green eyes, a young woman named Ashira stood out among the Antralians, but not among the enemy, a people called the Harsonrim, named for the desert they live in. They all had black hair that hung loose in curls, but the women wore long veils over it. Dressing as one of their women, Ashira covered her hair and went in the night to rescue Prince Landor.

"She joined the dancers who performed before their King at the victory celebration where the Prince and his men were chained as trophies. Ashira and was so enchanting the King promised her as a gift anything in the room that she desired, save his crown, thinking she would choose the golden goblets or the fine perfumes that littered the low tables. Instead, Ashira tore the veil from her hair and declared she was Antralian She chose as her prize the Prince himself.

"Whatever else they are, the Harsonrim are a proud people that would never go back on their word. Impressed with her spirit as well as her beauty, the King granted her wish. She and the Prince returned to the fort together." Cade paused, and Elaina turned back,

"Then what happened?"

"They say no man who saw her dance that night did not fall in love with Ashira, and it was not hard for Landor to make her love him as a man and not just a prince, handsome and kind and brave as he was.

"At the end of the Great War they were married. Landor ruled together with his brother Jeor when their father died. Each built a city in the cliffs for their wives, Queen Eloysa the Rose, and Queen Ashira the Jewel, just as their father had done for their mother. Those are the three cities of the cliffs." When he finished, Elaina sighed happily.

"That is a wonderful story. Is it real? Was there really a woman called the Jewel, who rescued the prince?"

"Of course! If the royal vaults were not burned in Alcondar, I will show you the letters they wrote each other one day. I doubt the invaders found them—only the royal family knew where the entrance was, so as long as it did not collapse, the records should be there." Cade assured her.

"You know where it is. You are part of the royal family." Elaina said. It was not a question. She had seen enough in the Linking to guess, but they had never spoken of it.

"I was."

"Braewyn thought so. She thought you a prince, and Truth only knows what she thought of me," declared Elaina.

"I wondered if she suspected," Cade said unhappily, "but better Braewyn than her husband; he would tell every living thing he encountered. And I am not a Prince, not anymore. There is nothing left, and I already have a duty—to be your Watcher is my future." Cade said simply. Elaina could think of nothing to reply, and so they walked in silence.

CHAPTER 27  
_The Histories_

Brother Monren glared out over the harbor of Vinyam. Opposite him at the table was the Admiralda Zanhia. His crew were sitting around the deck of the _East Wind_ watching the negotiation of sail price.

All the wave people's ships in the Sea of Yaltiran, which they called the Eastern Sea, reported to the Admiralda of the Eastern Shores. He himself reported only to the Admir-Cotar, the Captain of the Waves, as did the other Admiraldas.

"The Admir-Cotar has heard the demands of the Brethren of the East, and we are commanded to not stir up the waves with them. If word has come from Hurndrith that all ships who carry these people will be destroyed, and I carry them, I will cause more than just waves, yes? I will cause a storm! This I will not do. I will not send ships beyond the circle of the sea to please you, Monren of the Brethren." Zanhia declared again. Monren ground his teeth.

"Your ship carried their message—this is hardly more!" He growled, gesturing to the captain of the _Sea Hawk_ who leaned against the mast. "If there's going to be trouble over this, you have already begun it. Anyway, no one will know of your involvement. As I said, they wait at Ashira, where there is no one to see your ship take them on. Further, I am a member of the Brethren, here! On your decks!" Monren argued. The Admiralda inclined his head.

"The Sailmaster of the _Sea Hawk_ was commanded by the Starmistress of his ship, Monren of the Brethren. That is different." Monren noticed none of them would give him the title "Brother. "It was something about their strange culture.

His best efforts had never unraveled the tangle that was familial relationships among the Seviade Cotar. All he knew was that the captain was called the Sailmaster, and the ship's Starmistress acted as his wife. Evidently, all Starmistresses were considered sisters in the literal sense, not like the ritual brotherhood Monren was part of. The same was true of the Sailmasters.

"Well, where is the Starmistress, sir? I will speak to her."

"She speaks with her sister. You will not disturb them." He crossed strong arms over his chest, making the two gold bands above each elbow glitter in the sun.

"By the heavens, Admiralda, if you do not produce her at once I will splinter this ship as we sit here." Monren swore coldly.

"Tell your guest to rest, Zanhia, I am here." A woman's voice emerged from behind him, and the men on board rose to their feet.

The women were allowed to stay seated, apparently. Monren did not understand why there were as many women aboard as men, but he could hardly complain. The women seemed more inclined to like Elaina.

Two women approached, the first was older and shorter with luscious curves. The second followed a half-step behind her left shoulder. She was tall and thin, and would have seemed awkward but for that rolling, hip-swaying manner of walking.

Though he was no longer a young man, Monren could see why the women of the Seviade Cotar were irresistible in stories from Asemal and Arith alike. The way they moved made a man notice them. Add to that their indecent clothing, and everything was perfectly clear. _What sort of man lets his wife or daughter wander about with nothing but a strip of cloth across her chest?_

Their trousers, though loose until gathered in a thick hem at the ankle, were of such thin material as to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination by way of shape when the wind blew—hardly uncommon at sea.

And there was no way of ignoring them: they made up half the crew of every ship, and while the men wore plain white trousers of the same kind, each woman wore half the colors of the rainbow.

"I am Rigil, Starmistress of the _East Wind._ " The first woman said, touching her fingertips to her forehead, making the twin gold bracelets on her wrist jangle musically against each other. Monren did the same, ignoring the odd, matching tattoo that circled both their navels, a circle with waves around the outside that looked like a sun symbol.

"I am Hatysa, Starmistress of the _Sea Hawk._ " The taller woman introduced herself, touching her forehead as well. She wore only one gold bracelet on each arm, a mark of office, he suspected. She waited for him to return the gesture.

"I am Monren of the Brethren of the East. You spoke with Elaina Tristarine?" Monren began impatiently.

"She spoke with me, Monren of the Brethren." Hatysa agreed.

"What did she say?"

"She asked me to sail to Vinyam and deliver a message to a man called Lord Monren. You have received my message?" The woman asked him anxiously.

"To send a ship to Ashira to bring her here, yes." Monren confirmed briskly. Hatysa laid a hand to the bright green strip of cloth that bound her breasts and sighed in relief.

Monren shook his head. That blouse, it you dared call it that, was so short it left at least four ribs visible below it. Rigil laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, where one of the inadequate straps of that _blouse_ clung tenaciously.

"He bargains with me for the sail price of this Elaina Tristarine, but I will not stir up waves with Hurndrith." Zanhia said, crossing his arms again over the dark skin of his chest. Rigil scowled at him.

"Will you not consult your Starmistress then, Admiralda?" Monren glanced at the accused. Every man alive recognized impending doom when a woman took that tone of voice, even one who had never married. _It is just that sort of tone that would dissuade me from ever taking a wife._ Monren thought sourly.

"Rigil, my love, it is the order of the Admir-Cotar that I do nothing." Zanhia defended. "No waves with the Brethren of the East." He repeated.

"Who is this man?" Rigil asked, crossing her arms under ample breasts. Monren felt Zanhia should be concerned, if not with her tone, then with the possibility that his mistresses' shockingly red wrap couldn't handle the strain.

"He is Monren of the Brethren," Zanhia began and was summarily interrupted.

"You are sure of this?" she asked.

"Yes, sea bird, but," he was interrupted again.

"You know he is of the Brethren, that we are to not stir up waves with them, yet you sit here and deny him passage of one little person?"

"Two people, plus another member of their Brethren, called Dracen, and guards . . ." he tried to explain.

"Three even, with guards! Well, they will never fit on so small a boat as this, will they? Are you Sailmaster of a rowboat, Zanhia?" she asked sharply.

"Rigil, the declaration from Hurndrith—"

"So, two orders, two Brethrens. If this were a battle who would you side with—the ones laying plans and making allies, or the ones sending you bits of paper down a salt-less river?" Zanhia had given up arguing with his Star-Mistress and said nothing. "I am not a Sailmaster, but I would say we befriend the most active of the two, yes?" Zanhia sighed.

"But that is beside the point. I invoke my right to determine our course, Sailmaster, according to the signs of the stars. The _East Wind_ sails to Ashira for Elaina Tristarine." Rigil declared.

The Admiralda shrugged. It was out of his hands. Monren knew that once the Starmistress spoke, the Sailmaster obeyed—though he knew they had to have good cause of some kind. He wished he knew what under heaven the Wielder had told Hatysa to get such results.

"And the sail price for the girl and the rest?" Monren asked.

"Of course," Rigil replied, removing one of the thick golden bracelets from her wrist and handing it to him. "For the honor of serving." She said with a small smile.

"Keep it," Monren said, trying not to show his astonishment. _She_ was going to pay _him_ to carry Elaina? With the solid gold bracelets that marked her office? "I still must bargain for passage to the Western Isles for myself." She slid it back onto her wrist with a larger grin.

"Give this to his credit, salt of my heart," Rigil said with a warm look to Zanhia. "I leave you to your bargain." She said, trailing a hand from his clenched jaw down his chest in a leisurely path.

"Don't be too long, I weary of the sand, and Elaina Tristarine waits for us in Ashira." Zanhia grunted unhappily, watching her lowered eyes.

"Perhaps the ship will rock in the waves tonight." Rigil said innocently. The men on deck were absolutely stone-faced at that, but the women whistled and laughed.

Monren wondered if that last bit hadn't been about something other than ships and waves. If the sudden light in Zanhia's eyes was any indication, it was.

So much for advantage—she'd just restored his authority in this bargain. Monren didn't expect anything less than the usual raking across the coals that one got in bargaining with the Seviade Cotar.

At least Elaina would be brought to Vinyam. He just hoped he could barter passage for himself to Asemal without giving up a limb or two. With things falling apart in Arith, he needed the Empress' guidance, and the fastest way to get it was on a ship of the Wave People.

They were in Ashira before Elaina knew they were close. All the sudden the path had curled around an outcropping of the cliff, and the whole of her view was filled with buildings that cascaded from the rim of the gorge right down to the shore. The city seemed half built of white stone, half carved back into the cliffs of it. Every roof was made of some sparkling grey tiles whose edges caught the sun and send it gleaming back like silver. The doors and shutters of the houses and shops were the palest blues and greens and lilacs, like a dream of paradise at dawn.

"Welcome to Ashira, Jewel of Antral." Cade announced quietly. Elaina smiled, but the longer she looked, the less radiant the city appeared. Grey streaks left by the smoke of long-cold fires hadn't been erased by years of wind and rain since the city was burned. They still stained the tops of arched windows and doors with sooty fingers. Roofs had fallen in here and there where supporting timbers had burned or rotted away. The barren streets ran back and forth through the buildings, all stepping down to the harbor below.

There the great pier that curled along the rim of the bay and out across its opening was almost totally gone. Only the lonesome supports of its delicate arches remained, jutting from the water like the half-sunken backbone of some enormous, long-dead creature. One or two stood high enough to suggest the arches of white stone that once connected them, but others were lost beneath the surface entirely.

Ashira was beautiful, but it was a beautiful ruin, not a city. Elaina glanced at Cade. _He knows it, too._ Then she wondered, staring out at the broken pier,

"How will the Brethren's ship dock here?"

Cade frowned at the question. He obviously had not considered that. From what he told her, Ashira had always been a great harbor. Eloysa was a garden, Gaildena had the lighthouse, and Ashira was the beautiful port. It simply wasn't conceivable to him that she could not handle a ship of any size.

"There used to be a wharf—with a ramp you could walk onto any ship that sailed in Arith," he began, "but I suppose now we shall have to take a rowboat." He finished bitterly.

"A rowboat!" Elaina exclaimed. Cade looked at her strangely.  
"Yes," He said slowly when she avoided his curious gaze. "Is that a problem?" he pressed.

"No! No, of course not." Elaina quickly assured him, "I was just thinking how easy it would be to fix the harbor again." She added, sneaking a glance at him. Cade stared at her, unblinking.

"Easy?" He repeated, "Only for you, perhaps." Elaina smiled weakly at his hopeful expression, thinking of her difficulties with stone. _Earth may be my weakest pillar, but for all my strength with Water I don't want to be strung out over it like a fish on a line!_ _Anything to avoid a rowboat—I'd probably have to climb aboard the ship with a rope or something, too!_ Elaina shuddered.

She wasn't afraid of boats, she told herself, or of water. Not even large bodies of water were frightening to her, the sea was beautiful! It was being _in_ the water that concerned her.

It wasn't as though opportunities to learn to swim were numerous in Tar Haviel, especially living with Hetarth outside the walls. Hetarth never went swimming, so neither did Elaina. Having grown up in Conde'tair, she hadn't made too many friends her age in Tar Haviel—she was too unusual and too remote.

"We can look at that tomorrow," she prompted, "for now let's find a place to sleep." To her immense relief, Cade agreed.

He led her down into the heart of the city, where the main road rose straight up the back of the gorge, splitting off here and there in other directions, lined with tiers of patios and plazas. The fountains were dry and the gardens full of weeds, but Elaina imagined that it had been lovely in its prime.

Cade stopped at a large half-scorched door with peeling, faded blue paint. Even derelict and bleached by the sun, Elaina could tell it had been the most brilliant, intense color in the city.

"Why is the trim so much darker?" She asked, looking to the eaves and the shutters while Cade shoved the old door open with his shoulder. The tiled floor was a pattern of the same blue and white where it showed through the sooty debris.

"This was our house. That particular color was associated with the family." Cade answered, leading her through the room and out a door on the other side into a dry and ragged garden.

In the center was a green algae-covered swamp of a pool. Elaina grimaced, imagining the sort of reptiles that might call that home. Cade ducked his head into the various rooms that lined the garden until he found one whose roof was mostly intact.

"I'll go find something for a fire. Stay here—it's easy to get lost in this place." Cade said, setting down his pack and walking back out the opening where the door once hung. Elaina didn't argue or complain. He had left with the haste of a man fleeing memories, and she guessed he had enough to handle at the moment.

Instead, she cast the floor clean of dirt and sat with her back against the wall, studying the faint paintings of ships and fleetfins splashing through the waves on the wall and wondering how she had ended up in the looted palace of a homeless prince.

When Cade returned with torches he had found in a house down the street, he noticed Elaina had cleaned the floors, returning the mosaic to its former shine. She was standing in front of the far wall, tracing the pictures of fleetfins Cade blinked away the memory of Sarina doing the same while his father held her in his arms. This had been her room.

"I found these," he said, interrupting his memories before they could overwhelm him. She had no need for a real fire, but he couldn't see or keep warm by pure Fire, and the sea wind in the evening was cool. While they ate, Elaina asked to hear the other legends of Antral.

Cade obliged, telling her about Princess Ayslinora the Fair, Landor and Jeor's sister, who helped her mother run supplies to the great commander Jayden. He was a captain in the Great War holding a rise that would come to be called Jayden's Ridge. He was considered the greatest military mind of a nation known for its warriors, and Ayslinora became his bride.

When he was finished he told her how Eloysa healed the wounded Prince Jeor, and then how Aceldar saved both Antral and Fiandar in the Eastern War. The King of Fiandar had given his daughter Perlawen to Aceldar's son Archaron as a sign of their alliance. He told her how Perlawen was furious and refused to leave the palace of Theande to meet her new husband, so Archaron snuck into the palace and pretended to be a stable boy and she unknowingly fell in love with him.

"What happened to them? Did they live in harmony like the rest?" She asked eagerly. All the old Antralian legends ended with "and they lived out their lives in harmony with each other and with the world."

What better thing is there than harmony? All the great songs had great harmonies. The songs we used to sing at events of state, and a child's first lullaby, the wedding songs, and the Long Lament. How strange that Amanheldic women do not sing at all!

But Elaina's expectant face drew him back from his musings. She wanted the end of the story.

"No." He said sadly, "They had three children and did not live to see two of them die too young. There was no one to sing the songs for them."

"Oh." Elaina said shortly, taken aback that this was a tragedy, "but all the others ended so well."

Cade didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

_"_ What happened to the other child?" she asked at last. He stared at the fire. _How to answer that?_ He didn't really want to speak of it, but some part of him wanted her to know.

"I don't know yet." He said at last. She looked at him oddly.

"Yet?" repeated Elaina, frowning. "Didn't you read all the histories?" Cade watched her work at this puzzle.

"I did."

"Well, then—" and then she realized, "Is this not history anymore? Is that your own family? Perlawen and Archaron?"

"My parents. Perrden Moyran, my mother's brother, still rules in Fiandar." He agreed, face as blank as slate.

"I'm sorry." She said softly.  
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault." Came his brusque reply. "Being here reminded me of them, that's all." Elaina said nothing, watching him with knowing eyes. Cade felt his control slipping. If she kept looking at him with those sweet, sad, knowing eyes whatever was left of his soul was going to break in two.

"I'm going to sleep." He said shortly, moving to put out the torches.

"If you wish it." Elaina replied quietly, plunging them into immediate darkness with a web. Cade was grateful she couldn't see the sudden tears that filled his eyes.

_Truth, but I miss them! It has been a nightmare since the fall, a terrible dream. Being here makes it real._ He squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness.

I am surrounded by ghosts and spirits. Do they haunt this place, or only me? Will they never find peace, with none to sing the songs for them?

He had hummed the Lament for Corin, but it felt like a pitiful gesture even as he did it. _It takes a hundred voices to truly do it justice. And Truth only knows if there are even a hundred of us left._

On the other side of the room, Elaina shifted and sighed. _At least I am not alone._ A sad smile relaxed the muscle of his jaw. _Now neither of us is alone._

CHAPTER 28  
_The Harbor_

Cade waited until Elaina was finished with her breakfast of bread and a hard apple before bringing up the harbor. He had decided not to think about the past while he was here, only the present, but it was as hard as he'd suspected to push down the constant stream of memories. It was like a tune in his head, and if he stopped paying attention for a second it would come up again.

"Would you like to go see the wharf—or what's left of it?" He asked, careful to make it a question and not a command. It was never his intent to dominate her as he apparently had at the beginning of their flight together, and he certainly didn't want to remind her of his role in her captivity. His musings were interrupted by Elaina's response.

"Ah. Yes, of course. Lead on!" She stammered quickly. Cade's eye's narrowed, considering. _There's a definite reluctance there. Why is she so shifty-eyed?_

"Very well . . ." he said at last when she still wouldn't look at him. Wondering, he tightened his bootlaces and set off out of the house and down to the sea.

The road was a ramp on one side, stairs on the other broken in their descent only by the flat, open squares where other large roads joined in. Walking through the desolation, Cade found his mood was not as dark as the day before, when he'd first considered the ruin of Ashira.

With Elaina's light footfalls behind him, somehow all the destruction seemed more manageable. He tried not to think too much of it; she was a Guardian and hunted by the Drethlords, as was he. _There is no time for Antral now. But perhaps, if we live, perhaps we can return one day_ _and restore some small part of what was lost._

Cade finally stopped after the last step, where the road turned into the sea wall that itself curled out to become the pier. Balancing on one foot, he pulled off first one boot, then the other.

"The water's not cold," he assured her as he skinned his shirt over his head.

"What?!" Elaina's voice was muffled by his shirt, but her surprise was clear as soon as his head reemerged. She was staring at him open-mouthed and blushing at his state of undress, he noticed. Cade grinned ruefully. _Northerners_.

"If you want to fix the dock, you must see what of it is broken, including the part under the surface." He noted. Elaina didn't return his smile like she so often did. In fact, she was rather pale and grim.

"What is it?" he asked. Elaina just shook her head.

Wishing for a moment that she was not quite as stubborn as she was, Cade shrugged. If she'd made up her mind not to tell him, she wasn't going to tell him. In three quick steps, he dove into the water. Elaina didn't follow, he saw when he surfaced. She was standing in just the same spot and had not even removed her boots.

"Come on, not even you could think this cold, I promise." Treading water, he got no response. "Swim in your dress if you will, but kick off those boots and get in!" he called. She didn't respond, shifting from one foot to the other, arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"Elaina!" he cried at last, exasperated.

"I can't swim!" she shouted back at last. Cade blinked in the silence that followed, riding up and down on the gentle waves.

"What?"

"I never learned how." She said defensively. He felt an alarming urge to protect her as she stood there pouting, reluctant to meet his stare.

"Then I'll teach you." said Cade gently, swimming back to the seawall. The look she gave him was extremely doubtful. "Trust me, I've been swimming all my life. I won't let anything happen to you," Cade soothed. "Now take off your shoes and your dress and come sit here," he instructed, patting the edge of the wall.

Casting suspicious glances at the water, and blushing like the sun, of course, Elaina complied. She even smiled a little once she was dangling her feet in the water. Cade tore his eyes from the smooth curve of her ankles to look up at her face.

"Alright, hold on and slide in. I'm right here," he assured her. To his immense surprise, she listened. Her grip on the edge was white-knuckled, but Elaina lowered herself gingerly into the water. She even let go with one hand to keep the hem of her camisole from floating up.

_Truth, she's convinced this will kill her, but still she cares first about her modesty. I will_ never _understand Northerners!_

Once her clothes were soaked and drifted around her heavily, she hastily grabbed the wall with both hands once more. Cade's amusement faded at the terror on her face.

"Please don't make me let go," she begged through pale lips. _No doubt half of that misery is because I know she's afraid_. Cade suppressed a smile. _She's as proud as a Harsonrim king_.

"Not yet," he promised, "First just kick—like this." He grabbed the edge and demonstrated. Slowly, Elaina mimicked him. Cade was fairly sure he had never seen her this scared before, which was astounding. How could water be more terrifying than Keravel or Darin? _You bathe in it for Truth's sake!  
_ "Good," he murmured encouragingly. "With your whole leg, not just your feet. Don't bend your knees so much, that's why you're splashing. It wastes your energy."

"Alright," Cade began once she was kicking confidently. "There's a boulder out there," he gestured out into the bay, "That's where I stood with Corin when our father taught us how to swim. We would rest there when we played in the harbor." Cade said, remembering how his father had ordered all the ships to wait out that day anchored outside the arc of the pier so they could learn with the whole of the bay to themselves. It had turned into a spontaneous holiday for the whole city.

Grey eyes flicked out over the unbroken surface of the water and back to his face, bringing him back to the present. _Now we are trying to bring ships into the harbor instead._

"You are taller than I was then, so you'll be fine standing there while I show you what to do." Cade explained.

"But I can't get there." She protested, throwing one elbow over the lip of the wall for a better grip.

"I can, and I'm going to help you." Cade replied as confidently as he could without sounding patronizing. "Hold onto me and kick, just like you were doing with the wall," he instructed, holding out his hands to her. "Come on, I won't sink."

As baffled as he was by her fear— _it isn't as though I would let her drown!_ —Cade could see the depth of it in her eyes. This wasn't a wholly rational terror, but it was real enough. He almost cheered when she shoved herself away from the wall and leapt to him.

Cade didn't flinch at the painful grip she had on his forearms. Clearly, her concern for his shirtless state ranked below her concern for the water, though she still blushed every time her eyes brushed him. _Honestly, are the married women up there any better? They must be—they're managing to have kids . . . Best leave that chain of thoughts alone._

"I've got you," he promised, "Keep kicking." Cade backed away from the wall, bringing Elaina with him. Her breaths came in short gasps bordering on panic. He let her move them through the water, kicking only enough to keep them at the surface. It was slow progress, but eventually, he put his feet down and touched the algae-covered rock.

"Put your feet down, Elaina. You made it," said Cade with a smile. When her feet found the stone, her weight left his arms, but her hands didn't.

"It's okay to let go now, the rock isn't going anywhere." He reminded her lightly. She didn't even glare at him or blush, just closed her eyes for a few deep breaths and pried her fingers off his forearm. Then she opened them and smiled, relief and pleasure sparking in her eyes.

Cade sucked in a quick gasp, finding himself suddenly, inexplicably breathless. Hair half-wet and escaping from a loose braid, camisole clinging wetly, and that vibrant, victorious expression—she was exquisite.

Pushing off the rock, Cade created a span of cool, unruffled water between them. He tried to collect himself, fixing a grin on his lips to answer her genuine one. _That was far too easy, far too warm there in the water so close to her._ He felt himself reacting to her nearness and it was . . . disconcerting.

"See there? Well done!" He said quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. _Must be more out of shape than I thought, tiring out this way from just a little swim,_ Cade told himself. "Let me show you a few strokes," he offered, eager to have a few moments away from those brilliant eyes.

Even before she nodded, Cade was drawing a deep breath. He sank beneath the surface and kicked out hard, fluttering his feet and plunging first one arm, then the other into the water and drawing himself forward. Right-pull, left-pull, right-pull, left-pull, and on and on. He had just flipped over in the water and turned back when he got the strangest feeling of urgency.

Swimming faster, the water around him suddenly hardened, and he found himself crashing through a thin layer of ice that cut at his arms and chest. Jerking to the surface, Cade was just in time to see the ice covering the harbor disappear in a flash of steam as the water became scalding hot for another blink of the eye.

Elaina.

He couldn't see her in the thick mist that filled the harbor, but he felt her shifting in his head, moving. Moving down. Surprising, searing fear flooded into his mind as Cade dove forward. The Link between them flickered and faded as he swam feverishly forward. _Please, true spirits, don't let me be too late!_

Elaina knew she was going to die. Water swirled everywhere. She hadn't managed to take a breath when she'd slipped off the slimy boulder, and now she struck out blindly for the surface or the rock. It wasn't working. _It isn't working._

Her lungs burned, she fought the urge to breathe in _._ _Can't breathe, don't breathe. Have to breathe! I'm going to die._

I'm going to die.

Something closed around her waist, pulling her backwards, dragging her under. _No!_ Elaina tried to scream, but there was no sound, only a cold rush of black water into her lungs.

Cade hauled her limp form to the sea wall twice as fast as it had taken them to get out there. She'd been swimming down and fought him when he tried to take her to the surface, but she wasn't strong enough to stop him. Bracing himself with one arm, he lifted her onto dry land with the other in a single desperate lunge. Scrambling up to kneel beside her, he searched her wet face.

"Elaina, come on," he urged, touching her face. "Elaina," she didn't move. The Link was as thin and weak as the sound of a single violin from a high tower. _Death is coming._

"Elaina!" he shouted, and the walls and cliffs sent his voice chasing itself off the stones. Cade laid a hand on her chest. There was nothing. Each precious second that passed, he knew he was losing her. Desperate, he brought his fist down on her chest in anger and fear, willing her heart to beat.

Elaina convulsed, water pouring from her lips. He watched in shock as she rolled to her side and coughed, gulping in great gasps of air in between until finally she lay still. Cade leaned over her searching her face. Her eyes were closed and her skin white.

"Elaina?" he murmured and laid a hand to her throat. Under that cold skin was a rapid, uneven pulse. She took a thin, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. They looked up at him in dazed recognition.

"True spirits, I thought you were dead." He breathed, pulling her to him when she shook her head. Cade held her as he had by the creek after he'd killed Darin, only this time he was the one who wept. His shoulders did not shake, and he didn't sob, but tears ran down his cheeks for the second time in as many days. Cade didn't care. She was alive.

Elaina wouldn't touch the water for days after her disastrous swimming lesson. Cade didn't press her. Instead, he showed her around the city, telling her what it was like before the Invasion. As they went, Elaina fixed what she could. Mostly she scrubbed things clean of the grime of neglect and the smoke stains from the fall of the city.

The fountains and gardens were easy enough as well. The fountains ran from a cistern at the top of the cliff and had only stopped when the pipes became clogged. With a simple web, she unclogged them, and the sound of falling water soon joined the crash of the waves in Ashira again. Elaina was less adept with plants, but even if she was not as strong at it as Miranya, simple gardening was no obstacle.

Cade told her not to worry over the roofs and walls of the houses, but was privately delighted when she quickly restored his old home to its former beauty.

In the moments he spent lost in bittersweet memories of this place and the people who would never return to it, Elaina thought of Hetarth. So much had happened since then it was another lifetime, but she didn't think she would ever be as happy as the days after the Changing, at home in Tar Haviel with Hetarth and Landon.

It hardly seemed like Tar Haviel was home anymore. Its hold on her had faded with time, with distance, and with Hetarth. She couldn't see herself living there again, even if she ever got the chance. Not without Hetarth there.

Watching Cade trail his fingers along a doorway or across a railing, Elaina wished she could feel the same way he did—that there was someplace that felt like home, even if the loved ones that made it important were gone. She knew it was hard for him to relive it, but still she was jealous.

"You'll have to show me Tar Haviel sometime," Cade interrupted her reverie, coming through the door of Sarina's room from the garden. Elaina blinked at him. _Can he read my mind?_

"It isn't much," she replied with a shrug, "just a little town, one inn, one blacksmith, one butcher, and farmers. We didn't even live there, really. Our house was off in the Wilds."

"You and your family? Tell me about your mother and father." He pressed, "You know all about mine." Cade's easy smile faded when she did not return it.

"I don't remember very much about them. They were taken to Hurndrith when I was ten, before I lived in Tar Haviel. Agents." She explained shortly.

"Who took care of you after that?" He asked.

"My mother's brother, Hetarth Aridal."

"He is a Guardian as well?"

"He was." Elaina looked away, but he waited for her to go on. "After my Changing, agents came after us in Tar Haviel, Landon and Hetarth and I,"

"Landon?"

"Yes, of Loth Daer. Apparently, he's the heir to the throne, but he didn't tell me that at the time—" She explained.

Cade frowned a little. "You seem to attract princes," he noted. Elaina rolled her eyes.

"You're interrupting." She said, exasperated, "so when the agents showed up, we fled north. They caught Hetarth at Donlin." To her surprise, Elaina's voice caught. She thought it had been long enough that she could speak of it . . .  
Cade didn't have to ask what had happened.

"He taught you the pillars?" he said at last. Elaina nodded,

"The casting, creation, and everything else. To read and write, to cook, to chop wood . . . everything but swimming." She finished with a little smile. Cade studied the floor.

"They took everything from both of us, then." He said quietly. "Here I am telling you about my life, not knowing anything about yours."

"Well, there isn't much to tell. And they don't have us." She said stoutly, "I intend to take it all back. If we lost everything, so do they. And then we can rebuild." Cade smiled at the thought, but said,

"You can't rebuild everything."

Elaina could see he regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but she didn't mind. It was true. _Lives cannot be restored, people cannot be rebuilt. There will never be another Hetarth, and I will never speak to him again. Not in this world, at least._

"No, but I can make sure no one takes it from me again." She said seriously. Cade looked up, considering.

"You have to take the chance first," he observed, "there's risk of losing everything all over again."

Elaina snorted. "There's always that risk, most people just don't know it. I'm not going to live a half-life, never getting close to anyone just because I might lose them someday—then they'll have won. They'll have taken away my past _and_ my future."

Cade nodded, but didn't go on.

The next morning, Cade woke up first, as always. Elaina wouldn't want to go, so he made his way down to the harbor before she woke. Leaving his shirt and boots in a pile, he dove in and began swimming back and forth between the sea wall and the last pillars of the pier.

On the fourth or fifth lap he surfaced at the pillars for a break and saw Elaina sitting on the sea wall, feet dangling in the water. Waving, Cade smiled to himself and plunged back in to join her. He dove deep and surfaced right beside her, making her gasp and laugh in surprise.

Cade smiled. Her laughter had that effect on him. Even if her broad smile lit up her whole face and his only lightly touched his lips and his eyes, it was more than he'd shown since the last time he was in Ashira fourteen years before.

"I thought you were avoiding the water." He said, bobbing in the waves by her feet. Elaina rolled one shoulder.

"A little." She admitted, "but I have an idea." Cade watched her curiously and climbed up beside her when she patted the wall.

"I tried something like this once before, but this is a little more complicated with all the water," she began, "so I might need your help." Cade gave her a puzzled nod, wondering if she really wanted to try to swim again. The thought scared the skin off of him, but if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her. _Not living half-way, indeed!_

"What I need you to do is not touch me." She explained.

"I think I can handle that," Cade agreed with mock seriousness, "at least for a while." She smiled,

"Unless things go badly. Then I need you to take the Pillars away, and don't let the wave get me." Elaina finished.

"The wave?" he repeated.

"You'll see what I mean." She assured him grimly. Turning her attention to the harbor, Elaina took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, all the humor and mischief were gone, replaced with focused intensity.

A lull between the waves left Cade's feet dry, and he looked down. The water was falling, falling and not rising again. Glancing over at Elaina, he followed her stare out to sea and gaped.

On the edge of the harbor an enormous wall of water was forming, towering halfway up the cliffs and growing. She was damming off the harbor, draining it. Cade couldn't believe it.

He had seen the Drethlords work, had seen what made them tired, so tired sometimes that they couldn't stand without help. Any one of them would have been on the ground before the harbor was half emptied. _And they're strong._

The seafloor was slowly revealed. Little orange and purple anemones that dotted the rocks, and the boulder in the middle covered with treacherous black and green algae reared its head as the water level dropped. At last, only little pools remained in the deepest valleys of the seafloor, teeming with fish. Cade swallowed. _She isn't even breathing hard._

There was more. The crumbled piles of white stone that had formed the pier shifted and moved, rising in the air and rotating back into place with the deep, grinding groan of stone against stone. Watching, Cade had absolutely nothing to say, even if he had been willing to interrupt her concentration. _Which I certainly am not._

He eyed the wall of water that towered above them at the harbor mouth, and he badly wanted to get to his feet just so he wouldn't feel quite so tiny and vulnerable. _Getting to your feet won't help, fool. If that wave comes down. . ._

His eyes flickered to his Wielder, sitting calmly beside him with a grey stare that could have bored a hole through iron. _It's flattering she thinks I can save her from that, but if she loses control, we're both dead._ With that nervous thought bouncing around his mind, Cade looked back to the harbor.

The white stone began to glow and waver around the edges until it became a rosy pink. Bursts of steam rose off the molten stone where water remained, clouding the view of that immense wall of water. Slabs of liquid rock moved together with searing heat until they formed one solid piece—the walkway of the dock. That enormous piece settled gently atop the newly re-forged pillars.

The great arc of the pier gleamed dully in the mist that filled the harbor. A sudden breeze swirled down the cliffs, lifting the clouds of steam and cooling the stone until it was pure white and brilliant in the sun.

It also revealed the enormity of the wave that waited at the entrance of the harbor. Cade felt his skin tingle with fear that it would now pour down on them. Every moment he expected her strength to give out.

But the moment of disaster never came. Slowly, the towering cliff of the displaced sea washed back into the harbor, splashing and hissing against the still-hot pier.

In a matter of minutes, the bay of Ashira was as calm as before, only now with a long, curled finger of white stone jutting out into it. Cade couldn't take his eyes off it while the waves reached up again to lap at their feet.

Beside him, Elaina's shoulders slumped as she sighed. Blinking at the vision before him, Cade turned to its creator. She watched him with a tired smile.

"I can't believe," he began, peering at the harbor then tearing his eyes away stare at her again, "I didn't know a person could do such a thing." He shook his head, "To move the water, even, was more than I could have imagined. To do all of it at once . . ." he ran out of words. Elaina smiled, rising to her feet.

"Is that about right? I know it's probably not as you remember—"

"Not as I remember!" Cade cut her off, standing as well, "Don't be absurd! That was the work of hundreds of men for years, and you've done it in an hour! Theirs was bits of rock expertly fit together, yours is a single piece! This will last a thousand years—more!" he cried in disbelief. Her smile broadened,

"So you like it?" Shaking his head, Cade grabbed her around the waist and picked her up to spin her around in the air. When he set her back down she managed to stammer in surprise,

"What's gotten into you?" Cade laughed, which only made her stare the more.

"I don't know. You, maybe." He replied, "Every time I think I know something, you prove me wrong. It makes me wonder what other impossible things can be done tomorrow."

"I'd hate to disappoint you, but that is just about the most I can do," Elaina began, and he burst out laughing again. _Here she's done the impossible and apologizes because that's her limit!_

Just then she was looking at him like he'd lost his mind, but Cade didn't care. How could he explain that he wasn't just talking about the Elements? She'd lost as much as he had, but instead of shutting down and stepping back, she threw herself into life with twice as much energy, twice as much feeling.

Watching her live was enough to make him want to come alive, too, something Cade hadn't felt since his life collapsed with Antral. _It's madness. It's wonderful_. Smiling crookedly, he took off down the pier pulling Elaina with him. When he got to the end, he let go of her hand and dove into the water on a whim.

When he surfaced, tossing his wet hair out of his eyes, Cade looked back for Elaina, expecting to see that indulgent, contented expression she always wore when he did something expressive. His jaw dropped so fast he came up sputtering sea water.

She was wearing just the expression he expected, but instead of being on the dock, she was lounging on the top of the water not a span away from him. When he swam closer, she raised a hand in warning.

"Careful, if you touch it I'll sink like a stone."

"Touch what?"

"The web. I just made myself a little boat of Air to lay on here, so don't make it disappear on me." She informed him. Cade blinked and wondered why that hadn't occurred to him before. Now that he was looking, he could see the waves lapping of the sides of the invisible vessel.

"That's brilliant," he said appreciatively. "It's a perfect solution."

"I should have thought of it when I was drowning," she grimaced, "but it does have one enormous flaw." Elaina admitted.

"What?"

"One _ashendari_ and I'm fish food." She pointed out. Her grey eyes locked on his, and Cade found himself wishing for something to hang onto himself. She had purposefully put herself in a situation where all the power was in his hands, after trying it once had nearly killed her. Having just seen what she could do, Cade fully understood how unusual that had to be for her.

A slow smile grew on his lips. How had he been so lucky as to end up the Watcher for a Wielder like this? While he floated there wondering how he had come to care for her as much as he found he did, she looked past him and gave a start of surprise.

"Excellent timing." She said, and a stiff breeze sprang up to push her back to the pier. Cade tilted his head at her, confused, but then he followed her gaze out to sea. Entering the harbor under full sail was a thin, graceful ship of the Seviade Cotar.

CHAPTER 29  
_The Ship_

Elaina slid carefully up onto the dock, letting her wonderful boat dissipate. Unlike a normal ship, which would have required rowers to pull it closer to the pier, Elaina felt someone nearby push the ship gently to its berth with Air and currents of Water. She searched the rails for Monren, but only the suntanned faces of the Seviade Cotar peered down at her.

There was a great deal of activity on the deck—shouting and orders given as a rope ladder was tossed over the side. It was long enough to gather in a tangled pile at the bottom.
"Should I go up?" she asked Cade nervously. "How do we know who it is?"

"It is the Seviade Cotar. They would die before speaking a false word—say it's against the stars or some such. If they mean to capture or kill you, they'll tell you to your face." Cade informed her. Elaina gave a little shrug and called out,

"Who comes, and what is your purpose?"

"The _East Wind,_ whose Sailmaster is the Admiralda Zanhia of the Eastern Shores, at my command." A woman's voice called back, even as the speaker leaned over the rail. Elaina worried for her blouse. "I am Starmistress Rigil, in the service of the Sisters and the Dawnstar." She finished grandly.

"And your purpose?" Cade asked.

"To serve the stars. Come aboard and we will take you where you wish. The price of passage is paid." She informed them. Elaina looked to Cade, who nodded hesitantly. When Elaina put one hand on the ladder, Cade caught her arm.

"Admiraldas answer only to the Admir-Cotar, Elaina. Act like you're meeting a king, do what I do, and you won't offend anyone—they're a touchy people." He said.

Nodding, she began the climb. It wasn't easy, even with Cade holding the bottom to keep it from twisting around. Once she was up, he followed in a quarter of the time; Elaina tried to hide her consternation.

That was easy enough when she turned to find the entire crew of the ship waited on their knees, hands clasped behind their backs, all watching her with solemn faces. In their midst were three people still on their feet. One man studied her intently, arms crossed over his bare chest. He had bands of gold just above the elbow, like Sailmaster Hamal in Hennelea, only there were two on each arm, which made him Admiralda Zanhia. Beside him stood the woman who had called to her in the peculiar, colorful clothing of the women of the Seviade Cotar, Starmistress Rigil. A step apart from them, a man in charcoal grey waited impatiently. Elaina blinked. His face was severe and reserved, but he was not Lord Monren.

"Where's Monren?" she blurted, stepping back into Cade's solid chest. His hands found her shoulders protectively, as if he would yank her out of the man's view if necessary.

"He has gone to the Empress in Asemal, to hear her wishes now that the Brothers are divided. I am Dracen, I will take you to Vinyam." Elaina watched as those cold grey eyes flicked over her shoulder to Cade, who was very, very still.

"I heard rumors that two of my . . . shall we say, less enlightened Brothers were sent to the heavens by a certain Watcher _._ It seems the rumors were not far off." He said. Cade remained silent as a stone.

"I'm here to safeguard the Wielder. Let's put our histories behind us in that interest, shall we Watcher?" Dracen continued.

"Agreed." Cade replied flatly.

"Enough of this." The Starmistress broke in, "The Dawnstar is aboard our decks, who will lead us through the storm." Beaming at Elaina, she kissed her fingertips and touched them to her forehead. The whole of the crew did the same, and Rigil turned to the Admiralda Zanhia expectantly. Clearly displeased, he imitated the gesture.

Elaina heard Cade's sharp intake of breath. She looked back at him to see what she should do to greet these people. Since he just stood there, eyebrows up, she did what they had done. Rigil's eyes filled with happy tears while she beamed at Elaina.

"You honor us," she whispered feelingly. Elaina had the uneasy suspicion she was in way over her head. _If only Cade would snap out of it and show me what to do!_ _These people are exceedingly odd._ _Even stranger than the last set, save for the woman. Hatysa, was it?_ _She was plenty strange._

"Come, I will show you to your cabin." Rigil offered. Elaina and Cade followed her across the deck under the silent stares of the still-kneeling crew. Only once she stepped off the deck did the muted sound of bare feet running on boards begin, with the Admiralda shouting and Dracen casting Air to steer them back out of the harbor with all haste.

"Here it is." Rigil said, opening the narrow door. "Zanhia and I have moved everything we need for the day-to-day. If anything else is in your way, we'll gladly move it. Shall we send someone for your things on shore?" She offered.

"That would be wonderful, but we can't possibly turn you out of the room you share with your husband—ah, I mean, the Sailmaster, er, Admiralda" Elaina replied.

"It doesn't suit? You are used to finer," she guessed unhappily. "I apologize, but this is one of the finest cabins on the water, there is no better." Rigil said morosely. Elaina's incredulous stare took in the silk bedclothes, the Varen rugs hung on the walls, and the fine gold-edged porcelain that sat on the shelf. She had never seen finer in her life. She answered faintly,

"I assure you, that is not it, Starmistress. This is the finest place I have ever seen—I'm used to sleeping on the ground, really. I just don't want to deprive you of your own room. Perhaps a different cabin?" Elaina suggested.

"Ah, you have been living a soldier's life, Elaina Tristarine. That is well. The Dawnstar should not be weak, for all its beauty." Rigil observed.

Elaina didn't understand at all, but nodded anyway.

"There is the Sailman's cabin, but the bed is small for two and it is farther below decks . . ." Rigil continued with a shrug. Elaina jerked her eyes away with a blush. _How do they wear those things? She's in danger of coming right out!_

"That will not trouble us, Starmistress. I will sleep at the door." Cade informed her. Rigil's eyes flicked between them curiously.

"It would not be right, you having only the second best," she protested.

"We're not kicking you out of your own room, Starmistress Rigil." Elaina said stoutly, "So it is either the Sailman's cabin or I'll sleep on the deck." The woman blanched at the thought.

"Very well, follow me." She acquiesced, leading them down more steep stairs into the belly of the ship. Before they entered the narrow door, Cade gave quick directions to a man who went off for what few possessions they had. Fortunately, the palace of the Gidedrians was quite easy to find.

Once the man was on his way, Rigil showed them the Sailman's cabin. Neat and tidy, it looked no different than a decent room at an inn, though everything was far more compact. Elaina smiled.

"Perfect, thank you. It's so clean!" She noted to the Starmistress gratefully.

"Of course! The Sailman was prepared for us to sleep in here—he is with the crew. I will leave you to be settled," Rigil touched her forehead deferentially and stepped out.

Elaina did not even get the chance to speak before angry voices erupted in the hallway. Bewildered, she looked to Cade, who yanked the narrow door open to see Rigil and Dracen glaring daggers at each other.

"—to ask before we sail," Dracen was growling, but Rigil broke in,

"They've just set foot on our decks, and we wait for their belongings to be retrieved from the shore. You can give them two minutes, peace, Dracen of the Brethren," she hissed.

"What is the trouble?" Elaina stepped into the narrow hall, barely wide enough for Dracen's shoulders.

"We're sailing to Matriem, my Lady Wielder. There is no way to get you past the blockade on Vinyam without them knowing exactly where you are, which does us little good. We can blend in at Matriem then join the others by land." Dracen explained stiffly. To her left, Rigil scowled.

"We will sail wherever you direct, Dawnstar. His plans are nothing if they are not yours."

Dracen glowered at her defiance, then both turned to her expectantly. Elaina blinked. _Who_ are _these people? Hatred is one thing, and fear, but inexplicable loyalty makes me nervous. Why are they all so eager to please?_

Baffled, she managed to stammer, "Ah, give us a few minutes to discuss this, please." Then she retreated out of the middle of the argument to shut the door in their faces. Back to the door as if to hold them out, Elaina looked to Cade with wide eyes, swaying with the rocking of the ship.

"What on Arith is happening? Why does she keep calling me Dawnstar? Truth, this is ridiculous! Who are these people?" she whispered to him. Cade watched her with a crooked smile.

"They follow the stars, using them to navigating from port to port so they don't have to hug the shores like most other ships. Some of the stars they link with prophecy, and apparently you are this Dawnstar. I guess you're supposed to lead them into the storm that she mentioned." Cade replied evenly.

"What storm? I don't know how to lead anyone, and I don't want to be at sea if there's a storm coming!"

"I believe it is figurative—the division of the Brethren and whatnot. You'll be fine, don't worry." He assured her with a smile.

"Well, what do I tell them? There's a blockade on Vinyam. I could always blast a way through, but I would rather not have a Drethlord army descend on me immediately."

"So we try Matriem?" Cade offered. Sighing, Elaina turned and pulled open the door once more.

"We'll sail to Matriem, as Lord Dracen advises." She announced. Rigil nodded contentedly, as if she had not been upbraiding Dracen for suggesting the same thing.

"As you say, Dawnstar. Here are your belongings, honor to serve." She said, handing Elaina their bags and touching her forehead in the unavoidable salute. Elaina quickly reciprocated. Dracen merely nodded and spun around to march back up the stairs. As soon as she ducked back into the cabin, Elaina's shoulders slumped.

"Relax, at least no one is trying to kill us today." Cade offered. Elaina snorted.

"Yes they are, they just aren't on this boat." She said, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands in her lap.

"An improvement from our past." He noted, sitting next to her. "In less than three days we will be in Matriem."

"The only thing I know about Matriem is that Darin liked it." Elaina noted dryly. Cade's lips flattened into a grim line.

"Well, he was a cowardly vermin, but he had good taste—he liked you, too." He pointed out, making her smile again. "It isn't so bad really, just hot and humid."

Elaina shrugged. "I suppose it is harder to die of heat," She admitted, remembering the blizzard during her time as his captive. _There_ were _some advantages to that, though, in the end._ Her thoughts made her blush, and she changed the subject quickly,

"So what is there to do on a ship?"

"If you're not on the crew, very little. Come, I'll show you the bow. The fleetfins will be with us for sure with you on board. They absolutely adore casters." He promised, leading the way up to the deck.

The _East Wind_ was well out of the harbor already, aided by Dracen's maneuvering and a favorable wind. On deck the crew scurried about like ants on a flooded anthill, tightening ropes here loosing them there, coiling them up, and securing the anchor. Elaina gaped at the little figures that were climbing far above, clinging to the masts and crossbeams and the dizzying spider-web of ropes.

The Admiralda was barking orders, standing with feet apart and hands clasped behind his back, totally immune to the shifting of the deck under his feet. He certainly looked like a King, standing there. Seeing Elaina and Cade, he spared them the barest nod.

When they reached the front of the ship, Cade leaned over the rail, which made Elaina's stomach take a sickening swoop. Swallowing hard, she hesitated.

"They're here." He said over his shoulder. Reluctantly, she joined him at the rail, clutching the polished wood. "Put your hand on the bowsprit, here, and lean out." Cade instructed, putting one arm around her waist to steady her. She immediately relaxed.

"Oh!" Elaina cried in delight. The sleek silver-blue forms of a hand of fleetfins darted through the water beside the ship. Spinning and leaping, water droplets gleamed like glass in the sunlight, streaming off their fins and long rounded noses.

"They're happy to see you." Cade said, a small smile on his face answering hers. "The old sailors tell stories of fleetfins fighting off sharks and saving shipwrecked men from drowning, which is probably why sailors like casters too, superstitious as they are: a friend of my friend is my friend . . ."

"Will they follow us the whole way to Matriem?" Elaina asked.

"I doubt these can keep up for that long, but others will replace them." Cade assured her. "You like them?" Elaina nodded.

"You see, no need to worry about the water. Even if you cannot cast your little boat, or I can't help you, the fleetfins will look out for you." He said confidently, standing at her shoulder. Elaina smiled. Perhaps she would be able to sleep on this journey, after all.

Cade knocked softly on the door to their cabin, not wanting to intrude on her privacy. The sun had long since slid below the horizon, and it was dark in the hall. There was no response. Frowning, he focused through the Link on where she was. His stare moved from the door up and to the right. S _till on deck?_ Redoing the buttons on his coat, Cade took the steep stairs two at a time.

"Elaina?" he called as he moved toward the bow. The wind was chilly, but not strong. Most of it was from the speed of the vessel, not the wind. The swells were not large.

"Here," came her voice from an enormous coil of rope. Cade peered over the braided-fiber wall. Between the two wide planks that stuck up from the deck around which the rope was coiled there was a space a span across and half as wide. Among the extra canvas for patching the sails sat Elaina, back to the board and arms around her knees. Cade tilted his head to study her.

"Your bed doesn't suit?" he asked at last.

"No, its fine," was her unhelpful reply. In one motion, Cade vaulted over the rope into the nest of canvas and settled down beside her. It was close, but they fit.

"What are you doing?" he asked; she could hear him though he spoke quietly, the noise of the wind and surf were partly blocked by the rope walls.

"I wonder if I might try something?" she asked, instead of answering. Cade only nodded, willing to follow, but determined to know what kept her awake whether she tried to distract him or no.

"It's a web," she began, but Cade interrupted,

"Elaina, you know it doesn't work—"

"The Link does! I only want to build on that." her stubborn protest made him shake his head.

"Try what you like, then."

"It's similar to the Link, I think I found a way to mimic it, but it may hurt as that did." Her warning didn't alter his expression. Hesitating another moment, the faraway look she got when she was casting told him to prepare for whatever she was doing.

Cade retreated behind the blank mask he had worn most of his life. If this was as excruciating as the Linking, he didn't want her to know it—she'd only feel guilty, even if she hurt herself just as badly. _I won't even . . ._ He blinked.

Curiosity, surprise, and genuine happiness flooded through his mind—but they weren't his emotions. Staring at her, Cade wondered what precisely of his mind was clear to her, if hers was so open to him. As abruptly as it began, Elaina's presence in his head cut off.

"Oh." She whispered, "I didn't think it would really work." She paused, then blurted, "What are you so determined about?"

Cade could think of no response that wouldn't annoy her—she wouldn't like to hear that he was trying to hide it if she hurt him. Before he had to try and say something, she cleared her throat and looked away.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." she muttered. For a time they sat in silence, but it was a comfortable silence in the sea breeze, not the sort that noiselessly screams to be filled. At last, Cade broke it.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I was watching the stars and wondering how the Starmistresses remember them all." His dark eyes followed hers up to the bright heavens, wondering why she was still diverting him.

"We always remember the brightest ones as part of a song. Do you see those three? Just there, the triangle?" He asked, pointing. "It's called Malakail's Shield." Elaina smiled, no doubt remembering childhood stories of the great Malakail Hontari.

"Those there? Right of the moon and down a bit?" she asked, pointing too.

"Yes, them."

"I suppose that would make it easier." She admitted, "but nonetheless . . ."

"You're not up here trying to learn all the stars, Elaina." Cade said after she trailed off, turning his face to her again. She sighed and looked down.

"When a ship sinks," she began, "Things float up, right?" Cade nodded, still unable to see where she was going. "But the doors, they'd be pinned shut by all the water," she went on. Then Cade thought he understood, thinking of that terrifying day she almost drowned. _She is afraid of the ship sinking, of being stuck inside._

"You could blast your way out from under a mountain, Elaina, you could get out of something as flimsy as a ship," Cade reminded her, "and if there was nothing big enough left to float with, you could make a boat of Air, like you did in Ashira. The fleetfins will keep you company—"

"But what about you?" she interrupted his assurances in a whisper, face still. Cade could see she hadn't fully intended to say it, and it brought him to a full stop. He looked at her for a long moment.

_Is it possible that she could be as happy with me as I am with her?_ Things did not work out that way, he knew from experience, so what was this about? Before he could think of another explanation, she went on,

"You couldn't get out—and even if you could, what if I can't find you? I can't cast a boat of Air for you, but I could freeze the water into ice and hold it stable. But that's only if you get out and I find you." He studied her silently, waiting until she snuck a glance at him. She didn't look away.

"You can't swim, but you can't sleep on the water because you're worried about me?" He asked, "Elaina, even if the ship sank, which Seviade Cotar ships seldom do, and even if I were trapped or tired, I'd survive. I swore to protect you and I'll find a way to keep doing that no matter what." Despite himself, Cade got lost in the worried grey eyes that flickered back and forth between his, searching for an answer to her fears.

"I just don't know what I'd do, all alone again." She explained, looking away. Cade wasn't convinced. _That wasn't selfishness I saw in her face. She isn't afraid for herself, she's afraid for me_.

He studied her face in the moonlight. _How can her eyes shine like that in the middle of the night?_ The thought flitted absently across his mind. Suddenly, Cade wanted to kiss her.

It might have been because her full lips were parted, or the smoothness of her skin, or those intoxicating eyes. It could have been the warmth of her, so close in the small space, or the way her breath seemed to come faster. Cade didn't care what it was. He didn't care if it turned out to be the most foolish thing he had ever done, though he didn't think it was. Slowly, he bent his head and she didn't move away.

CHAPTER 30  
_The Bracelet_

Miranya usually stalked past the port district like a wet cat—disgusted and eager to leave. Today however, among the usual flotsam and detritus there was something actually worth looking at.

A ship of the Seviade Cotar was making port and unloading its goods. Miranya paused. The sea people had no use for land or plants, other than trees suitable for planks or masts that they could cut down. They had a great use for spices from the far isles, though, which took up little space and could be sold for an impressive price. She lingered, hoping to hear where they sailed from and what they had to sell.

Mingling with the crowd that had formed at the end of the ramp, Miranya moved closer to the front, where a scowling man in baggy white trousers blocked the gangway. Peering up the ramp, Miranya's eyebrows went up. A stern man in robes as dark grey as a storm cloud stood at the top of the ramp, a man with eyes as colorless as his clothes. _What have we here? A Drethlord sailing with the Seviade! That doesn't happen every day—_

She froze. Behind the Drethlord on the ramp a couple appeared, the man with his arm around the woman, who leaned back into him as if unwilling to descend. The last time she had seen that particular couple, they had not been quite so close. Her lips curled into a joyless smile as she ducked behind a broad-shouldered man to avoid the dark eyed stare that swept the crowd. One day she'd have those dark eyes all to herself, but not today. _Today, I will watch. I will learn. I will succeed where Darin failed._

Miranya pulled up her hood and hurried to the stalls pressed up against the buildings across from the harbor. Moving from one to the next, she ran her fingers along the silks and pearls. Just as popular were the little mirrors, and in each one she looked over her shoulder.

The Drethlord came down. There was a pause, she didn't know what caused it, since she was between shops, but when she found them again, that girl and Cade were safely ashore. _Well not all that safely, in the end._ She smirked.

Behind them trailed a number of thick-armed men who looked a bit like they were shaking off a blow to the head. _Probably recovering from those absurd straps that the Seviade call a shirt._ Miranya snorted. They were of no consequence. Only Cade mattered. _And that chit who thinks she'll have him._

When the Drethlord led the little group of armsmen down the unimaginatively named Fish Street, she followed them at a safe distance. She expected the Drethlord to lead them to some palatial residence with an enormous fence—something that would make her task difficult. He didn't even take them to an inn. They went straight to the market, a sprawling, trackless thing that was perpetually filthy and deafeningly loud.

Miranya hated the market in Matriem worse than she hated markets generally. For whatever reason, the people were pushier there, the crowds ruder, the cutpurses faster, and the smell inescapable.

Ignoring a man trying very hard to sell her green meat on a stick, she glared over his shoulder while her targets burrowed further into the mess. One or two of the soldiers had split off but she followed the Drethlord and Cade. Miranya smiled as two soldiers poorly disguised in brown cloaks marched back over in their thick, battle-scarred boots. They unrolled large bundles and passed around drab cloaks to all the other members of the group.

She was distracted when a woman old enough to be her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her around in a circle to look at baskets of woven linen. By the time she extricated herself with a sharp word a quick slap on the arm, the group of too-large men in grey and brown cloaks were disappearing. Snarling at the old woman, Miranya darted after them.

She thought they were leaving the market, they walked so long without buying anything, but then Miranya had to duck behind a cloth merchant. The whole cohort stopped suddenly, and watchful eyes began to wander all over the place. She wasn't going to take any chances and hid behind a bolt of lace, peering through the holes.

The Drethlord stood talking with a wine merchant. _How is he going to carry wine out of the city? They have no wagon, no horses. If they mean to have a glass, an inn . . ._ Her eyebrows rose as she watched him hand over four bulging leather purses to the wine merchant.

For a moment, she glanced at Cade, standing slightly back from the rest, just behind the girl's shoulder. Grey eyes narrowed _. He is doing something with his hands_ . . . she stepped closer to the lace screening her from their view. He was braiding together a few pieces of long, silver-green grass. At once, Miranya was back in Antral.

She sat at the foot of the lighthouse watching her brother, nearly eighteen, braiding long strands of sea grass together with nimble fingers. The waves crashed against the cliffs around them as if the sea were conducting a symphony for her.

Altras didn't pay any attention to the ocean, nor to the sunset that painted the sky over the Morayen Isles a stunning gold and pink. He only had eyes for the braid of grass.

"What are you making?" she'd asked. He glanced up at her and smiled a beautiful, excited smile.

"It's a bracelet. I'm giving it to Thelya tonight." He answered. Thelya was a diver's daughter, one of the best divers, actually. She wasn't going to be impressed with woven grass, not when her father brought home pearls for her. Altras was so pleased though, she didn't have the heart to say it so harshly.

" Can you not buy a beaded one?" He had been apprenticed to a merchant for a year at least, he should have at least a little money, if he wanted to by his girl a gift.

He laughed pleasantly at her and explained, "This is a special bracelet. A man makes this for a girl when he wants her to be his wife. If she agrees, she'll wear it on her left hand. Then we'll get married in a few months." He seemed very happily at the thought, but Mira didn't like the idea of him married. Would he go and live somewhere else?

"After that we're married, she will wear one like mother does—silver and sapphire."

"Do you think she'll wear it how you want?" she asked, secretly hoping that her brother wouldn't have to get married after all.

"Of course, Mira, wouldn't you accept if your sweetheart gave you one?" He teased. She agreed, thinking of her secret crush. Sarina Alcora was alright, but the best part of being the Princess' playmate was getting to see her brother, Prince Cade A'lan.

Some people couldn't tell the difference between the boys, but she liked Cade a lot more than Corin. He'd given her a present once, a little toy horse he'd carved to match the one he gave his sister. Then they could play together, the girls and the ponies. And every time she and Sarina played with them, Mira remembered the smile on Cade's face when he gave it to her.

Miranya's memories faded, and she stared across the market at that boy grown into a man, watching his quick fingers twist the grass into a complicated braid. That pony had been her most prized possession. She'd gone back to get it when the women and children were hurried out of the city during the Fall. She'd never seen her mother or father again. The little horse was burned down with the rest of their house.

_All that for a toy horse. What would I not give for a greater gift? That gift?_ She wondered, eyeing the ring of grass that rested in his hands. Her face went still and cold when he took the girl's arm and set the bracelet delicately in her hand. The twit looked surprised, but flashed him a smile. Those false, Illusion-brown eyes sparkled. Miranya ground her teeth, seething.

_Maile isn't Antralian, she doesn't even know what that is!_ Miranya felt a stab of jealous hatred as the other woman slid the grass bracelet onto her left wrist. Cade A'lan smiled, just a crooked little curve of the lips. Miranya would have schemed, and lied, and killed—all three—to see him look at her that way.

In fact, that was precisely what she would do. The Drethlord and his men began to lead away two wagons full of wine barrels, and Miranya felt the plan forming in her mind. There were rumors of a rebellion in Vinyam. The cloaks they bought were of the Amanheldic style—they meant to go west, then. It would take them no less than a week to cross the Brithim River into Amanheld if they traveled anything like a wine merchant.

There was a lot she could do with a week. Darin had been hasty and foolish. _When he wanted this girl he went after her with all the skill and finesse of a flea-ridden cow._ _But I will be careful. I will plan and wait. And if I spin my net just right, I might make the catch of a lifetime._

CHAPTER 31  
_The Wine_

The city of Lotriel was stuck into the ground just as its builder's had imagined. No bend was made for the gentle rise and fall of the land, no curve introduced to accommodate a river or stream. The seven springs of Lotriel were all firmly enclosed in square cisterns so that the vagaries of flowing water could not interrupt the perfection of the city. Instead of growing out of its walls like the other great cities, Lotriel stuck resolutely to its plan. Where others build out, the Amanheldic lords and ladies built up.

There were days when Ianna stood at her window and looked down and loved the straight roads that cut between the buildings. They were roads for men of purpose, with places to be. Today, she hated them. Straight lines are false, unnatural. They're the chains men use to try to bind nature. Men are all straight lines and sharp angles, always trying to bind curves into their own way.

Ianna scowled and tugged her own soft bodice lower. Gerad Sumana had been overheard last week—on purpose, Ianna was certain—saying how much more fashionable the stiff bodices were. What he thinks he knows about what a woman wears under her dress . . . but half the court shows up this week in those awful leather things. Truth, those must be hot! And how on earth do they breathe?

Ianna wasn't jealous of the effect—the women who wore them ended up looking like men if they were flat-chested, or as brazen as Seviade Cotar if they were not. She ran an absent hand down the smooth curve of her waist, covered by deep red silk the color of wine. And under that, a linen bodice, thank you very much! She scowled at the rooftops.

Her House was at the very edge of the Grove, which had long since ceased to have more trees than buildings. It still clung to more green space than the rest of the city, though, even the Park, where most of the Houses were. I swear I am surrounded by listener birds! Not one of them comes up with something new, they just mimic Sumana from dawn to dusk.

Gerad was the High Voice for Sumana, and House Sumana had the crown, so it sat on his cinnamon-colored curls. Ianna sneered at nothing in particular. Gerad was terribly vain about his hair. He's like a woman! Only without the cleverness or the sense of style. Or the curves. She glowered at the rigid pattern below.

"My Lady?" A low voice called from outside the door to her receiving room. She considered not answering, but anything that distracted her from Gerad was welcome.

"Come." She called. A man stepped into the room accordingly. His hair was dark, darker than usual for a Amanheldic man, and shot with silver. His eyes, too, were a few shades too dark. When they were all at court, it gave him the look of a bay stallion in a room full of chestnuts and palominos.

"Beliot!" she cried fondly, happy smile breaking through her melancholy. He chuckled and shook his head.

"You wonder why there are rumors about us, Lady Ianna? It's greetings like that."

She waved a hand. "Oh, nonsense. There are rumors about me and every man."

"Scandalous." He growled, raising one eyebrow. Ianna only smiled and asked,

"What news have you brought me today, Beliot?"

"There's a fair bit of rumor floating around in the south, for sure. But first, a letter. I caught a messenger trying to sell it off down in Stonebridge." Ianna scowled. It was a serious crime. "He's not through regretting it, I warrant. I doubt he'll ever stop regretting this one. It's no ordinary letter." He pulled it out of a hidden pocket inside the breast of his shirt and stepped closer to hand it to her.

It was addressed to her in a loopy handwriting that was somewhat difficult to read, but there was no mistaking the seal: a branching oak in black wax. Ianna had corresponded with Drethlord Monren in the past, but she had not expected to get word from him unprompted. No ordinary letter indeed! Her heart began to race and she broke the seal. Now here is something to make me forget Sumana!

High Voice Ianna Soldar,

It has been some time since we last spoke, but I have a proposition that requires your attention. I cannot explain all in a letter, but let it suffice to say that all of my Brothers are no longer united in our purpose.

Though a number are unaccounted for, my Brother Dracen and I are in Matriem awaiting the cause of our division—the last living member of the Order of the Guardians. She is ill disposed towards the Brothers in Hurndrith, and we support her in this. I invite you and yours to join us in Vinyam at your convenience.

In the interest of assuaging any doubts you may have regarding our plans for Arith and its peoples, I should like to inform you that the surviving Prince of Antral has removed himself from the care of my Brothers in Hurndrith and travels with the Guardian of his own free will.

We look forward to hearing from House Soldar and to the day when the strongest House in Amanheld will also be the first.

Brother Irav Monren

Ianna had never received such an unusual letter in her life. She quickly read it again, to be certain. Beliot was waiting, but she couldn't believe . . .

"Are you certain this letter is legitimate?"

"Of course." He watched with narrowed eyes. Because I've never asked him that before. Because I trust him with everything. But this! If there was a way to lure me into destroying House Soldar, this would be it.

"Monren writes of division among the Drethlords." She began slowly, "he invites me to join himself and Dracen in Vinyam." Beliot let out a low whistle. "And," she took a breath, "he claims to have a Guardian with them and an Antralian prince." Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"What will you do?" Beliot asked.

Ianna was not a weak-willed woman. She did not like waiting. But this, this is worth waiting over. Let us see what trickles in to us on the Ocean Road. Let us see if there is really a civil war among the Brethren, and if a Guardian really walks Arith again.

"Have you heard of these things?" She asked, instead of answering him. Beliot shrugged.

"It's hard to say where the rumors rise. But there's talk of the Seviade flying from port to port, but moving no cargo. There's talk of a black mood in Hurndrith, blacker than normal, I presume. I heard a man say there was a ten thousand mark reward out for two fugitives in Hennelea. I thought it was surely a lie, but how much would you pay if you had misplaced a Guardian and a Prince of Antral?" He asked.

Ianna nodded thoughtfully, running a fingernail over her lip. Something is happening in the world. Something big. Whatever it is, I mean to see Soldar at the head of it, and I mean to see Sumana fall beneath its wheels.

"Take the Ocean Road. See what you can find. I won't answer this yet. It's a fantastic risk—a little time won't ruin us, but it may well save us." Beliot bowed and turned to leave. She caught his arm.

"Don't get too close too quickly," she warned. He searched her face a long moment, then smiled broadly.

"What's this? Worried about me?"

"No!" Ianna snatched her hand back, "Of course not!"

"Don't put wrinkles on that lovely face for me," he chuckled, ignoring her protest. "I may not have dealt with a Guardian and a Drethlord and an Antralian Prince all at once, but I've met one of each. I promise you'll have the information you need, Ianna." Still grinning at his joke, Beliot strode from her rooms.

Once the door swung shut Ianna murmured softly, "Information can be found anywhere. There is only one of you." She stood still a moment longer, then shook her head and went back to the window. Young Edrian would be here soon, maybe she would see him coming. That scamp causes me more trouble than the rest of my cousins combined. But I must confess, I rather prefer him for it.

Elaina walked slowly around the confines of her tent while Cade watched from the middle. She and Dracen were the only ones with tents and cots. Everyone else slept in their blankets on the ground. Cade insisted on laying out his blankets right in front of her door. It would have been an inconvenience if she ever woke up before he did.

Since she didn't, he took visible delight—which was something for him—in waking her every morning by poking his head in the door and calling to her. She always woke up blushing and yanking her blankets up so he wouldn't see her in her camisole. Every day he shook his head about Northern modesty while she giggled.

He would never admit it, but she suspected that Cade didn't maintain his usual discipline when waking her—he let his eyes wander a bit while she scrambled. True, he'd seen a great deal of her under Keravel's ministrations, but now it was different. His eyes weren't flat and emotionless anymore, they lingered. Truth be told, she didn't scramble quite as fast as she could have.

The rest of their caravan had stopped early in order to join a little country fair, which real wine merchants would not have passed up. Dracen and the rest were out appearing to sell their barrels by the roadside in the late afternoon sun, which was extremely amusing to watch.

Elaina's amusement was likely why Dracen sent them back to her tent a league off the road with two guards and Cade. The guards weren't assigned to protect them as much to keep track of them both, as Dracen put it disparagingly, like they were packages to get lost. One of the guards was Jernali, Elaina thought. He was a tall, blonde young man with a strong jaw and sharp blue eyes. The other may have been Cavilnese, his blonde hair had a tinge of red. They hadn't been on the ship, but must have been some of the very first recruits that somehow found their way to the "wine merchant," or she wouldn't have known their names—the Jernali was Trevanor and the other was Izak.

The pair of them were still outside somewhere, but she hadn't heard a word from them since Izak delivered a letter. _How these people all know how to find us is beyond me! It was strange enough with the recruits showing up—now letters!_

The letter was addressed to "the Guardian," and sealed with a high-stepping horse in bright red wax. It was from some fellow named Beloit, who claimed to be wanting more information about what he termed, "the opposition to Hurndrith." Elaina snorted. _What more does he want to know? If he knows well enough to send letters and knows we're opposing Hurndrith, what more information could he possibly need?_

Her cot still leaned against the canvas wall while she paced, wine in one hand and the in the other. Cade wasn't happy that this man had found them and knew what they were. He even mentioned Antral!

"Do you think he's an agent?" she asked again. Again, Cade shrugged.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is Monren's doing, or Dracen's. Someone is spreading the word, or there wouldn't be so many people showing up here knowing what we are." He was clearly not best pleased that the Brothers were implementing plans without telling them.

"Well whatever they told them, it's working. This is the first man who has wanted some real answers before getting involved. All these other fools don't even know quite what's happening!" She shook her head. "If this keeps up, we're going to have an army."

"Armies are useful in wars," Cade observed.

"Sure, but we're on the wrong side of the world for a war. How will we get from Vinyam to Hurndrith?"

"Maybe they will come to us."

"Vinyam would _love_ that." Elaina said wryly. "I'm sure they'll be just leaping at the chance to be crushed between the Drethlords." She took a sip of wine and looked at the letter again.

"So what do we tell our clever, reluctant friend?" She said at last, glancing up at Cade. Then the taste of the wine hit her and she grimaced. "Ugh! This stuff is awful! No wonder no one believes we are wine merchants!" Elaina muttered, glaring into the goblet.

"I mean, if this Beliot fellow knows who we are, who doesn't—" Elaina blanched, breaking off mid-sentence. The letter fell unheeded from her trembling fingers to roll itself loosely on the carpets.

"Elaina?" She could not respond. Cade stepped closer. She tried to call to him, or reach out, but her whole body was numb. She managed one more unsteady step, and then she collapsed.

"Elaina!" Cade bellowed, falling to his knees beside her limp form. In his mind the Link faded, and the emptiness brought the same horrific feeling of absence that you felt stepping off an unexpected stair.

"Guards! Trevanor, Izak, get in here!" Cade cried. Two startled faces appeared at the door. "She's been poisoned! Go find help!" he ordered. For a moment longer they stood staring, aghast.

"Go!" He roared, and they did.

As he sat watching her face, listening to the soft whisper of her breath, he was surprised he was not more panicked. It felt as though an iron fist had punched through his chest. There was a great ice-edged hole where he ought to be feeling something. It was a numbness he knew well, one he had nurtured for fourteen years.

Much sooner than he had expected, a caster rushed into the tent on Trevanor's heels. For an instant she stood staring at them both. If she hid her eyes with Illusion, it did not work on Cade. Her grey eyes narrowed for a moment, considering.

It was only for an instant, then she dropped to her knees on the rugs beside Elaina. Yanking Cade's hands from the Wielder's face, she put a palm to her forehead. In the dim light Cade saw her flinch back with a shiver.

"I was out collecting herbs, when I heard your men yelling . . ." she began, "She is strong," the woman said wonderingly, "I've never felt one so strong. I am no Creator, I cannot truly Heal. If she does not get help soon, she will die very painfully and very soon." Cade gave a start, as if to move between the caster and Elaina. Cool grey eyes met his sympathetically.

"No need to worry, my Lord, I cannot make it worse, even if I wanted to. But I have nothing here to help. You must come with me back to my home, I can help her there." Cade nodded, tearing his eyes from the caster to look back at Elaina. She laid her hand back on the Elaina's forehead and frowned.

"The poison spreads quickly. We must hurry." Cade rose at the force of her voice, lifting his Wielder in his arms. He matched the woman's pace, stalking out into the afternoon sun. Behind him hurried the two guards. Dracen would just have to figure it out later.

The caster breathed a sigh of relief as she led the way into the wood. Everything was going just it should. The man was all in black, there weren't too many with them, and the girl was definitely the caster she was supposed to bring. With any luck that madwoman in her house would be satisfied and leave her alone.

The man followed closely, carrying the girl. Despite the burden, he kept up with ease, even as they moved into the trees. When they burst onto the narrow path, he suddenly asked,

"Is this the only way in?" The caster nodded, reluctantly slowing while he paused. _Don't stop, man! You think she's dying, and if I don't show up quickly enough, Truth only knows what that woman will do to all of us._

"You two stay here." The man ordered the guards, "No one comes down this path unless you know and trust them—and that is on your own heads, understood?" The pair nodded as one, grim expressions settling over their faces. At last, the man in black turned again to follow her deeper into the trees.

Undergrowth choked the path, catching at Elaina's skirt as they passed, but Cade pressed on. The woman did not slow for him, and he did not need it. All at once they stepped from the winding path into the bright light of a clearing.

It wasn't just a clearing, it was a splendid garden, complete with an impressive portico whose columns dripped with blooming flowers. _It is strange that so many of the flowers are in full bloom—all of them, really. Elaina will be sorry she missed this._ Even in spring no garden Cade had ever seen was so perfectly timed to burst into flower all at once.

As they approached the door, someone emerged to wait for them beneath the green-tinged shadows cast by the leaves and vines that arched overhead. Cade blinked in surprise.

Miranya!

"Lidia, I did not know you expected guests—Dominic!" She broke off happily, "What are you doing here? How did you know I was—" she broke off as her gaze sank to Elaina's limp form. "You're not here to see me," she realized aloud, brow furrowed as she stepped toward them. "Truth, what has happened to her? Put her down, Dominic, let me see her!" Miranya demanded shrilly, kneeling beside him. She peered into Elaina's eyes and felt the pulse in her neck as Lidia said in rapid monotone,

"There was something in her wine—some poison that stills her. I didn't know the poison, and I did not dare try to cast around it. I thought you might know the herbs and could brew or cast something to save her."

Cade's sharp stare left Elaina's face to study Miranya's. She didn't look panicked, at least. She laid a hand on Elaina's forehead, then opened her mouth to peer at her tongue.

"I believe it is farrow root and ravenna, perhaps eleanor to help hide it in the wine . . " she murmured.

"I have enough redthorn, but I'll need quilt-leaf berries. Can you find them, Lidia?" Miranya asked sharply. The caster nodded and met Miranya's steely gaze for a long moment before the order was issued:

"Then go, and go quickly!" Cade thought there was an undertone to her words, a meaning to that look. He dreaded that they were not telling him something. But then, he dreaded hearing what they might be hiding from him, too. Miranya sighed and stood.

"You may stay with her, but I can start preparing the tonic without the berries until Lidia gets back." She paused, and when he did not reply, Miranya went on, "I hoped to see you again, but I did not think it would ever happen. These are not the circumstances I would have hoped. I am sorry, Dominic." With another sigh, she stepped inside the house.

CHAPTER 32  
_The Garden_

Cade looked up at the sound of her footsteps on the flagstones. Butterflies swirled with every step she took down the path, but he only saw the glass in her hands.

"Will that help her?" he asked.

"Yes, though it will not cure the whole of it." She gestured for him to lift Elaina's head so she could pour the mixture into her mouth. In a few tense moments, Elaina opened her eyes, blinking rapidly.

"Miranya?" She croaked.

"Yes, Maile. Try not to speak." She soothed. "Can you cast something, dear?" Elaina frowned and shook her head. A broad smile grew on Miranya's face.

"That is to be expected." She assured them both. "I will be right back." Miranya hurried into the house, almost running. Elaina smiled brightly and sat up.

"I told you that wine was awful." She groused. Cade could only shake his head. "You look grim as a grave digger, what's the matter with me?" she asked in mock seriousness. Cade smiled in spite of himself.

"Some poison, I don't know very much more," he began. The clink of metal cut him off, and Cade glanced up to see Miranya approaching with a cloth bag.

"I hate to interrupt, but would you put these on, Dominic?" she said, tossing the bag beside him with a crash. Frowning, Cade leaned forward and pulled from the sack a pair of manacles connected by a heavy iron chain.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked angrily, rising to his feet. Miranya's sickly sweet smile slid off her face in an instant.

"Do it, or she dies. The pillars may not work on you, _Cade_ , but they work on her." For a moment his hand hesitated on the hilt of his sword, but then his gaze flicked to Elaina, who sat in stunned stillness.

"How do you know my name?" he asked. She chuckled.

"We'll get to that, don't worry. For now, just put those on. We wouldn't want you doing anything . . . rash."

He hesitated, "What of the poison, the berries you sent the other for?" she laughed at his concern, "You must cure her!"

"She is cured. All I gave her was powdered morel seed and sightshade. In a few hours she'll be able to cast again—of course, in a few hours that won't matter." Miranya shrugged.

"You made the poison just to get us here?" Cade asked bitterly.

"Very good! I knew you were clever. And Lidia was quite useful, of course."

"A friend of yours?" he asked coldly.

"Not at all!" Miranya said gaily, "I had to . . . convince her to help me." Her sly smile was lost on him. "Now put those on, love."

Cade could not disobey. In stony silence, he closed one metal cuff over his wrist and reached for the other. _And I said I would never be chained again. Here I am closing the manacles myself._

"Wrap it around the column, there." She instructed, and with a sneer he obeyed. Now that he knew Elaina did not need her, his civility evaporated.

"How will you lock them?" he asked in challenge.

"She'll do it." Miranya said with a smile, nodding to Elaina. "On your feet, now. Here's the key." She drew a fine chain over her head with the key dangling from it and tossed it to Elaina. Elaina got to her feet, but crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

"Do it, girl, or you die right now."

"Please, Elaina!" Cade said in alarm. Miranya smirked.

"Elaina? You two were less than truthful with us. And I told you my real name! I'd expect no better hospitality from a Northern girl, but you really should know better, Cade, darling."

Glaring daggers at the other woman, Elaina snatched the key up off the stones and went to Cade. She hesitated, trying to think of some way out of it, but Cade shook his head a fraction. Don't think of anything, don't try anything. Just do as she says—I can't risk losing you. The key snapped the locks closed with a chilling click.

"Very good! That's perfect. Now he is all wrapped up like a present." Miranya praised condescendingly. Elaina turned and sprang at her, yanking her belt knife as she did. Halfway to the caster she jerked to a halt in midair. Miranya lowered her to the ground, ignoring Elaina's struggles. Unable to cast, Elaina couldn't escape. In fact, as soon as her feet touched the ground, she froze as still as a mouse under an eagle's shadow. Only her eyes moved. _That woman has her in Air._ Cade hissed at the dismay in Elaina's eyes. Miranya smiled warmly.

"That was awfully silly of you, wasn't it, dear? It is too late for that." She smiled at Elaina, who stood as still as the statues that littered the fragrant garden. It looked like a dream, overflowing with flowers. Elaina's eyes were wide with horror, following her captor's every move, the only interruption of her absolute stillness.

"You really should be more careful." She admonished Cade with a shake of her finger. "Catching you both would have been a headache if you hadn't been so obliging, and I did so want to catch you." Her laugh sounded like a silver bell, sending flurries of butterflies into the air in agreement. She turned to pluck a pale blue blossom from the cascades of them that hung over the courtyard. Cade cursed himself for believing her ploy. It _was_ his fault.

"You should be more careful, yourself, witch!" he spat as if he were not chained to a pillar. Her beautiful face turned toward him the picture of surprise, eyebrows raised, lips parted,

"Oh, but I was! I was very careful indeed—and look what it has brought me!" She smiled beatifically at him. "You." With a concerned glance, she stepped toward Elaina, "And you as well, my dear—don't think you've been forgotten." her porcelain fingers glided from Elaina's temple to her chin in a familiar caress. Cade snarled.

"Surely you can see this was no accident?" she continued, twirling the blue flower in her fingers while she approached Cade again. "It was deadly difficult to get that wine to you unnoticed, not a lot of room for error there, love." She reminded him with a wave of the blossom.

"And then to be sure your little minions would run to this wench first when she fell," she shook the flower at him, "I had to remove two other casters from the area! And you know how hard that is. Plus, all the trouble I went to getting this one to do as I asked. You would have been suspicious if I had turned up right at first. Then you may have brought guards."

He glowered at her, dark eyes brimming with hatred.

"And that poison was no easy feat—vinegar is so hard to mix with." She sighed dramatically. "Did you like the little fair I arranged so you'd come to me without all those boring people you travel with?" She gave him another angelic smile and tipped his chin up with one cool fingertip. He jerked away from her touch.

"How marvelously well it went!" Her smile grew, dancing in her grey eyes. "Almost too easy! Anyone could see you cared for each other, but this . . ."

Miranya casually flicked up Elaina's left sleeve to show the woven grass bracelet. When she tossed her head back to laugh, her waves of black hair glistened in the sunlight. The butterflies swirled again in riotous color. Cade almost smiled. _Elaina's been wearing it all this time._ A chill slid down his spine. _And Miranya's been watching all this time._

"Does she even know that it's the traditional gift of a suitor to his beloved—an offer of betrothal? Did you tell her that to wear it on the left is an acceptance? No?" Miranya questioned. Elaina's gaze shifted to him, and Cade kept quiet. _Well, now she knows, one way or the other._ He wondered if she would take it off, or switch arms before he could stop himself. _If she lives to take it off and throw it in my face I'll be thankful._

"Ever so much easier to entangle the mind when it is already in knots." His captor giggled. Cade couldn't argue. He was numb with fear for Elaina. _What is this madwoman doing?_

"So you see? Am I not cautious?" her tone was light. He said nothing. Her smile faded. Thorny vines sprouted and curled through the garden, and darkness flashed in her eyes. In two steps she stood in front of him again, peering into his face.

"Am I not?" she hissed through clenched teeth, her expression twisted in fury at his silence. He watched her impassively and clenched his jaw. Black vines twisted in among the flowers, choking them with thorns. The caster flew to Elaina's side with a shriek. A knife appeared from her sleeve in a twist of her wrist, and she held the blade to Elaina's throat.

"AM I NOT CAUTIOUS?" she demanded again, eyes aflame with rage. The blade bit into Elaina's skin, though still she could not move, and a drop of dark red blood dripped off the tip to stain the marble at her feet. Nettles and fireroot sprung up between the paving stones. Cade's eyes were fixed on the weapon. He strained against the chains past the point of pain.

"Yes, very cautious. Yes, Miranya." He whispered. The garden brightened with its mistress, thorns subsiding at once. Her smile returned, adamantine to hear her name on his lips. He took a step back, easing the tension of his bonds. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. _True spirits preserve us! Madwoman!_

"Thank you!" She said sweetly.

"But why? What do you want?" he demanded. "Why all this just to kill us?"

"Kill you!" she looked hurt, "Why would I want to kill you? After looking all these years? That would be silly." She shook her head at his disbelief, "No, no, no, darling. I want to help _you_! Her, I'll kill."

"What!" he exploded, "Are you mad, woman?"

"Not at all—we were just talking about how clever I am." She reminded him coyly, tapping him on the nose with the flower. "I've always wanted to help you, Cade A'lan, don't you remember?" She paused, his eyes were clouded with wary confusion, "I was quite young then, no pillars, just little Mira—the princesses' friend . . ." Cade blinked, staring up at her with startled eyes.

"You remember! Well, you never noticed me then, but I noticed you!" A giggle, "So handsome, so much older," she sighed at the memory. "I would have done anything to help you then, but you never asked! Fate has brought us back together, though, and this time I _can_ help you."

She smiled benevolently, "Now, what is, at the present, _your_ most significant problem?" Cade frowned, trying to reconcile this woman to the girl of his childhood that he had never truly noticed.

"You." He said at last.

Miranya sighed. "You're not listening, my sweet—I am trying to help you, so I am not a problem. Think, now, I know you can get it."

"The Drethlords." He muttered through clenched teeth. If he wasn't chained to a column right now, she would have been.

"There you go! And why do they hunt you, would you say?"

"They want Elaina back." It was possible that he would break his jaw if he kept grinding his teeth this way.

"Of course they do! And why is that?"

"Because she is the answer to their prophesies!" he growled, glaring. It was a look that no sane creature would want to encounter. She giggled and brushed the flower along his lips. He bit at it, spitting the petals at her feet. A sharp blow with her elbow sent him to the floor, head ringing. There was a rustle as nettles crept up between the stones.

Cade pushed himself up to sit on his heels, vision quivering and sparkling painfully as he watched her moving to get another flower, pink, this time. Blinking away the dizziness, he did not see her until her face was inches from his.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, my sweet." Miranya purred. This close, she smelled of flowers in a way that dwarfed the real thing. He coughed at the thickness of it. "And you had been doing so well . . ." she spun away, his mind spinning with her.

"Your problem is her power. And that is a problem I would be happy to . . . fix." She was smiling into his face again, too close for dazed eyes to focus. "Did you know I could do that?" she whispered. He shook his head, mostly because he was trying to think clearly. _Know she could do what?_ She smiled into his confusion.

"Yes," she murmured in his ear, "I can. All I have to do is kill her, and her powers are gone." Stepping back, she began to glide toward Elaina.

"No!" Cade cried, leaning against his chains to stagger upright again. Suddenly everything was far too clear. "Leave her! Anything, I'll do anything, but leave her alone. Please. Miranya. Yes, little Mira, you were such a pretty girl, even then. Please, don't hurt her." He slumped against the chains.

Cade did not even care that he was begging. Elaina did, judging by the astonished fury he could see in her eyes, even from this far. He didn't care about that either. _She can be mad at me later, so long as she is alive later_. The sorceress' face lit up when he said her name with its compliment, but settled back into a puzzled pout.

"But sweeting, we just agreed that her power was your problem—I'm going to help! What does she mean to you?" she finished innocently.

"Everything!" His reply was immediate, but her tinkling again laugh filled the garden.

"Sweet, really." she said with a smile, then her mouth flattened into a thin line, "but you're lying." Cade stared at her, incredulous.

"I guess that proves mere casters have no power over the mind," was his chilly response, "because I've never said anything more true."  
"She can't possibly be _everything_ a woman might mean to a man." Her tone and glance prevented any possible misinterpretation. Cade refused to take the bait, staring resolutely at his captive Wielder. _That is_ not _something we are going to discuss._

"Do you know how I know?" Miranya asked silkily, going to him. "This," she laid her hand over his heart, "is still beating." At last his puzzled dark eyes left Elaina to settle on Miranya.

"You don't know!" She cried with genuine delight, "Good thing you talked to me, silly children." She wandered through the flowers, trailing her fingers along the petals. "In addition to figuring out that she's a Wielder and you're her Watcher, I've learned so much from our guests from over the sea! Would you like to hear?" Cade only glared.

"I learned a mind like hers can't stand the touch of your sort of spirit and the same is true in reverse. It's lethal. Instantly lethal." She finished flatly. "Of course, that's not a problem—they would only come into contact if they were brought closer than is natural by some web, some perfectly balanced casting between you . . ." She watched his reaction with narrowed eyes.

"We're still alive, witch." He noted coldly, and he got a cold smile in return.

"For now." She reminded him. Cade was silent. "Yes, you are for now—it's natural that there remain some separation of minds, spirits, call it what you will. You are two separate people, after all." Miranya continued, playfully, "Even if you can feel where the other is as surely as you know where your own feet are." She made a face.

"The problem is if you get too . . . close." Briefly, her gaze flicked to Elaina to see if she understood and rolled her eyes at the blush that stained the other woman's cheeks. Cade stared at the ground.

"Northerners!" Miranya murmured accusingly, peering at Cade, "You've been with them too long—you're shy!" Elaina couldn't move, and Cade didn't. "Yes, t _hat_ close." She hissed. Frowning at the stones, Cade wondered if she could really mean . . .

"Instantly." Miranya snapped her fingers, surveying her captives with a satisfied smirk. Stunned, Cade focused all his energy on keeping his face smooth—this was _not_ the time to be transparent.

"Oh, this is fantastic! I didn't know a person held like this could weep!" She stood in front of Elaina's Air-bound form, and Cade could see the tears glistening in her eyes. It made him shake with fury.

"Can't even blink, but here she's crying. Might have killed yourselves, mightn't you?" she chuckled and waved her flower at Elaina. "Silly children, meddling in things you don't understand."

"But now I am not sure what to do! Would it be worse for her to live, knowing she could never have you the way I can, my pet?" the woman swayed toward Cade, "Or should I just kill her now?" a furrow marred her perfect brow in her thoughtfulness. "What do you think? Will you be more obliging if I let her live?"

Cade nodded vigorously, bringing his expression and his body under control at once. He would have agreed to anything.

"You won't be angry with me if I take you from her, will you?"

"Never, Miranya!" he gasped, "you are just as lovely—more lovely!—just as powerful . . . and since I can never be hers," he shrugged, "What's the point? I have known you so long, you remember Antral the way it was . . ." he pretended to break off with emotion and gather himself again, "Why not be yours?" Cade finished at last, reaching out to stroke her side.

Elaina jerked her eyes away. He fought to keep from clenching his jaw, fought to keep up the act, but he was terrified that his fear was written all over his face. _Please, let her believe the lie._

"That was easy. For an ever-loyal Antralian that was awfully fast. Are you toying with me, toy?" Miranya asked suspiciously, grabbing his chin in her long fingers. She stared into his dark eyes.

He did his best to retreat behind the stony mask of his days with the Brethren. He'd had a lifetime to perfect that mask. _Believe it, witch. Believe I would be yours. Believe it, and free me so I can kill you._ Nothing of his thoughts showed on his face.

"I thought you loved her?" she pushed, still unsure.

He threw his head back and laughed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his betrayal in Elaina's eyes. It was agony.

He ignored it.

"Prove that you want me. Kiss me." She demanded in a throaty whisper. Cade forced himself to smile into her lips, if this could save Elaina . . . _Anything._

Leaning against his chains as she lifted her face to his, he kissed her with the greatest need of his life. At last, the sorceress stepped back, breathless. Her eyes were dark with her desire. Elaina's tears had stopped—replaced with a look that should have killed the other woman where she stood. A look that included Cade. He barely kept from flinching. _Truth, if this works I am going to have a lot of explaining to do . . ._

"How was that?" Cade demanded brashly.

"That? That was . . . convincing. Everything I imagined as a child." She murmured against his chest. He chuckled deeply.

"Wait until I'm free of these chains." He replied, voice rich with promise. Miranya inhaled sharply. He saw the obsessive desire in her unguarded eyes. Never taking her sparkling gaze from Cade, the caster waved a hand. Elaina stumbled in her sudden freedom, nearly falling. He resisted the instinct to move to her side.

"I keep my word. You may go. If I ever see you again, I will kill him—I'll keep that promise, too." Miranya warned cheerfully. Elaina glared at her, hands balled into fists at her sides. For a moment, she hesitated, as if she would attack with her bare hands. He tensed. Her gaze shifted to him.

Chills ran down his skin. He had seen those cold, haunting eyes before. That last day in the red tent. The moment she decided to die. He fought down the urge to protest, to defend himself from this newest mark on her soul.

_This is ridiculous. Doesn't she see what I'm trying to do? Miranya believes because this is what she wants—people see what they want to. Besides which, she is out of her mind. But Elaina? She's ready to dismiss everything I've said and done instead of ignoring this charade?_ _I'm in chains and she is a jealous madwoman's whim away from death, and still she thinks I don't love her?_ He wanted to yell after her, to explain everything, to ask her how she could possibly believe this.

But he didn't. Until he was out of these chains, they were hardly any better off. _Once I am free . . ._

"You look after her with longing, pet." Miranya accused. He shrugged, much as he would have if Keravel had been questioning him. He had years and years of practice—she would believe, then she would free him.

_Then she will die_.

He had never killed a woman before and did not wish to. He certainly did not want to start with Sarina's childhood friend, no matter what she was like now. But this woman could not be left alone. She was insane. Insane in a fiendishly clever sort of way. An insanity that had decided it wanted Elaina dead and would try again when he escaped.

That he would escape her was absolutely certain in his mind. Without Elaina as a hostage she would never manage to bind him again. But once he did, she would be after Elaina before the poison wore off.

_And_ _that_ _I cannot allow. Ever_. _No matter what it does to me._ _So, she will have to remove these shackles, and then she will have to die._

He turned a blazing smile on her. _Would a madwoman notice my eyes are cold?_

"Would you like to try without the chains?" his voice was a caress. Desire flamed on her cheeks, and she yanked him forward into another kiss. _Apparently not._ Finally, she tore out of his arms.

Panting for breath, she fished out the key to his manacles on the fine gold chain around her neck. With a triumphant, dazzling smile—she _was_ beautiful—the chains fell to the stones. He reached out to hold her face in his hands. Her smile faded under his pained expression. But it was too late. He twisted sharply. Miranya's neck snapped with a crack.

Suddenly limp, her body sank to the stones. The garden faded, withering and yellowing without constant support from its creator. Cade did not dare look down. Clenching his fists to keep his hands from trembling, he took a slow breath and sprinted down the path after Elaina.

She must have walked fast. By the time he caught her she was nearly out of the garden. Now she was walking in long strides, shoulders back and chin high. _Not the look of hopelessness._ He managed to smile.

CHAPTER 33  
_The Order_

"Elaina!" It was Cade's voice, the same sweet, beautiful voice she heard in her favorite dreams. It made her resolve shiver like glass under a hammer, but she neither slowed nor turned.

"Elaina wait!" he was running, she could hear his boots on the stones. She loved watching him run, though he had no way of knowing that. She didn't look. _Mustn't look._

He was beside her. Elaina didn't stop, didn't turn to him. _If I look at him I'll break down_. All those brand new walls she hadn't finished building around her heart would collapse. Cade reached for her hand. She yanked it free.

_Truth, but his hands are warm! Must keep walking. Get back to the camp, hide in the crowd_. Distraction. That was what she needed. _Can't think about him. Can't look ._

He stepped in front of her, and his hands on her shoulders brought her to an unwilling halt. _Truth damn him_.

"What's the matter with you?" She didn't speak. Her heart screamed. _How can he ask that? We can never be together, of course you don't want me anymore. Of course. You wish you were not my Watcher, you never really loved me. You want your beautiful childhood friend. Naturally. I won't make you say it_.

It was breaking her heart to know it, she didn't need to hear it.

What does he expect? I came so close to giving everything . . . If I could have done it, I would have banished that woman. The one thing Hetarth told me never, ever to do. The thing I swore I never would consider. And I would have done it, for him, if I could have.

Her hands shook, and she remembered the little rabbit in the mountains. _Truth, I would have done it! And for a man that doesn't even want me!_

She didn't meet his eyes. Those dark, daring, dangerous eyes.

No. Have to focus—control, frozen. Still. Don't wonder why or how or what—just accept it: he wants out. His oath was forced, invalid. He has the right to be free if he wishes to be and he clearly does. How can he want to leave? How can he not!

She knew her thoughts were as wild and scattered as a caged animal's, but that didn't change anything.

"Elaina! Look at me!" She wouldn't, and he couldn't spare a hand from her shoulders to make her. Half of her wanted to collapse into those arms and not care— _surely I love him enough for both of us._ The stronger half kept her rigid and distant. _There are other things to live for. I don't know what they are, but there have to be. I was alive before I met him, wasn't I?_

"You can't possibly believe I wanted that witch." The scorn on that last word burned.

_Am I not a witch, too? I'm worse, I'm a Guardian! Don't respond. Mustn't speak._ Her throat was too tight. He'd notice, then he'd laugh that horrible mocking laugh again. The way he laughed when Miranya asked if he loved her.

It was clear he didn't love her anymore, not after seeing how that beautiful woman wanted him, that friend of his childhood, a reminder of home. _Certainly not after hearing that our love would destroy us both. Even if we live, even if we win—no marriage, no children, just stuck with a woman who can be neither a wife nor a mother._

The thought made her blush, but there it was. _Naturally he wants something else, it just hurts to lose that dream. No, all dreams come to an end. The worst part is waking to find it has never been real. Not ever._

"I had to do things I'm not proud of, Elaina, I _had_ to get you out of there! Don't you understand? I'm your Watcher . . . she wanted to kill you!" he gave her shoulders a shake, stared into her face, waiting.

"I killed her." The words tore from his lips. She ached for him. "With my hands." His voice was a whisper.

It was all she could do not to comfort him. _He had to kill his friend, a woman. Because he is linked to me, sworn to protect my life above anything he might wish. How he must hate me for that!_

Elaina did not blame him either, couldn't blame him that his hands shook with anger. _He never asked for this, never picked me—it is his right to resent it, and I won't make it worse._

"It was your duty." She said, clearly as she could manage. _There. That was not so bad. Ease his pain a little, don't burden him with mine. Just don't look at him. No. That would be a mistake._

Elaina glanced up. _Mistake._

Those deep, dark eyes were glinting. He was stunned, lost, flying to pieces inside.

She looked down. _What did you expect?_ She asked herself _. Your horrible existence forced him to kill someone he never should have had to. His being Antralian only made it worse. He has every right to blame you for his suffering. Imagine if you had banished her—that's what he's feeling right now. You're the one who has no right to be falling apart!_

But she was. It was an agony of emptiness, a chasm that had split and dropped suddenly, and her world was gone. Instead there was nothing. Nothing but nothing. All because Cade wanted someone else, or anyone else. It was not his fault, and it was not her right to expect anything from him, especially not after Miranya's bit of news.

_I have to let him go, let him live his life away from me and what I force him to be._ _I just don't know if I can do it._ _Am I strong enough to send him away? Even if it for his good?_

She would have to be convincing, or he would feel honor-bound to stay . . .

Cade walked behind Elaina's shoulder the whole way back to the encampment. Trevanor and Izak fell in behind them when they passed, but both knew better than to say anything. Elaina never hesitated nor looked back. He didn't know if he could have met her grey-eyed stare.

While they walked, he replayed the last hour in his mind, scrutinizing every choice, every word. After the fourth examination he knew three things. _First, other than the obvious refusing the wine or taking guards, I would have done nothing differently. Second, there was no alternative to killing Miranya. Third, I am still a monster for doing it._

Clearly, Elaina agreed with his third conclusion, at least. Cade clenched his jaw against the self-loathing that washed over him. _What sort of man kills a woman?_

The fact that she was a caster didn't matter. He was _ashendari,_ so the balance of power was the same. Worse, it hadn't been either accidental or a spontaneous reaction to attack. He had known exactly what he would do: give a woman her death instead of the kiss she was expecting.

_And true spirits help me, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I am a betrayer of hope, a deceiver of trust, a murderer of women._ His own accusations receded sharply into the background when she spun around at the door to her tent to face him.

"You could at least pretend you were sorry." She hissed. Cade closed his eyes against the revulsion in her voice.

"That would be a lie." He never lied to Elaina. No one else could get away with it if she were Truthing, save an _ashendari_ , but he never did.

Tears glistened in her eyes, but her anger burned through them with searing heat. In the instant before she turned her back on him again, Cade saw his face reflected in her eyes.

The face of a monster.

Elaina felt the tears spill over as soon as she turned her back on Cade and fled into the tent. She had known the answer before she'd asked, but hearing him say it was a thousand times worse. The whole walk, all she could see was his dazzling smile, a brighter smile than any he'd ever given her. It was for Miranya.

And he didn't regret it.

Curls of shame seemed to wind their way around her stomach, making her feel ill. _Whatever made me think he feels for me? The man was bound to me with no hope of escape—he was just making the best of the worst situation. Cade never loved me. Truth, I am such a fool!_

Added to this was the guilt that sapped every muscle of strength until she could no longer pace, but collapsed to the floor in a heap _. I've stolen his loyalty and used it to make him into someone he loathes._ Her brief flashes of anger, of fury that he had made her think he might have cared, made her head ache.

_What sort of man gives jewelry to a woman he didn't like? But then, does braided grass even count? Little girls make more substantial daisy-chains! But Miranya said . . ._ Elaina fingered the bracelet, her teeth clenched. _He was trying to do the honorable thing, that's all._

The only reason he'd done any of it was because he had to, had sworn to, was bound to by the Link. He was just trying to make the best of the life he was stuck with. Nothing else. She was a fool for thinking otherwise. Half of her wanted him to stay, to make him hers even if he didn't want to be. Time and oath were on her side— _perhaps one day . . ._  
The other half didn't want to be reminded that she was a jailer every time she saw him. Even if time did change his mind, it was still time bought with the Link, with an oath made by a hostage—unfair and untrue. Closing her eyes, Elaina slipped the bracelet off.

Quickly then, before she could change her mind, Elaina stalked to the door. Cade was there, as always, laying out his bed in the twilight.

"Cade." Her voice was low, too low, but she couldn't speak normally. He looked up from where he was untying his blanket roll, rising gracefully to his feet. Just watching him move made her breath catch. His dark eyes searched hers, but he was expressionless. _Mourning, no doubt_. Elaina made herself go on.

"I want you to leave." It felt as if someone else were saying the words. _Someone else must be, can he see what a lie it is? Stay!_ A small frown stole across his face.

"And go where?" he asked.

"Anywhere you wish, just not here." _Lies. All lies. Stay here, never be anywhere else._

"But I am your Watcher—" he began.

"So obey me." Elaina kept her voice as even as she could. _Oh Truth!_ Her hands trembled when she held out the grass bracelet, giving it away.

It seemed like forever before he reached out to touch it, but even then, Cade did not take the thing. _Take it, take it back, you never meant anything by it. But leave it, leave it so I can wonder. I wish you meant something by it!_

"Keep it." He said, "I've no use for it." _Of course. It is nothing._ Elaina let it fall to the ground.

"Neither have I." _Oh Truth, forgive me. Every word is a lie!_ For a moment, he watched it fall with such pain Elaina almost knelt and snatched it back, but then his face cleared.

He stared straight ahead with the expression he had always worn for the Drethlords, that awful, empty face that made him look like a statue instead of a man. Elaina swallowed back her sobs. _Not yet._ _First I will set him free, then there will be a lifetime for that._

"My lady," he said coldly and bowed. He reached down, and she thought he might take the bracelet, but he grabbed only his blankets. With another bow, Cade turned on his heel and walked away.

_Don't go away! You said you would never leave me._ Elaina shook, willing herself to watch him go, to not run after him or call his name. Her eyes drank in that last sight of him, stalking away into the night. All too soon he was gone. _True spirits._

A deep breath of cool night air did nothing. Before she broke down and wept where anyone could see, Elaina stumbled back into her tent to cry alone, scooping up the grass bracelet and sliding it back onto her wrist. _I will never take it off again._

CHAPTER 34  
_The Commander_

General Riesling waited patiently beside the wagons of the "wine merchant." He eyed the burgeoning camp dubiously. _Biggest wine merchant I ever saw. Not a lot of wine, though._ _I wonder why they even bother with the pretense anymore . . ._

Brother Dracen was less subdued, tapping his foot and scowling in the direction he expected her to appear. Riesling had received a letter from him Monren seeking his help, so he had come at once, arriving at the caravan with the dawn. The letter told him on the road between Matriem and Vinyam he would come across Lord Dracen posing as a wine merchant. Even if the merchant disguise had not been wearing thin, Riesling remembered the look of the sour Dracen from the Rebellions. It would have been little trouble to find them.

So here he was, and now he was about to meet some great caster, a girl named Elaina Aridal Tristarine of Amanheld. _Why are the Drethlords working with a Guardian? Better yet, why is a Guardian working with the Drethlords? And what, truth keep them, do they need me for?_

No one had come right out and said it. Of course, there were not too many reasons a Drethlord sought out the services of a well-known general.

Riesling knew he had a reputation as one of the finest commanders alive. It wasn't the result of any greater plan of his, just a lifetime of unflinching work, the skill that grew up over time, and a bit of luck. Every commander needed a little luck, and the best seemed to create it. Riesling was almost that good: he knew men and war so well, his plans often met with remarkably good fortune as a result of preparedness.

Today, he was unprepared. He hated the feeling. He knew nothing about what he was to do, or even who precisely he was serving.

_If the Drethlord is waiting around for this woman and not bellowing for her immediate appearance, then perhaps he is taking orders from her._ Riesling was not the kind of man to dismiss evidence, even if the conclusion it pointed to was unheard of. _At the very least, Dracen isn't willing to summon her, so she is an equal._

In the midst of the organized chaos that was the harnessing of the cart horses and the disarray of breaking camp, Riesling's gaze was drawn immediately to the graceful, feminine motion of a figure moving toward them, a figure smaller than the men around her. Grey eyes studied him as she drew near, not a hint of emotion in her eyes. _The Guardian._

"We have a customer?" she asked dryly, looking him over. Dracen frowned at her. Riesling got the impression that something was wrong, something other than her mistaking him for a customer. _Dracen is displeased by her, and not just by her lateness. It is something about her appearance he dislikes._ He eyed her up and down. _She looks fine to me. A little thin, perhaps, but well-dressed and neatly kept._ _What is going on?_

"Lady Elaina, this is General Gerald Riesling, he is here to see to the recruits that have been joining us. Far more are already gathered in Vinyam." Dracen explained shortly, "Where is A'lan?"

"He departed last night after we returned to camp. At the moment, I would guess he is somewhere in Emon's March."

"Will he be returning?" Dracen pressed. Her only response was a flat stare. _Aha, the Lord expected to see this man with her. A guard perhaps?_ Dracen didn't question her further, but was not put off.

"Then the general can see to your guard. You can't wander about alone." _It is her guard. Does she resent having steel when she has the pillars?_ Riesling watched how she took the warning, but her expression was flat as slate.

"It is an honor to serve, Lady Elaina." He said, "I can begin the guard as soon as you wish."

"Whatever you please, general." She said carelessly and turned her back on them. _Well, she isn't upset by the idea of me, anyway._ He thought wryly. _Perhaps she objected to the man . . ._

Dracen peered at her retreating back until she disappeared behind a wagon.

"Excellent timing, General. We'll need you now more than ever." He noted grimly.

"Who is this A'lan character?"

"Her Watcher, as Ruslan was for me before the Isolban revolt, or Ravin for Monren. You met them both, I believe, during the Insurrection of Fiandar."

"I thought they swore for life,"

"They do." Came the grim response. Riesling's eyebrows rose. _Oh, that is the trouble then._

"What happened?"

"Her other guards tell me that the Lady was poisoned yesterday, a caster woman came and led them into the woods to her house, and A'lan set the two of them to guarding the path in. When they returned, the Lady was well, but they said nothing to each other. Later he was seen riding out of camp."

"I'll take care to stay on this side of her temper, then." Riesling huffed, but Dracen shook his head.

"That should not be difficult. The Lady Elaina does not have the airs of a caster, happily. Before this, I might have said they acted like a couple courting." The Drethlord finished significantly. Riesling nodded— _not a touchy commander, but a lover's quarrel. Dracen doesn't seem to see the irony in a Drethlord talking about 'the airs of a caster.'_

"What are the dangers? How many will be needed to guard her?"

"She is in no danger from me, and I can think of a few others with certainty. Everything and everyone else, though . . ." His warning trailed off.

Riesling sighed. _That leaves a lot of danger._ "How many, do you think?"

"No more than five, or she will object."

"Five will not stop very much." Riesling noted gruffly.

"You don't need to stop it, general. You need to slow it down and let her see it. The Lady Elaina is powerful enough to handle anything if you manage that."

The general blinked. _Well that's likely the highest compliment the sour old sore ever gave!_

"Anything?" he repeated, doubtfully. He had fought with the Drethlords before and seen the limits to their impressive powers.

"Anything." Dracen confirmed. _Very well, if that is what he says._

"You said you know a few who are trustworthy? Seven or so?" Riesling asked, calculating time on the road and time on watch. Dracen frowned.

"Yes. I'll send them to you at once. Until then, you watch her." The order was a growl of annoyance as the Drethlord stalked away.

Rylan ignored the low grumble of Harlon and Lorne arguing over by the horses. The cousins were constantly at each other's throats, even if they would defend each other to the death.

Staring at the fire with half-lidded eyes, he drifted into a daydream of better times, when they had all been boys at Landoram. A grin twisted his lips for a moment.

They had been terrors—traipsing about the fort causing trouble as naturally as birds flew: sneaking sweetbread from the kitchens, playing soldier with any armor left unattended, setting loose an ornery badger on his older brother's picnic with pretty Roselyn, the old blacksmith Slade's daughter.

His eyes flew open. There was a noise that he barely heard, like a horse blowing restlessly nearby. Rylan dug the whetstone out of his belt pouch and reached over to his pile of things to draw a sword. Casually, he began to sharpen it in long strokes.

_Whisk. Whisk. Whisk._ A shadow moved on his right, but Rylan didn't look up. _Let the thing come, whatever it is_. Man or beast, he would deal with it in the light of the fire, not scare it off to lurk in the night.

"You won't need that." Came the shadow's voice, silencing Harlon and Lorne. They eased back to the fire, though hands did not yet stray to the hilts over their shoulders. Not yet. A cloaked figure moved into the flickering light.

"I'm Cade. I saw the fire and recognized Antral in your weapons. I may not carry the e'dan and a'lan anymore, but perhaps you have room at your fire for another son of Antral."

Rylan examined him closely. His name was Antralian, as was the cut of his black coat. Dark eyes regarded him frankly, but they were far from readable.

"Rylan of Landoram," he said at last. "And these are Harlon and Lorne of the same." They nodded as they were introduced. The newcomer saluted them in the old way as he bowed—one fist to his chest, the other to the small of his back. Rylan frowned _. Only officers ever use both hands, everyone else puts a fist over their heart._ He filed the thought away.

"Where in the homeland do you hail from, Cade?" Harlon inquired.

"Alcondar, though my family traveled widely." The man answered easily, it was not a lie. Rylan said nothing of the cold bitterness in his tone. _Clearly, he is not among those reconciled to the Invasion. That is just as well, neither are we._

"Be welcomed at our fire then, Cade of Alcondar." Lorne said with a quick grin. Nodding, he tossed down the saddlebags he had tossed over one shoulder.

"I must see to my mount," he said shortly, then slipped back into the night as quietly as he had come. In the stillness, Rylan and the cousins considered each other. They did not speak, but Rylan knew that none of them would be far from their weapons that night, Antralian or no.

Cade returned with a towering stallion that was as dark a black as the night around it. Rylan let his eyebrows rise as he studied the beast. _This isn't an everyday farm hack, or even the racer of a gentleman_. _That beast is a charger, a warhorse, the horse of a battle lord_.

His gaze flicked back to Cade, who had saluted like an officer, lived in Alcondar, and rode that creature. Rylan's eyes narrowed, considering. _He can't possibly be_ that _Cade_. _That's ridiculous!_

"You said your family traveled, your father was a merchant, perhaps?" he asked casually. No expression showed on the newcomer's face as he agreed,

"He was involved with trade." Rylan paused. _That was not an answer to the question._

"You've a fine animal there, where did you get him?" Harlon asked, seeing the drift of Rylan's thoughts.

"It was a gift from my commander." Cade replied shortly. Rylan nodded to himself. _Not that Cade, then, if he had a commanding officer. An uncrowned king of Antral would acknowledge no commander._

Five days later, Rylan was not so sure. The newest member of their outfit was born to lead men. He said little, but what he said was as sound as anything Harlon and Lorne could have worked out between them in a week.

The day before, the four of them came across a band of marauders, horse thieves and blacker criminals by their talk. While the three Antralians had never held themselves responsible for keeping order in Amanheld, they made a habit of ridding their current residence of any such groups they came across on the March.

"Let's go!" Harlon growled as they peered down at the camp from a hilltop. The fire below illuminated an circle twenty paces across, and fourteen men lounged in its flickering light. Twice as many horses were picketed just beyond.

"No." Cade disagreed calmly as raucous laughter floated up to them. All three turned to him, but he did not register their surprise.

"The light comes halfway up the hill, here. They'll see us well before we get down. Those two there will take half our number before we reach the bottom," he said, pointing out the men with loaded crossbows leaning beside them.

"They may be country thieves, but they're good enough to survive in this large a group for some amount of time. Two against fourteen is not good odds, even if you make it past the arrows. We'll go around there, against the spur of the hill, and stay in shadow as long as possible. I'll cut the horse lines, draw them into the dark. Some will stay, and you fall on those from there," Cade instructed, nodding to the shadowed ridge at the base of the rise.

"We attack in silence. Fear is half the battle. Make them fear the silence and the dark. If you're going to be surrounded fall back into the night, understood?" When they only stared at him in considering silence, he pressed, "Do you disagree?" None did.

"We'll do as you say, captain." Lorne said with a feral grin. Cade didn't return the smile, just nodded.

Rylan watched him as he led the way off the hill, slinking in the shadows. _What sort of man comes up with a plan of attack in a matter of seconds that involves him facing the brunt of the enemy's anger alone in the dark?_ _Never mind that he delivers his orders like a general when he is the newest to the group._ _Either this Cade of Alcondar is hoping to die, or he is very, very good. Or both._

It was simple for them to get into position, with the bandits drinking and shouting. There were few people to hear you in Emon's March. Cade slipped off along the edge of the shadow as dark as the night around him, disappearing behind the line of horses.

Slowly at first, the horses began to stomp and snort, blowing restlessly at the unfamiliar shadow in their midst. In no time Cade had them rearing and bucking against their ropes. Rylan watched the thieves divert their attention to the animals.

"Go quiet 'em down, Brice." One suggested. A chorus of others joined in until Brice hauled himself to his feet and trudged toward the unruly horses. Just then, one of the animals gave a scream of fear and the line snapped. They took off into the darkness in a thundering mess of hooves.

"Damn ya to the Evermind, Brice! We'll never catch the beasts now!" someone groused from the fire. A few men stood and marched over to him.

"What set the dumb animals off, anyway?" one man asked.

Bryce's dying cry was his only answer. It set the group to immediate action, jerking them upright like puppets on a string. Hefting their weapons, half charged into the dark, while the others eyed the night restlessly. Rylan could almost see Cade dancing on the edge of the light, leaving death behind him. The bandits couldn't tell quite where he was, and those that happened across him didn't take another breath.

"Let's move, before he does it all himself!" Harlon hissed in his ear, slinking from the shadows. Only two of the horse thieves saw them approach, but the light in their eyes to finally recognize an enemy did not last long.

By the time they cut their way to Cade, there were none left alive. The Antralians counted the bodies and discovered two had fled into the vastness of the March. Rylan kept his own count: Cade had killed seven of the twelve. He hesitated to say anything, but Rylan couldn't help but ask,

"Who was your teacher, Cade of Alcondar? I've seen few men to equal you with a sword." Dark eyes held his, and he stood from wiping his blade on a dead man's coat.

"Need is a harsh teacher, Rylan of Landoram, and there has always been great need." Harlon and Lorne left off dragging the bodies to the fire to join them.

"It is said that King Alcedar was a great swordsman and taught his sons at a young age. They would have had great need, I am sure." Harlon said meaningfully.

Rylan was not surprised, even if they had not discussed their suspicions. _We've all been wondering about him, and there are a hundred clues that he is more than he says._ Cade did not respond.

"Are you Cade A'lan Gidedrian of Alcondar, captain?" Lorne asked. For a moment, Rylan didn't think he would answer.

"I am." He pulled a chain around his neck from under his shirt to show them a heavy silver ring with a great curling wave on it. _As if we would not believe. He has the horse, he fights like a battlelord, salutes like an officer, and commands like a King. And, Truth, but he looks like Archaron_.

Harlon sucked his breath between his teeth, and a grin grew on Lorne's face. Rylan stared. Suspicions did not prepare a man for the truth. _How did he survive and escape the Drethlords? What of Corin E'dan and Sarina Alcora? What is he doing in Emon's March?_

He wanted answers, but he didn't need them. If this man was Gidedrian, then the royal line of Antral was free and unbroken. He was the Prince, and if they could rebuild Antral, he would be the King. _Antral will be as it was before, he will restore it. The family Gidedrian will rule from Alcondar, and our people will have a home. We will have a home._

Rylan knelt in the dirt and drew his right-handed sword. Grasping the blade in his hands, he offered the hilt to Prince Gidedrian. The razor edge cut into his palms and his fingers sending streams of dark red down the steel to drip off the point.

"On my blood, I am your man from now to Evermore. My sword is my pledge." He swore in the old way, as men had sworn to the Kings of Antral since the first warriors swore to Aldebaron. They spoke in the common language—a man's oath ought to be above question in any tongue. If Gidedrian took the sword, the oath was accepted. Rylan could feel the Prince's eyes on him.

"I am sworn to protect another, I cannot be King." He said at last. Rylan didn't move. He didn't care. Beside him, Harlon and Lorne knelt and drew their swords. They made their pledge in unison.

The three of them had wandered the wilderness of Arith for years. Even if Antral could never rise again, even if Prince Gidedrian would never be King, they would follow. They would ride where he rode and fight where he fought. _If there is to be no home, what honor is left but to defend the royal line?_ They waited for him to take their swords, their oaths.

He took Rylan's first, then Harlon's, then Lorne's, simply holding each until they closed their fingers on the cross guards. Then he strode off into the night, leaving them to scramble to their feet and follow after. _Truth, but he doesn't say much!_ Rylan got the feeling that not many of his questions were going to be answered.

General Riesling was marching between the lines of cookfires heading for his blankets when a voice from the nearest fire stopped him.

"General! Could I have a word?" It was Trevanor Ibelin, the young captain from Jernal, and he was already rising to meet him in the semi-shadow.

"What is it, Trevanor?"

"I've been keeping a close eye on Lady Elaina, sir,"

"Good, that's your job."

"Yes, sir. But, I'm worried, General." The young man admitted. He was an earnest sort, a good soldier and a good man, besides. _He'll be a good leader, when the time comes, and his friend with him—what's his name? Cassio, or something like._

"You think she is in danger? Have you heard anything?" Riesling lowered his voice, glancing around them, but Trevanor was shaking his head.

"Not about that, sir, about her." He shook his head, anxious frown wrinkling his forehead, "She doesn't eat, and I can hear her at night when I'm on watch—she isn't sleeping. She used to be the last one awake every morning, now she's the first. I think she's having nightmares . . ." He paused uncomfortably. Riesling didn't speak. _No doubt she's been given plenty of cause for nightmares._

"I don't know what happened, but you didn't see her before, sir, when he was here. She used to be so . . . _alive._ She smiled and laughed all the time . . . If not for the eyes and the power, she was as cheerful as a farm girl, sir. And now—" The young man shook his head again.

Riesling studied the soldier. _When "he" was here, eh? That will be this Cade person again_. _Now, is this the concern of a guard or a brother figure? Ah, but at least he cares. He'll protect her better that way._

"Calm yourself, Ibelin." He said without his usual bark. "She isn't a farm girl, and she had to stop acting like one eventually. I'll keep an eye on her, but I'd bet a month's pay she will soon recover her appetite and other habits. Look to your duties, man. It will work out."

CHAPTER 35  
_The Assassin_

Two weeks later, General Riesling was glad Captain Ibelin hadn't taken his bet. The Lady Elaina looked like a wraith, one of the spirits that slip into the Evermind and back into this world. Her face had lost its softness and the pale cast of her skin was broken only by the dark circles under her eyes.

New recruits had taken to calling her the Ice Queen, since she never smiled or frowned. Some claimed they had never seen her blink. She was going through the motions, but Riesling had to agree with the younger men—the Lady Elaina hardly seems to be alive.

At that moment, Riesling was walking behind her and Dracen and a clerk. Where in Arith do all these people come from? He wondered, not for the first time.

"Who have I to blame for the fact half the new men have no weapons?" Dracen growled at the wispy little man.

"The cooks, my Lord." The clerk answered without hesitation. Stone-stupid. Reisling thought to himself and tuned out the berating Dracen unleashed on the unsuspecting fellow.

Instead, Riesling wondered again what had happened between the Guardian and Cade. No one ever spoke his name around her, but he was practically a legend among the men. The older members were forever telling the new recruits how things were "before, when Cade was here."

If he ever returns, the man will have a difficult time living up to his reputation. Apparently he was as handsome as a spirit and a better swordsman than Malakail Hontari and Piter Leoncora combined. There were even whispers that he was a prince and lord of battles, of all things. Shaking his head at the foolishness of camp rumors, Riesling focused his attention on the Lady Elaina, Dracen, and the clerk.

Dracen was now audibly grinding his teeth while the clerk babbled an explanation. As usual, the Lady Elaina was unresponsive, as if she were walking alone in an empty field rather than beside the two of them through an encampment.

_It's just not right_. _And why won't this fool shut up? Can't he see he's infuriating them? Well, he's infuriating Dracen anyway. I doubt the Guardian has even noticed him._

". . .then the cooks refused to give the blacksmiths enough salt to quench anything properly—so they have only a fresh water barrel for softer steel, but no salt one. So you see, the cooks are the reason we haven't enough of the blades and points, not the blacksmiths." The clerk rattled on,

"Really, you must give them—the cooks—a direct order to give them—the blacksmiths—the salt, but then there will not be enough for the soup, so if there is a place nearby where we could get more—"

"Enough!" Dracen interrupted flatly. Riesling squashed the smile that twitched on his lips when the clerk nearly jumped out of his skin. "You were put in charge of these things so that we wouldn't have to hear you prate about them. Fix it. Salt half as many barrels as the blacksmiths need—they can share. Leave the rest with the cooks. If they whine, tell them they can come try their luck whining at me." The clerk paled, and licked his lips nervously, but didn't leave. _Stupid, sure, but brave_. _He'd make a good banner man._

"Of course my Lord, my Lady," he bobbed a bow at both of them, "that would give us what we need in a few days . . ." Dracen scowled at the little ferret. "Ah, but if you could come with me now, my Lord, the— then it would go much faster, I am certain." Elaina turned to look at him, and he quavered under two grey-eyed stares. Still, he held his ground. Riesling was mildly impressed.

"Wouldn't even have to say anything . . ." the clerk finished weakly. The little man's first nervous glance up from the dirt was for Elaina, but her expression was blank, so he shifted his focus to Dracen. Riesling frowned _. Everyone is doing that._ _The Lady Elaina is just not here_.

The Brother's lip twitched with displeasure, but he halted. Elaina walked on steadily. Riesling hesitated between them, uncertain who he ought to follow. Stone-faced and obviously displeased, Dracen went with the clerk, who smiled anxiously and bowed and babbled his thanks and assurances of success. Leaving the Drethlord to sort out the underlings by himself, Riesling followed Elaina.

They hadn't made it more than twenty spans before he felt himself slow. He tried to walk, but it was like moving through molasses instead of air. Something was holding him back. _Not air—Air_.

Outside the web, he could see Dracen ordering soldiers, who fell in around them. It took him forever to turn his head to Elaina, who was falling at fraction of the normal speed, holding her throat.

Riesling felt it too, the screaming in his lungs for air. He ignored it and froze, watching Dracen through the Air. He would just have to stay on his feet and wait.

Scowling, Dracen looked back at the center of the net. The wide-eyed clerk was chattering shrilly, but Brother Dracen ignored him, concentrating on the snare that captured Lady Elaina and General Riesling.

The net had thickened the natural air, slowing everything in its range to dream-like motion, easy targets. He shouted for the soldiers to form a ring around the edges—they could feel it, even if only he could see. _No enemy will get in bow range._

Nothing moved among the tree trunks. _What is the purpose?_ With narrowed eyes, he turned and watched the Wielder's hand move to her throat, expression of vague surprise on her face as she fell. He understood. She couldn't breathe. _This is not an attack, it is an assassination._

Quickly, he spun his own net over the assassin's. Countering nets had never been his strong point, but if he could locate the weaver . . .

"Archers," he roared, "to me! We seek a grey-eyed assassin. Quickly!" Soldiers ran to him, joining the ranks of those gathered on the outside edges. Some of the green troops watched Elaina stumble and fall to her knees, her skirts and hair trailing out behind her like she was underwater. He could feel her lashing out with Air and Fire, but the net shifted under her attack, never letting up. _The assassin is nearby then, holding it in place._

The veterans eyed the trees darkly. Between them moved black-coated Watchers, peering into the eyes of any man looking at Elaina. _They will see the eyes._ _Illusions will not work on the_ ashendari. Dracen's eyes flickered among the troops. If the weaver were among them, they would discover him. If he was not, the weaver would have to be able to see her . . . Dracen jerked his gaze up into the treetops, scanning between the leaves and branches, searching.

General Riesling felt his muscles weaken and blinked through the black specks and bright flashes that winked and spun across his vision. It was oddly quiet—sounds were too low and garbled, not matching the movements outside this thing they were caught in. Elaina was laying in the dirt where she fell, still clutching her throat.

She wasn't strong enough to stay conscious much longer, he could see it even with the ever-present emptiness of her eyes.

For an instant, emotion twisted her face. Riesling watched, fascinated, as pain and longing and heartbreak wrote themselves on her features, alive in silver eyes as they slowly dulled. His air-deprived mind was slow to recognize the expressions, but even so he knew what was happening. _She is saying goodbye to someone._

Just as the realization jerked through his sluggish mind Riesling sank to his knees, unable to stand any longer. By the time he looked over at Lady Elaina again she was unconscious. _If Dracen doesn't find the assassin soon, neither of us are going to survive._

Dracen saw the flicker of movement out of the of his eye. A leaf shifting in wind, a bird, or — A foot dangled off a branch, its charcoal grey boot quickly pulled back behind a wall of leaves.

Silently, Dracen yanked a passing archer so hard the lad almost fell. He was young, one of the recruits, but he carried the long bow of a country archer like he knew how to use it. Unwilling to allow the weaver to shield himself, Dracen made no noise, pointing the way for the archer. Squinting into the trees, the archer raised the bow to his shoulder with careful aim. Around them, other archers saw and followed his gaze into the trees, bows creaking as they were drawn. Dracen raised his hand while he waited until enough of them had joined their hunt. The assassin would not escape.

He brought his hand down harshly, and the arrows sprang off the bowstrings with a tell-tale snap. It was too late for the caster. Many of the arrows knifed through the leaves harmlessly, but enough did not. The solid sound of metal hitting flesh was followed by the crashing of a body down through the branches.

The soldiers who had not noticed the little group of archers wheeled around at the noise. Those stuck in the net finished falling at normal speed, gasping and panting for breath. Elaina stirred in the dirt, and Riesling recovered himself enough to help her rise.

A crowd soon gathered in the trees around the misshapen form, but they made way for Dracen when he stalked through. The Brother unceremoniously kicked the corpse onto its back.

Brother Segarin.

Sightless eyes darkened to a muddy brown as the Changing reversed in death. Segarin was no longer deeply connected to his power _. He is no longer connected to life at all._ Dracen spared no sympathy for the man he had once sworn to as a brother.

"Leave him where he lies."

"We will not burn him, my Lord?" someone asked in surprise. To not burn the body was to leave it bound to earth in Asemaline tradition, to prevent it from joining the blessed dead in the heavens. Even mortal enemies would burn each other's bodies in victory. Apparently someone knew enough of Asemal to know that. Dracen looked at the faces around him impassively.

"No peace for assassins." He ordered, turning away to rejoin the Wielder and the General. Slowly, the soldiers followed.

Rylan swore as Cade jerked his black into a sharp turn right in front of him, forcing his own horse to rear back to avoid a collision.

"Gidedrian!" He objected, clinging to the saddle.

There was no response. The prince was staring to the southwest the way a man looks at water in a desert. Rylan frowned and followed his gaze.

There was nothing but the low sloping hills of Emon's March, unbroken by shrubs or trees—the same scenery that filled the horizon on every side and had for days. Rylan turned his frown to Gidedrian. Up ahead, Harlon and Lorne finally noticed and were turning back to join them.

"What is it? What do you see?" Rylan questioned, from the empty grassland to the intensely focused face of the prince. _He looks like a man seeing a spirit._

"What's happened to her?" he muttered. Rylan surveyed the landscape doubtfully once again. _Her?_ _There is no one there._ Before he could ask, Gidedrian spoke again, eyes never leaving the spot in the southwest.  
"I'm called. I must go. Ride with me or not, as you choose."

Rylan stared after him as he heeled his stallion into a gallop, racing toward the horizon in an unwavering line. Harlon rode up just as Rylan reined his mount in, which pranced impatiently to follow the lead of the black warhorse.

"What is he doing?" He asked. Lorne joined them in time to hear the answer, frowning after the fast-retreating form of their leader.

"Leaving. He said he was called, and that we could join him or not." Rylan relayed.

"Has he lost his mind?" Lorne asked with incredulous concern.

"No . . ." Harlon squinted after him. "But there are only two things I know of that can make a man ride like that: a brother or a woman."

"He asked himself what was happening to 'her'" Rylan offered.

"So he's after a lover, then." Lorne guessed, sounding only slightly less morose at that than the prospect of insanity.

"Do we follow?" Rylan impatiently interrupted. Harlon shrugged.

"If he rides like that, he and the horse won't survive to see whoever he's after." Lorne noted. The others nodded.

"Then hurry, he has the lead. Riding that monster, we'll have a time catching him, not to mention getting him to slow." Rylan ordered, digging his heels into his mount's ribs as he gave the horse its head. Laying its ears back, the animal took off after the stallion. It took hours to truly catch him, even though their geldings were quicker and lighter than his charger. He was riding as if his life depended on it.

"Gidedrian," Lorne called as they neared. Their leader did not turn his head, scowling at the horizon. Rylan studied him with concern. _The man is desperate_.

"You're killing your horse, my Lord." Harlon yelled. Urging his bay closer, Rylan tried another approach,

"How long will it take to reach her on foot, Gidedrian, because that is where you're headed." For an instant, dark eyes flicked to him in acknowledgement.

Rylan would have bet a full purse he didn't have that it was the first time the prince had looked away from the horizon since this began. _Truth, but he is single-minded._ He slowed marginally.

"Dismount and run, if you want to keep time and save the animal." Lorne suggested. The prince pursed his lips in annoyance for a moment, then slowed enough to slide from the saddle and hit the ground running.

Relieved, the other Antralians followed suit. Rylan wondered how many days they were going to run like this and was glad for all the time spent living hard. _Without it, there is no way I could keep up._ _Gidedrian is the finest fighter I've seen and more than a little unbalanced. I only hope we are all alive enough at the end of this to face whatever danger he thinks this woman is in._

If there were only two things that made men do something like this, then the three of them were running for a brother and one for a girl. More than just following the prince into danger, Rylan wanted to meet the source of this trouble. _Any woman who stole the heart of Cade A'lan Gidedrian so completely has to be more than a little extraordinary._

They rode and ran for five days, stopping for an hour four of five times a day to rest the horses before they raced south and west once more. Rylan could barely contain his dread when they emerged from a clump of trees to the edge of a small camp, neatly laid out on a grid. _Not rabble, an army_. Soldiers were everywhere. _I can barely stand and the horses are almost finished._ _If we have to fight their way out of this place . . ._

Gidedrian obviously didn't share his hesitation. He rode right up to the sentries that dug into the loamy soil, piling it up on the inside edge to create a temporary wall and ditch. Rylan tensed, reaching to his shoulder for the hilt of his sword as they approached the guard. To his shock, the man in the helmet directing the work only nodded to them with surprise, though most of the workers watched uncertainly.

He and Harlon exchanged a significant glance. _Apparently, these soldiers know the prince. That doesn't mean this isn't a trap._ He could feel his hair stand on end as a woman hurrying by stopped to stare at them. Her surprised eyes were absolutely colorless. _A grey-eyed caster._

She took a step forward, and Rylan jerked his sword free with grim promise. Harlon and Lorne followed his lead, but Gidedrian didn't react. The caster stepped back from their path, though her cool glance followed them. Rylan didn't have the chance to keep a wary eye on her—the prince began running, turning sharply around tents and horse lines as if he were directed through the maze by an internal compass.

Ignoring the howls of protest from his muscles, Rylan matched his pace. _I'm not about to lose sight of him now, not after all of this._

Gidedrian stopped dead in his tracks. Rylan peered around him and knew they were done running. _Thank the true spirits!_

An officer, a general probably, walked in the center of the avenue between tents in a shining breastplate that showed the marks of long use. He held the corner of a piece of paper absently, watching the four of them approach. He didn't look worried precisely, just curious.

At his side, holding the other side of the paper, walked a woman. She hadn't noticed them yet, studying the scroll before her. Long hair fell halfway to her waist in loose waves. Her back was straight, her waist narrow, and she was no taller than the general's shoulder. She was handsome in a common way, pretty without being gorgeous. The prince's eyes practically blazed when he looked at her. _This is the girl_. Then he was moving again, and they followed three paces behind.

The general stopped, and at last she followed his gaze to the four of them. Rylan almost shouted. The woman stared back at them with slate-grey eyes.

CHAPTER 36  
_The Light_

Elaina frowned at the map as they walked. Riesling was trying to teach her basic tactics, but she wasn't sure the same rules applied when casters were involved. He had pointed out a bowl at the foot of the mountains north of Vinyam as a good place to fall back should the Drethlords suddenly appear.

"If they attack us here, they are surrounded by an army on higher ground." He explained, "And we have the advantage of difficult terrain at our backs, so we can retreat into the woods and regroup elsewhere."

Elaina eyed him, "If they attack us in the bowl, they can see the whole field and pick off the casters. And difficult terrain at our backs might just as well turn into a hindrance to us—it isn't as if all our soldiers are from this area," she pointed out, "They'll be just as lost in the Wilds as the Drethlords."

"Plus, they are the Wilds," Riesling admitted.

"Though that is likely more intimidating to the Drethlords than others—there are echoes of power in that place that they cannot match and they know it."

General Riesling didn't reply, just stopped where he stood. Elaina assumed he was just looking for her next lesson on the map, but when he stayed silent, she gave a little tug on the map and started up again.

Riesling let her pull it from his hands. She turned to frown at him, but he was staring past her, over her shoulder. Elaina suddenly noticed the camp was unusually quiet. Alarmed, she spun around. It wasn't an attack or an assassin.

Cade.

_There_. Right in front of her. She let the map fall to the dirt. Vaguely she felt the cautious eyes of everyone nearby. There were more people than there ought to have been, far more than usual. Like they had followed Cade there. Three men in rough clothes followed him still. They moved with the easy grace that Cade did, but their uncertainty was clear. Maybe they thought she would go crazy, obliterate everything in sight.

They could be right.

Her heart was busy making up for stopping when she saw him now, racing as if it wanted to fly out of her chest. She didn't try to move toward him, afraid her knees would give way. Elaina sank into her power. It wouldn't stop him, but it made it easier to think, to breathe.

He was walking closer. _Deliberate, graceful._ _Blast him!_ Her thoughts broke and scattered like birds. He was right in front of her. Elaina could hardly believe she was still on her feet. It didn't please her, though. The only pleasure was seeing him. _And the only pain_.

"Elaina." He whispered. Holding the her power, she could hear him clearly. It was a call, a command, a plea.

A thousand thoughts swirled through her mind, a thousand things to say, all dismissed. The men with him stopped, tense as coiled springs. They were nothing. General Riesling was nothing.

She watched only Cade, and she knew she had never stopped loving this man and could never stop. Everything she tried to accomplish in the last three months was swept away. Every tenuous bridge she'd built across that gaping hole in her chest collapsed like cobwebs. Just the sight of him froze her mind and set her heart on fire. _How frustratingly weak, and after I tried so hard to be strong!_

"Elaina." He was closer. Now she could hear he was out of breath, as if he had been running a moment ago. _Running to me! What a beautiful make-believe_.

"What happened?" He asked, standing a half-step closer than people did. _Distracting._ She blinked at him.

"Seven days ago, there was something . . ." he pressed, leaning in still closer, eyes shifting back and forth between hers as if to catch something in one that he might miss in the other. "What happened?"

"I died." She whispered, realizing that she didn't make any sense, but unable to think of any other words. His brow furrowed. _Beautiful, beautiful man._ _It really isn't fair at all._

"You died?" his confusion slowly faded into what looked remarkably like joy.

That was peculiar, she knew, and forced herself to frown like she was supposed to. It was just so hard to think with him right there. She wanted to reach out and— she jerked her hand back to her side, hoping he had not noticed. _Is he happy I died? Surely he can tell it didn't take._

"You thought of me." He declared.

Elaina wanted to shake her head, to deny it. It was awful to think he would know. _What if he laughs again? Like he did in the garden, in the bad dreams?_ It wouldn't be fair to him either, taking advantage of his nobility and making him stay with her out of guilt or duty. _No I didn't think of you, I never think of you . . ._

She felt herself nod. _Truth damn it, I meant to lie!_

Cade beamed. Her heart was melting, just looking at him. _He is still so perfect._

"You love me!" he cried, demanding her agreement, moving so their faces were almost touching.

Elaina had only felt this incoherent once before, the time she had been mindlessly drunk in Tar Haviel before everything began. But this was insulting _. He's come all this way to gloat?_ She scowled.

"Why should that be any different?" she said acidly, pulling back, "Hasn't my love always been your problem?" He paused, bewilderment sweeping across his face.

"Problem?" he repeated.

"Yes!" she drove a finger into his chest, "I'm not the one who left! Who fled! I'm not the one who went away!" she raged, tears just under the surface.

"But, I . . . you sent me away!" He was startled, off-balance. _Oh Truth!_

"Because you hated being near me! Hated being trapped with me by an oath you never wished to swear! I freed you, and you bolted."

"Hate?" he repeated, stuck on the first accusations, "How could I hate you? I'm the monster!"

"I know!" she spat, "I know! You couldn't even have just left, you had to—" she shuddered, " _her!_ " was all she could manage.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, dejected, "I had to, I thought she would come after you. I was only trying to protect you." He stared at his hands as if they had betrayed him.

"Protect me?" she whispered, trembling. "Do you know what you did that day?" he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head as if he could hide from her words. "You hurt me more than she could ever have dreamed. More than Keravel. More than anything."

Her power pounded in her ears. She imagined it was Sa'ara, that she could see it around each person like Hetarth had shown her that first day. The other people were distant torches compared to the bonfire that was the man in front of her. It was unspeakably wonderful to watch. _True spirits, I even love his soul. How did this happen? Even with Miranya, with what he said that day?_

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, ducking his head.

"Sorry," she repeated flatly, tears rolling down her face, "You didn't look sorry. I've never seen you look so alive as when you kissed her. Never heard you laugh like you did when she asked if you loved me. _Sorry_!" His frown deepened while he stared at his feet. Elaina waited. He didn't move.

_Fine._ She turned on her heel and walked away as steadily as she could. _I will walk away from my heart. Left it there in the dirt at his feet where it had always been. So he knows, so everyone knows. That doesn't change anything. What is another mountain of humiliation when you're already buried in it? What does any of it matter?_

"Elaina, wait! Look at me!"

She felt her lips curl into a joyless smile. That was exactly what he had said to her after the garden. She stopped, but did not turn. _A small rebellion_ , _the greatest resistance I can manage._

His hands were on her shoulders, spinning her around. Her power flared brightly, a warning. He was close to cutting her off. _Truth, to feel his touch on my skin!_

"Why do you think I left?" He asked insistently, half-shaking her shoulders.

"To find someone better to love." Her anguished eyes roved the crowd around them, all standing at a safe distance, careful to avoid his face. The little shreds of her that remained couldn't handle looking at his face. _Don't look. Don't you dare look._

"You're a fool." He said confidently, grip tightening on her arms.

"I know." She sighed, waiting for the nightmare laugh. _Truth, I know it._

"I love you." Despite herself, Elaina looked into those dark, endless eyes. It was intoxicating. She blinked. The ramblings in her head were stunned into silence.

"What?"

"I love you." He repeated quietly, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. Her power vanished, the pillars jerked out of reach. She would have staggered if he had not been holding her so tightly. _What is he saying?_

He went on, "I thought you didn't want me, because I killed her, thought you never wanted to see me again. That's why I left. Not because I wanted to leave you. I never want to leave you, Elaina." He said fiercely. "Never."

"B-but in the garden? You were so happy with her." she stammered.

"In the garden I was in chains, trying to save your life with an outrageous lie." He smiled crookedly, "I was so scared I was going to lose you to that madwoman . . ." his breath shuddered from between his lip. She loved those lips _. Not fair._

" You're right, I never was more alive with fear. And I don't ever laugh like that, because I seldom come that close to losing my mind."

"Losing your mind?"

"I could not survive if I lost you forever."

"Because you love me?" she repeated, incredulous.

"Yes. You're my world." He said it simply, as if he were saying that the sun rises in the morning. Elaina shook her head. _What? No. That cannot be._

"But you left. You didn't want me anymore. I made you kill your friend, a woman!" She objected.

"What oath could I swear to make you believe me? I love you, Elaina, more than you can imagine. And you didn't make me do anything. The only order you issued that day was for me to leave—everything else I did on my own and I will atone for, not you," he assured her,

"Besides, she was hardly friendly." Elaina let him pull her into his chest in a crushing hug. Without letting her go, he murmured into her hair, "I love you. Let me show you. Cast the web, the one from the ship, the one you cast again seven days ago."

"It's an invasion of your mind!" she protested weakly.

"I'm telling you to, it's not invading if you're invited." He answered, and put his hands to his sides, waiting.

Cringing at the inevitable disappointment, Elaina hesitated. It had been perfect, having him hold her. It was a dream that he was close enough to touch. And his words belonged to a dream. _But perfect things never last, and the best dreams always end_. She wanted it to last a little longer.

With a sigh, she cast: the perfect balance, the core harmony of pillars that echoed the Linking and touched the forgotten and untouchable. The separation between his mind and hers resonated. It cracked. Then it crumbled to dust. This close, it was impossible to limit the sweep of his spirit through hers. She couldn't breathe.

Blinding light replaced the darkness, bright, clean, blazing light. The noonday sun magnified and multiplied. Glittering, shimmering, astonishing light.

"You love me." She gasped.

"You idiot." He murmured with a laugh, crushing her against him with one strong arm. The other hand tangled in her hair, he breathed her in like a drowning man. Her power was gone, but it had done enough. She didn't know if she was breathing anymore. _What does it matter? Breathing is insignificant._ _He's here. He loves me_. Elaina laughed so hard she cried.

Finally, Cade loosened his hold enough to look down at her and shook his head. Locked in his arms, she could feel the rumble in his chest when he spoke.

"What will I do with you? I leave you alone for a fortnight or two and you almost get yourself killed." He murmured. "Though I guess that shouldn't surprise me. You draw trouble like honey draws flies." His vexation was audible.

How right he was. It had not even been a year since she'd left Tar Haviel, and how many times had she nearly died? It hardly seemed that bad, standing there with him. Even the memory of Miranya's warning couldn't ruin this. Elaina smiled more broadly.

"Well, it is a lucky thing I have the greatest Watcher in the world to keep me alive, isn't it?" Cade snorted,

"I'm the _only_ real Watcher." He noted dryly.

"You'll just have to stay close, then." She suggested, "make sure I stay out of trouble." Anyone would have understood the slow smile that grew on Cade's face.

"Oh, I intend to." He growled, taking her by the waist and lifting her into the air, spinning her around as he had that last day in Ashira.

Elaina threw her head back and laughed. When he set her down again, she was too dizzy to see Dracen's dour face, or the astonished expressions of the men who rode in with Cade, or General Riesling's sly smile, but she wasn't deaf. The whistles and cheers from everyone else made her blush, but she couldn't stop smiling. _And so long as he's here, I never will._

### THE END

A Note from the Author

Thank you for taking the time to read The Well of Fates, the first book of the Arithine Chronicles. To contact me or get more information regarding forthcoming publications, please visit <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ABAngen>. Read on for a short sneak peek at the next book in this series: In Winter's Keeping.

### In Winter's Keeping

A. B. Angen

The snow lies soft and still

The dark around it creeping

The Shadows breathe and walk

While man and child are sleeping

All they touch they take

And all the world is weeping

Now Death will always find

Those left to winter's keeping.

PROLOGUE

Winter, 3434 of the Second Aeon

Auhild slunk between the straight white trunks of the alders that lined the river. The water was long since frozen solid, but he didn't want to walk on it tonight. The wolves didn't like to go out on the ice. Winter winds blew the snow off of the frozen surface and left little traction for them.

An owl hooted once, and Auhild paused, listening. There was no answer. He froze, searching the shadows, holding his breath so the clouds of vapor didn't interrupt his view. Since Valdr had discovered the truth behind the mysterious deaths, they'd all been on their guard. It didn't save many, but at least people knew what to fear. It was hard to run from everything. _Is it any easier to wage a war on shadows?_

The woods were dangerous tonight, tonight and every night. But night was dangerous everywhere. He wanted to be home with Freya and little Kell. Freya would have the fire built up, and all the candles lit. The whole house would be glowing with light. He eyed the darkness.

The howl of a wolf rose slowly over the valley. One by one other voices joined the first until the whole pack was crying at the night. Auhild gasped. So many, and close. He scanned the bare treetops for the bright eyes of the owl that had called before, but saw nothing. They were all close, but not close enough.

Just to his right, a shadow shifted. Auhild didn't wait to see more. He sprinted for the house, only a half a league away, but he knew he'd never make it. He wondered if Freya and Kell would hear him scream, but there wasn't time. The footsteps crunched through the snow right behind him, only two steps. Then he felt a whisper of a breeze on the back of his neck. His body crumpled lifeless into the snow.

CHAPTER 1

The Warning

Elaina opened one eye, looking for the source of the shuffling noise that interrupted the stillness. For a moment she lay tense in her cot, wondering what sort of creature had intruded into her tent. _Raccoon, maybe. Or rabbit? Please, not a rat._ Suddenly, she remembered who would be in her tent in the wee hours of the morning: Cade had come back. The thought made her lips turn up. The Drethlords were a bit troubling, Dracen exasperating, and the growing camp was a headache. Even so, none of it was a real problem, if he was with her.

"Cade?" she whispered, just to hear his voice.

"Yes?" he straightened at the door of the tent, the warmth of the summer morning sneaking past him.

"Why are you awake?" she murmured, burying her face in her pillow once more.

"It's morning . . ." he pointed out, laughter in his voice. Elaina peered over her pillow to examine the translucent canvas walls.

"No, too dark yet. Two hours more." She declared firmly, cuddling deeper into the linens. "Go back to bed."

"I've already packed it for the day." Now there was a definite chuckle in his tone. Her unwillingness to get up each morning was baffling to him, but he'd let slip once how much he enjoyed watching her sleep. It had been a uncharacteristically sentimental, so she remembered. He, of course, never lounged in bed once the sun hit the horizon. Elaina groaned at the ever-disciplined war lord, but his stoic disregard for sleeping in gave her an idea.

"Fine then, sleep here." She suggested, rolling carefully over to one side of the cot. Elaina put her head down at once, unwilling to wake up any farther and lose precious minutes. Besides, nonchalance was crucial for her little plan. Either he would leave and she could sleep in peace, or perhaps he would actually come over. As the silence lengthened, Elaina forgot she was expecting a response and drifted back towards sleep.

"You're irresistible when you're all messed up and sleepy, did you know?" He said softly.

Elaina rolled over with a smile and lazy stretch that was supposed to be tempting. _Probably just awkward._ It was hard to move around without tipping her bed over or making it snap shut.

"So come to bed." She offered again, realizing that the words could mean a lot more than she was offering. Eyes closed to feign disinterest, she listened for some reaction to her teasing. He hesitated, then took three quick steps to sit on the side of the cot, balancing out her precarious bed. _Success!_

But she celebrated too soon—he did not lay down. Impatient, she peeked up at him. _Oh my._ He stared at her so intently she forgot to be sleepy.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Cade said. He sounded strained, like a man trying to have a conversation while standing balanced on a taut rope.

"Why not?" Elaina murmured, confused and more than a little intrigued. Her curiosity was waking her up, but it could be worth it. Sometimes he said things at the oddest moments, things she would remember word for word for the rest of her life. If this was one of those moments she wanted to be awake. _It's something that's made him sound like this. So serious for so early in the day!_ Cade inhaled deeply.

"You're just . . . irresistible." he said at last, as if it had been forced from him. Elaina didn't laugh, though he was seldom so dramatic. _What in Arith is the matter with that?_

"Irresistible. That's bad?" she clarified, sitting up—carefully, as always. A dark thought slipped through her mind: _What if he's finally realized that he could have any woman in the world, and all this is more trouble than I'm worth?_ Cade drew a deep shuddering breath. _Not a man on a tightrope, a man on thin ice._ Her thoughts cast a pall on the bright morning. It felt like a fist had clenched in her stomach. Was he going to leave again, really leave?

"It isn't bad," he assured her carefully, reading the look on her face. Cade sighed, ran his hand through his dark hair in frustration, then finished quickly, "I only worry I won't be able to resist the irresistible forever." Elaina arched an eyebrow.

"Then don't," she suggested, leaning toward him. To her surprise, he jerked to his feet. He even took a few steps back for good measure. The cot wobbled dangerously, but she didn't notice, sinking back into the linens with a sudden chill.

"Cade?" She intended her tone to be playful and teasing, but the hurt had crept in somehow. _Truth blast it!_ She blushed. It seemed to affect him all the more.

Pain twisted his features in a way Elaina seldom saw. Then he came to sit next to her again, gingerly to keep the cot from tipping. Her flash of anger at the blasted bed faded quickly as she waited for his answer.

"I can't risk you. I'm afraid I'll hurt you." He said at last.

"You?" Her voice was thick with disbelief. "You would never hurt me." She shook her head. "Never."

"You don't understand. When I'm close to you, I can't think at all. I can't think about Miranya's warning. Given half the chance I'd dismiss it." He tried to explain. "I would ignore it, explain it away. So I can't have that chance. I can't lose control that way, I might kill you." Cade paused, lips set into a thin line. "I _would_ kill you." Shame swam in his eyes,

She gaped at him, mouth open. Not because he said he'd kill her—that she didn't believe and never would. It was the whole premise that shocked her.

_He thinks his self control is not strong enough? Him. The Antralian battle lord, the_ ashendari. _The man with discipline to make steel look flimsy? Truth, but he really does want me!_

Elaina blushed and tried to wipe away the smile that tugged at her lips. It was all she could do not to giggle like a farm girl, but that would be insensitive with him looking so shamefaced. She didn't suggest that she might have the self control he lacked. All he had to do was smile that slow, crooked smile and she was finished.

Then she realized what risking her life meant: risking his too. Frustration bubbled up through her delight. She'd found the most perfect man in Arith, and he even loved her back, but they _still_ couldn't be together, all because some jealous sorceress' cursed warning!

I almost wish Miranya hadn't said anything. Might have been worth it to figure it out on our own . . .That sneaking witch, even after she's dead she's still interfering. The foul, lying little—

"What if Miranya lied?" She burst out. Cade blinked at the force of her suggestion, and she used his hesitation to babble on before doubt could take root. "She had no reason to tell the truth, and she was hardly looking out for our best interests."

"You want to risk your life on that chance?"

"At least it's a chance!" Elaina shot back, annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm.

"I'm not going to have a hand in your death, Elaina." Cade objected sternly. "That is the one thing you must never ask of me."

"And I'm not going to have a hand in yours, either!" she shot back, mind spinning for another way. _If Miranya was lying, we could be together!_ _We just need someone else who knows if she told us the truth_ . . . _That's it!_

"I'll ask Dracen. He'll know, one way or the other." Elaina declared. It was perfect. The Brother would know, the whole system of Watchers and Wielders was imported from his homeland of Asemal, after all. That's where Miranya said she'd learned about it. Elaina let her smile grow. _If Dracen has the right answer—!_

"Dracen! You're too shy." Cade objected. She set her jaw, and he must have recognized the mule-stubborn expression because his eyebrows rose. _No doubt imagining me trying to utter such a question, or the look on Dracen's face if I did._ Elaina grimaced at the mental picture. Cade saw her flinch and flashed a rueful grin.

"You'll never ask."

"Oh won't I?" Elaina lifted her chin, jaw set. _So he doesn't think I have the nerve for it, does he? Well!_ Without another word, she snatched her thin robe, shoved her arms through the sleeves, and marched out into the morning.

Cade stared after her. _There goes the woman who swims fully dressed, who refuses to get out of bed until I leave the tent, who would die of mortification if someone chanced to see her in her camisole. That woman is going to march through the camp in her robe to ask_ Dracen _if—!_

He knew that the moment he made it a challenge she'd try. Honestly, he had been counting on it. The Wielder was as shy as any Northerner, certainly, but she was stubborn on an entirely different level. Half thrilled, half terrified, he hurried to catch up before she barged into the Brother's tent. It was a crazy idea and an absolutely impossible question to ask with any sense of propriety, but Cade wasn't about to stop her. _She is the Wielder after all, I'm just her Watcher._ A small voice in the back of his head spelled out another highly convincing reason that had absolutely nothing with any of that, but Cade ruthlessly shoved it down.

"You're asking him _now_?" he asked once he was close enough to be heard without shouting. _No need to give these curious eyes anything more to consider. Everyone we pass already looks stunned to see her awake and rushing the camp in a robe._

He hadn't been aware that she was capable of walking this quickly. Her smooth reply answered both his question and his thoughts.

"No sense wasting time. The sooner we know . . ." Cade felt his heart hammer in his chest and his breath catch.

"Good grief, Elaina!" he growled, "I thought Northern women were shy!" Her only response was a sly smile that sent his heart crashing against his ribcage again. _True spirits!_

It didn't take very long to reach Dracen's tent. Cade paused, but Elaina called his name, waited two seconds, and went right in. He darted after her, reaching for her sleeve an instant too late.

"Elaina!" He hissed. _The man might not even be dressed!_ _Woman!_ Her haste _was_ gratifying, though.

Dracen, fully clothed, thank the Neverblind, turned stiffly to face them. One thin eyebrow arched at the two of them while he adjusted his grey cloak with the air of a cat twitching its tail at intruders. His tent was perfectly barren of personal touches. _Brother Dracen is a serious man. This ought to be good,_ Cade mused.

"Brother Dracen," she began, "good morning." The Brother nodded cautiously, eyes flicking over her shoulder to Cade for a moment, then back. For his part, Cade kept his gaze fixed on the far wall of the tent. He felt a little guilty for not helping her, but it _was_ her idea. _Besides, I don't want to push her. If I asked she might feel like she has to . . . follow through, even if she changes her mind and doesn't want to. And I can't meet the Brother's knowing eyes._ He could admit that to himself at least.

"You recall the incident with the poison, just before Cade left?" Elaina asked. Cade bit his tongue to keep from interjecting. She always called it the time 'when Cade left' while he referred to it as 'when Elaina commanded me to leave.' It was something they tried not to discuss, since all of the discussions were arguments.

Dracen's eyes lingered on Cade a little longer this time, and he nodded a trifle slower. They hadn't told anyone precisely what had occurred that day, and as far as Cade could tell, time had only made the whole lot of them more desperately curious. Elaina went on, jerking him back the present. He tried to keep his astonishment off his face. _She's really going to ask!_

"Well, about that time a caster informed us that the Linking makes it impossible for a Watcher and his Wielder to—" and here her courage ran out. Cade was surprised she had made it as far as she did. _Just a few words short. A few crucial and impossible words._

"—that is, to erm . . ." she swallowed, waving one hand a little at her side.

Dracen's silent, unblinking stare could not have helped her resolve. Cade watched as her breath came faster and a blush stained her cheeks. He did his best not to be too distracted by it. His best didn't do very much. _It never does, with her._

"Well, she said it would be lethal, since the barriers dissolve . . . to . . ." Elaina stammered. Eyes like winter rainclouds narrowed in what might have been understanding and shifted to fix on Cade. He felt a chill down his spine, as he always did when the friendly Brother reminded him too much of his hateful kin. After a moment, though, he could see the beginnings of droll understanding in Dracen's eyes.

_He knows. He knows, he just wants to make one of us say it._ If Cade had been the sort of man to blush, he'd have been as dark as Elaina just then. The flush of embarrassment had crept down her neck and now covered her chest as well. _Or all of it that can be seen._ Cade pulled his thoughts back from that delightful curiosity just as Dracen prompted,

"To . . .?"

Cade shrugged one shoulder, but that was apparently expressive enough. The Brother shook his head and sighed with the air of a man weary with the predictability of young people. Turning away from them to open the chest at the foot of the bed, he sifted through the contents and pulled out a cream-colored tile with a soft portrait of two people, a man and a woman. It looked out of place in the cheerless room.

"These are my parents." He said handing it to a bewildered Elaina. Cade looked over her shoulder. It was clear that the two people were related to the Brother, they had the same piercing eyes and sharp features that made their son such a formidable presence.

"That was made in Asemal." Dracen continued. "before they left on a mission from which they never returned—overzealous peasants." He took it back from her and settled it carefully into the folded clothes beside a portrait a pretty young woman.

_Was he married, in Asemal? Is there someone waiting for him to come home?_ It was strange to think Dracen had ever been in love. _But why else would he carry that picture?_ Cade eyed the man with startled curiosity.

The Brother cut off his train of thought by shutting the trunk with a snap. Then he explained, "It is a family tradition to serve the Empress as casters." Cade's eyes jerked up sharply. _Does that mean—?_

"My mother was very close to her, actually. The Empress valued her friendship and skill so highly, she assigned a Watcher to her, unusual though that was for a mere caster." He paused to look them both in the eye,

"That Watcher was my father. It was not uncommon, with Watchers and their counterparts relying on each other, protecting each other—they very often married, in the end. It was generally encouraged."

Somewhere in those grey eyes was the smallest flicker of warmth as delight lit Elaina's face. _Of course there is, even a glacier would be warmed by that expression on that girl. I wonder if he sees something of the girl in the picture, when he looks at Elaina. Or imagines the daughter the two of them might have had._

Then Elaina wheeled to face him, and Cade forgot about Dracen entirely. He couldn't help taking a sharp breath. Sparks seemed to crackle between them, flashing against his fingertips when he reached out to take Elaina's elbow and steer her toward the door.

_Dracen will understand if we don't thank him or say goodbye. He won't understand if I take her in my arms right there and kiss her like—_ Elaina interrupted before he could think of an adequate description.

"You see?" she taunted breathlessly, and he wasn't about to argue.

"Thank you, Brother Dracen," was all Cade managed, but it was certainly heartfelt. Then he practically dragged her along with him out into the bright sunlight. He said nothing to her bubbling laugh while he led her hastily back to their tent, desperate for a thin scrap of privacy.

_True spirits, tell me this is not a dream!_ He begged silently, staring into the sunlight that reflected off the shields to wake himself. Cade deliberately kicked a stone, and reveled in the pulse of pain. Together they marched into her tent. One of the men had already cleared its contents in preparation for the day's move. It was just the two of them in the canvas shell.

Cade could wait no longer. He spun her around to face him, her hands in his. Every touch, every look was driving him mad. There was no lethal web of power, no barrier. She would be his. He would win her over if he had to, now that he knew he could. _She'll be mine._ The thought made his pulse jump. All of the sudden he was breathing as if he'd run a league at top speed. .

"We never talk of the garden," he began quietly. Elaina blinked. That was obviously not what she expected. " I know you don't like to think of it, but do you remember what Miranya said about this?" Cade asked, sliding his hand up to the woven grass bracelet around her wrist.

Elaina nodded slowly. It was the traditional courting gift of Antral, made for a lover with a man's own hands. Giving it was a gesture of devotion and an offer of marriage, depending on how or if the woman wore it.

She could reject it, and then the couple was finished. Or she could wear it on her right arm, and it was nothing more than a gift. Or she could wear it on her left, and the proposal was accepted. Then she'd wear it until they wed and the silver and sapphire bracelet of a married woman replaced it.

Cade's father once told him that they were made of grass to hurry along the process—so the girl would have to get married before the grass wore thin or unraveled, before she could change her mind. At the time, he thought the King had been joking, but now he wasn't so certain. _She's mine, I want the world to know it right now, today._

"You have always worn it this way, even after you knew." He said, drawing out her left hand, fingertips trailing across her forearm around the bracelet.

Elaina nodded again, watching his hand move across her skin."I put it back on the night I sent you away, I've never been an hour without it." Cade found he could barely manage his next words. _Truth!_

"Then you know I want you for my wife—and you accept?"

"Yes." She whispered, glancing up at him.

After years of hating the ash-colored stares of the Drethlords, Cade was suddenly sure there was nothing in Arith more lovely than grey eyes.

An exultant smile swept across his face, and this time when she leaned into him for a kiss, he didn't pull away. He held her so tightly he could feel every line of her body. It did nothing to help his heart. When he finally released her, he was pleased to see she was breathing quickly, even if it was distracting.

"Marry me tonight." He pressed. His enthusiasm made her laugh, but she nodded, then slipped her arms around his waist. Cade's buried his exultant smile in her hair. _This has to be the happiest moment of my life._

A nameless recruit peeked through the door, and Elaina stepped smoothly out of his arms. Cade clenched his fists to keep from throwing something at the man. Something like an axe. He settled for scowling, but it hardly felt punishment enough.

"Shall we take the tent, Lady Guardian?" the intruder asked deferentially, just as he would have any other morning. _Well, perhaps a bit more cautiously, since I'm glaring at him_. The man blanched when he saw it, and jerked wide eyes back to Elaina's glowing face.

Cade could hardly consider that the man had no idea what he was interrupting. _How can he not see that this is unlike any other morning? How can he be so oblivious as to have missed the fact that this day is the brightest, most stunning, most spectacular day since the beginning of days?_ He would have glared at the idiot longer if his eyes hadn't drifted back to Elaina. _My Elaina. My bride_. Just as quickly as his frustration flared, it faded into wonder. _What is the matter with me?_ _I'm practically_ giddy _._ _Truth_.

Cade shook his head. No number of legends or poems or songs could ever have prepared him for this madness. He was completely out of his mind. He absolutely loved it. Watching Elaina gather herself to answer the man, Cade noticed she was still a trifle unsteady. He suppressed a smirk. _At least she isn't composed either!_

Then it occurred to him what her answer meant: packing up, and no privacy until nightfall. Glancing at the cursed fellow, who was now calling over a few helping hands, Cade threw out discretion and let himself do what he'd been wanting to do since he'd woken up this morning. Dragging her close again, Cade kissed her with the passion of every need he'd kept hidden for months.

When they finally broke apart, her startled expression melted into the satisfaction of the cat that got the cream. He shivered, then he turned and strode out of the tent as steadily as he could manage, her fingers interwoven with his. The soldier was staring, but Cade didn't care.

There was a saying in Antral that looking forward to nightfall makes for long days, and the better the night, the longer the day. It was something mothers said to keep their children busy on the eve of feastdays, but for Cade it took on a whole new meaning.

This is going to be the longest day of my life.

End of In Winter's Keeping, Chapter 1.  
Expected publication Summer of 2013.
