Priestess of the White

33

Plains are supposed to be flat tracts of land, aren’t they? Danjin thought as he climbed the face of the hill. The Plains of Gold were better described as “undulating.” They were a little less undulating in the western part, but here in the east they could be described as flat only in comparison to the rugged mountains at their edge.

They weren’t living up to the other part of their name, either. The plains were gold only in summer when the grasses turned yellow. Now, in the aftermath of winter, they were a mix of healthy green new shoots growing up among older, darker plants.

Danjin reached the top of the hill and paused. His heavy breathing sounded loud in this quiet place. He turned around and his quibbling and discomfort were forgotten. Below was the largest army camp he’d ever seen.

The only army camp I’ve ever seen, he corrected himself. But this is certainly larger than any I’ve read of.

Men, women, animals, tarns, plattens, and tents of all sizes covered a large valley surrounded by low hills. The grass that earned the plains their pretty name was now trampled into mud. The light of the late afternoon sun touched a line of brown that led into the valley on one side and continued to the mountains on the other. A wider band of crushed grass around the western part of this road showed the direction the army had come from. In the center of the valley was a large tent, which had somehow managed to remain white despite being pitched beside the muddy main thoroughfare of the camp each night. This was where the White’s councils of war were held.

It was hard to imagine any force could match this army. Danjin looked to the mountains in the east. Even at this distance they looked fierce and unassailable. He was too far away to see the road winding up to the pass. Somewhere beyond those peaks was another army, and by all reports it was even larger than the one before him.

He took some reassurance from the fact that the Circlian army was not yet fully formed. So far it was made up of only three nations: Hania, Somrey and Genria—the latter had joined them a few days out of Jarime. The Toren army was due to arrive in a few days, the Dunwayans were not much farther away, and the Siyee . . . the Siyee were due any moment.

Turning his back on the army, Danjin gazed at the southern sky. It was cloudless apart from a dark smudge near the horizon. She said they had reached the plains, he thought. So where are they?

He stared at the sky until his eyes began to water from the brightness. Looking away, he dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve. Footsteps brought his attention abruptly back to his surroundings and he turned to find a soldier approaching. The man was one of the many guards patrolling the hills around the camp.

“You all right, sir?” the man enquired.

“Yes, thank you,” Danjin replied. “Just the brightness of the sky.”

The man glanced southward then stopped and shaded his eyes. “Will you look at that cloud?”

Danjin followed the man’s gaze. The dark smudge had grown larger and . . . fragmented into many tiny specks. He felt his heart skip a beat.

“It’s them,” he muttered.

Danjin left the soldier looking puzzled and hurried down the hill. It seemed a longer journey back to the camp despite being all downhill—though it didn’t help that he kept glancing behind, worried he wasn’t going to make it in time. When he reached the first of the tents he slowed. Soldiers watched him pass, always alert for signs of nervousness among the army’s leaders and their advisers.

Reaching the main thoroughfare, Danjin saw that Juran, Dyara, Rian and Mairae were already standing outside the white tent, their attention on the sky. The elderly Genrian king, Guire, stood nearby with his advisers and attendants. Meeran, the Moderator of the Somreyan Council, stood with the Circlian elder, Haleed. A Dunwayan ambassador, Jen of Rommel, stood beside the Dunwayan priest who always accompanied him, and whose main role appeared to be to provide the White with a way to communicate with the absent Dunwayan leaders.

Danjin quietly joined the small crowd of advisers. He noted that the new Dreamweaver adviser was present. Raeli rarely attended war councils, and when she did she remained aloof and apparently uninterested. Sensing him looking at her, she turned to meet his eyes. He nodded politely. She turned away. Danjin suppressed a sigh.

I think I may actually miss Leiard. He wasn’t much more talkative than this woman, but he was . . . what, exactly? Approachable, I suppose.

Raeli’s attention was on the sky. He turned just in time to see the first of the Siyee appear over the top of the hill he had just climbed. A pair of them circled the valley once, drawing murmurs from the onlookers, then suddenly a great mass of them poured over the crest of the hill. Danjin heard gasps and exclamations as thousands of Siyee swooped down to fill the valley. He realized his own heart was beating fast with excitement. The Siyee wheeled and turned then began to drop to the ground. The sound of their wings was like a rush of wind, and the smack of feet on the ground was like the patter of heavy rain.

Once they had landed, their small size was suddenly obvious. Their childlike appearance was tempered by their clothing and weapons, however. Unlike the two messengers who had come to Jarime, these Siyee had bows, quivers of arrows, knives, and what looked like blowpipes and darts strapped over leathery vests and trousers. Both men and women had short hair, muscular bodies and a proud demeanor. These were warriors, small but fierce.

“Interesting. Very interesting.”

Danjin turned to look at the speaker. It was Lanren Songmaker, the military adviser the White now favored above the others. The man glanced at Danjin and smiled grimly.

“I can see how these people might be useful to us.”

“Auraya certainly thinks so,” Danjin replied.

“Here she is.”

Danjin turned back just in time to see Auraya descend to the ground before the White. A Siyee woman swooped down and landed beside her.

Auraya smiled. “This is Sirri, Speaker of the Bald Mountain tribe and Head Speaker for the Siyee.”

Juran stepped forward and made the two-handed sign of the circle. “Welcome, Speaker Sirri, and all Siyee. We are pleased and grateful that you have come so far to help us defend our lands.”

Auraya turned to the other woman and uttered a string of whistles and sounds. Translating, Danjin realized.

As Sirri replied, Auraya translated for the benefit of the audience. Danjin examined the faces of the people around him. Most were staring at the Siyee. Some looked fascinated, others amused. The Dreamweaver adviser looked as uninterested as ever, while Lanren Songmaker was all suppressed excitement.

The Siyee were reacting to this scrutiny in different ways. Some eyed the humans warily, others kept their gaze on their leader and the White. Danjin noted the similarities and differences in their garb and realized they were standing in groups—each one was probably a different tribe.

The exchange ended with Juran raising his voice to speak to the Siyee in their own tongue. Danjin smiled crookedly. It almost annoyed him that a simple Gift bestowed by the gods could make irrelevant a skill he might spend years learning.

As the Siyee began to move away, following their leader along the thoroughfare to make camp, Auraya stepped forward to join the White. Her eyes shifted to Raeli, who stared back expressionlessly, then she looked at Danjin and smiled.

:Hello, Danjin Spear.

:Welcome back, he thought at her.

:Thank you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

:We have indeed. I have to warn you, Juran has a habit of forgetting that mortals need food or sleep. We may have trouble finding time to do this catching up.

:Then I’ll have to make sure he remembers. Once the Siyee moved away to make camp, Juran invited all into the tent. Lanren Songmaker watched as the hierarchy of power asserted itself. The White’s leader looked to the King of Genria first, as the man was the only royal personage present. Then the Somreyans entered, as the Moderator was the closest to a ruler that his country had. The two Dunwayans followed, as representatives of their country. Lanren was eagerly waiting to see how the King of Toren would fit in, since the two kings were of equal position. Guire was a sensible monarch, but Berro was known for being rude and troublesome.

Next the advisers entered the tent, in no particular order. The White discouraged them from behaving as if one was more important than another, yet Lanren still felt it wise to give way to the White’s personal advisers. They were much closer to the White and had been working for them far longer.

He followed Danjin Spear to the tent entrance. Lanren had found the youngest of the Spear brothers an intelligent, well-educated, cautious man—nothing like his brothers in regard to the latter. Danjin had seemed a bit lost so far, and Lanren guessed this was because Auraya had been absent and the adviser had no more knowledge of war than history books might offer.

In matters of strategy and fighting, Lanren was the “expert.” He felt he was hardly that, but there were few other choices. Nobody could be an expert on war when there had been no more than a few minor confrontations in Northern Ithania for the last hundred years. He had studied war and strategy since he was a child, witnessed most of the small skirmishes or uprisings that had happened in the last fifty years, lived in Dunway some years in order to study their warrior culture, and spent a few months in Avven over a decade ago, during which time he had observed the military cult of the Pentadrians—albeit from a distance.

As he entered the tent he noted that everything was arranged the same way it had been each night before. Around the room, several chairs of equal size and plainness had been arranged in a rough circle. A large five-sided table stood in the center of the room. On it lay a beautiful map. It was a fine work—the best he had ever seen—painted in rich colors on vellum.

Juran looked at Auraya. “The Dunwayan forces have reached their southern border and await our decision. Before you arrived we were discussing what they should do: join us or remain in Dunway.”

She looked down at the map. “I was considering this question during my journey. Either choice is a risk.” She glanced at the Dunwayan ambassador. “As I understand it, Jen of Rommel, if the Dunwayans join us on this side of the mountains they will leave Dunway vulnerable to attack should the Pentadrian army veer north. It seems unfair to ask your people to leave their borders unprotected in order to help us.

“From all reports,” Auraya continued, “the Pentadrian army is enormous. Dunwayan fighters are famed for their skills in battle, but our spies have reported that these Pentadrian warrior sects also produce exceptional soldiers. We know from our encounters with these black sorcerers that they are more powerful than any in Dunway. Even if all the Dunwayan fighters remain to protect their home, I fear the land would still fall.”

The Dunwayan ambassador frowned as he nodded in acknowledgment.

“If they did remain at home,” Auraya added, “and the Pentadrians did not fight them but continued through the mountains, there is the possibility that our army will be no match for the Pentadrians’ trained warriors. I must pose this question: if this army fell, how long would Dunway stand?”

“So you would have us cross the mountains?”

Auraya nodded. “Yes, but . . .” she paused and looked at Juran “. . . perhaps not all. Perhaps leave some Dunwayans at home. If the Pentadrians invade Dunway, your warriors can slow their advance, giving us time to cross the mountains and engage the enemy.”

Those people will make no difference, Lanren thought. But . . . I think she knows that. She simply wishes to allow the Dunwayans to feel a little safer. It won’t work, however. They’re too well versed in warrior lore to deceive themselves into believing such an illusion.

Juran glanced at Lanren and shook his head. “A few fighters would not slow an army of the size of the enemy’s.”

“He is right,” the Dunwayan ambassador agreed.

“May I make a suggestion?” Lanren interjected.

Juran looked at him and nodded.

“We know that the Pentadrians are not far from the mountains,” Lanren said. “The more time we have to reach and fortify our position in the pass, the better. If the Dunwayan army should come through the mountains, they can set traps along the way, slowing the Pentadrians’ progress.” And they’ll enjoy doing it, Lanren added silently.

Juran smiled. “Indeed, they might.” He looked at his fellow White. Each nodded once. He turned back to the Dunwayan ambassador. “Please convey our assessment and suggestions to I-Portak. Tell him we would prefer it if he joined us here, but respectfully acknowledge the risk that would entail. We leave the decision for him to make.”

The ambassador nodded. “I will.”

Juran looked down at the map, pursed his lips, then straightened. “This evening’s reports on the Pentadrians’ position have not yet come. Let us have an early meal, then return to consider our journey to the pass. I would like to include the Siyee in that discussion.”

Many of the room’s occupants looked relieved. Lanren suppressed a wry smile. While none had walked more than a few steps of the journey from Jarime, they were all tired. They had had little sleep each night, since discussions usually continued long past midnight. Lanren was not the only one who had adapted to sleeping while sitting upright in a rocking, jolting tarn.

As always, Lanren hung back and noted who left the tent with whom. He saw Auraya catch Danjin Spear’s eye. The man already looked a little less lost. Then something small dashed into the tent and launched itself at Auraya.

“Owaya! Owaya!”

All turned to see a small gray creature run up Auraya’s circ and onto her back. He began to race from one shoulder to another, panting with excitement.

“Hello, Mischief,” Auraya said, her eyes bright with amusement. “I’m happy to see you, too. Here, let me—I’ll just—will you stay still for a moment?”

He dodged her hand, then paused to lick her ears.

“Argh! Mischief! Stop that!” she exclaimed. She winced and lifted him down, then held him firmly against her chest with one hand, while scratching his head with the other. The creature gazed up at her adoringly.

“Owaya home.”

“Yes, and hungry,” she told him. She looked up at Danjin. “You?”

“Yes,” Danjin replied.

Her smile widened. “Then let’s see what we can rustle up. You can tell me what Mischief has been up to while I’ve been gone.”

“Plenty,” Danjin told her wryly.

As they walked out of the tent, Lanren felt a familiar nagging feeling. It was a feeling he had when he had just seen something that might prove to be important. Something about the exchange he’d witnessed.

Or was it simply the possibilities inherent in the veez itself that nagged at his thoughts. The creatures could be useful as scouts or couriers.

His stomach grumbled. Shaking his head, Lanren put the thought aside and left in search of dinner. Long past midnight, Auraya paced her tent. The war discussion had lasted hours. At first the time had flown by, but as the night lengthened, the presence of the new Dreamweaver adviser had reminded Auraya of the questions she wanted to ask Leiard.

She knew from reading Raeli’s mind that the woman had no idea why Leiard had resigned from the position. Auraya could easily guess the answer to that. Any of her fellow White could learn of their affair just by seeing into his mind. He must have resigned to prevent that.

She felt a pang of guilt. If she’d realized the consequences of taking him to bed that night . . . but one wasn’t meant to think twice in moments of passion. That’s how it was in folktales of love and heroism. Even in those tales there was a cost to forbidden love. Obviously it hadn’t occurred to Leiard how much trouble they would cause, either. Even if they had restrained themselves that night, there would still have been the revelation of their love for each other. The White would have read that from his mind anyway.

Is there a chance they might accept my choice of lover? I doubt they’d be happy about it, but they may come to support us in time. We could become a symbol of unity between Circlians and Dreamweavers.

It was all very fine dreaming of becoming a symbol of unity when she didn’t know where he was or—she felt her stomach twist—if he still felt the same way about her. During dinner she had asked Danjin if he had seen Leiard. He had no idea where Leiard or any of the Dreamweavers were. She knew they preferred not to travel with armies or to show preference for any side in a battle, but they could not be too far away. Their destination was the same as both armies: the battlefield.

She ought to be sleeping, but she knew she would not. Tomorrow Juran would expect her to join the other White leading the army to war. The only time she had free to seek Leiard was these few spare hours of night.

As she reached the tent entrance she heard a small, muffled voice.

“Owaya go?”

She looked back at the basket Mischief had taken to as his bed. A small head and two bright eyes appeared among the blankets.

“Yes,” she said. “Mischief stay.”

“Msstf Owaya go.”

Auraya paused, not sure of the veez’s meaning. The creature jumped out of the basket and bounded past her. He stopped a few strides away and looked back at her.

“Msstf Owaya go,” he repeated.

He wanted to come with her. She smiled, then shook her head.

“Auraya fly,” she told him.

He looked up at her.

“Msstf Owaya fly.”

Did he truly understand what she was saying? She focused on his mind and saw a bright mix of adoration and eagerness. She tried to communicate a sense of rising above the ground. He quivered all over with excitement, then squeaked and rushed up her body to her shoulder.

If he truly understood, she didn’t know. Perhaps if she lifted herself into the air a little he would take fright and jump off. Then he would understand the meaning of the word “fly” and know he couldn’t come with her.

She moved outside and slowly lifted herself upward. The veez’s claws tightened on her shoulder, but she sensed no fear from him. Of course not, she mused. He climbs up walls and across ceilings all the time.

She moved higher, testing his confidence. The only change in his mood was a growing anticipation. When she was looking down at the tops of the tents, she began to move forward. Mischief settled against her back, enjoying the breeze ruffling his fur.

He likes it, she marvelled. Who would have thought? I’ll hope his understanding of heights includes knowing when he’s too high to jump off safely . . .

She had reached the edge of the camp now. Flying on, she followed the curve of a hill upward. At the top she paused to look around.

Then she began to search for Leiard.

34

Tryss looked down at the hundreds of campfires below, and smiled. From a distance it was easy to feel superior to these landwalkers. He and Drilli had talked about it last night. For a start, these people hardly ever looked up. He supposed they had rarely needed to before now. If the Pentadrians had the same weakness, it would be easy to exploit in the coming battle.

Another landwalker weakness was their slowness. The Siyee could travel in an hour or two the distance the rest of the army walked in a day. It had quickly become clear that the Siyee would not be following the Circlian army to the battlefield. There was no point in flying around in circles while the landwalkers made their slow but tireless way across the plains, so Sirri had offered to take the Siyee ahead to find a good place for the army to camp the next night. Juran had agreed.

There had been no need to hurry, so they had had plenty of time to inspect the territory. The plains were a different kind of terrain than they were familiar with. Flying low, they stirred up flocks of birds or herds of small, fine-boned animals the landwalkers called lyrim. These creatures provided an excellent opportunity for harness and blowpipe practice. Tryss and Drilli had led one of the many teams of hunters. So many of these animals were brought down that by the end of the day they had killed more than enough to feed themselves. The excess meat was cooked and presented to the landwalker army when it arrived that evening.

It made them popular with the army. The landwalkers had lifted their cups and dedicated their ration of drink to the Siyee after the meal. It was another amusing custom of theirs.

However, the hunt made the Siyee unpopular with a small group of landwalkers who appeared early the next morning. It appeared that these herds of lyrim had belonged to them. Juran had given these men bags of the metal coins the landwalkers used for money, and the lyrim herders had left looking grim, but no longer angry.

All feelings of superiority Tryss enjoyed soon disappeared whenever he was among the landwalkers. Their size was enough to intimidate any Siyee, but watching them at weapons training was truly sobering. Many of these fighters were quite arrogant. Once one sneered openly at Tryss and a group of Siyee. Later, Auraya heard of the incident and was angry. She explained that some landwalkers felt that killing a man at a distance, rather than face-to-face, was a dishonorable and cowardly act. They disdained landwalker archers for that reason. It was all right for them, Auraya had said. They were born large and strong. If only large and strong people fought in wars, armies would be small indeed.

“Tryss!”

Startled out of his thoughts, Tryss looked around. Speaker Sirri was riding an updraft toward him. She landed on the hill beside him.

“The war council is about to begin,” she called. “I want you to come with me.”

“Me?” he exclaimed.

“Yes. I can probably take a few companions, but I doubt I could get away with bringing all fourteen Speakers with me. I’d rather not choose between them, so I’ll take someone else instead.”

His heart was racing. “I don’t know anything about planning a war!”

She laughed. “Neither do I! I know one thing though. You’re clever. You think differently to me. There’s no point bringing someone who thinks like me, because they’ll probably only see the same problems and have the same ideas that I will. I need a companion who’ll understand what I don’t understand.”

“I might not understand anything.”

“I doubt that. So, are you coming?”

He grinned. “Yes!”

“Good!”

She swooped downward and he followed. They glided toward the white tent, where a small crowd of landwalkers had gathered. Only one of the group glanced upward and saw Tryss and Sirri approaching. As they landed the rest exclaimed in surprise and turned to stare at them. The one who had noticed them stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest.

“Lanren Songmaker,” he said. Opening his hand, he gestured to Sirri. “Hed Speekr Seerree?”

Sirri nodded. She looked at Tryss and spoke his name. The landwalker’s eyebrows rose. He waved a finger across his chest, then mimed shooting an arrow. Sirri nodded again. The landwalker pointed to his head and made a signal with his thumb that looked vaguely silly, but seemed to imply approval.

Tryss smiled and nodded to indicate he understood. Being praised so publicly ought to have embarrassed him, but instead he felt a growing dismay. These landwalkers didn’t know the Siyee language, and he didn’t know theirs. How was he going to help Sirri if he couldn’t understand a word spoken at the war council?

The man named Songmaker turned and introduced the others. He managed to make himself clear, despite the language difficulties. By saying “Hed Speekr” and pointing to one of the others, he told them that the person was a leader. Pointing to his head and mouth and then another person told them that the man or woman was present to provide thoughts and words to the leaders.

Advisers, Tryss thought. Like me.

A quiet woman in a multicolored vest smiled faintly as she was introduced. Sirri murmured to Tryss that this was one of the legendary Dreamweavers. Songmaker made the head and mouth gesture. Another adviser, Tryss concluded.

Songmaker then pointed at himself, patted the scabbard at his hip, then tapped his head.

So he is a warrior and adviser. A good man to be friends with during a war . . . if only there wasn’t this language problem. I wonder how long it would take to learn their tongue. The Siyee language had evolved from a landwalker one, so it might not be that difficult. Some words might be the same, or at least similar.

The attention of the landwalkers had shifted now. Tryss could not see past them to the source of their distraction, however. Then leaders and advisers alike stepped back and the White appeared.

They were impressive figures. Five handsome men and women, all dressed in white. The man who began to address the crowd—Juran—greeted the group in sober but warm tones. Auraya caught Tryss’s eye and smiled.

Juran turned to Sirri. “Welcome, Speaker Sirri—and this is Tryss the inventor, isn’t it?” he said in the Siyee language.

Tryss felt his face warm. He wasn’t sure what to say to this powerful, formidable man. Auraya chuckled.

“Yes, this is Hunter Tryss.” She said something else in the landwalker tongue, and Tryss realized she was translating. He sighed with relief when he knew his fears were unfounded. If Juran or Auraya translated everything, the war council would not be incomprehensible.

He watched as the White ushered the leaders and their advisers into the tent. The man named Moderator Meeran paused just before the entrance. Auraya beckoned to Sirri. Tryss followed as Sirri stepped forward to join the landwalker as he entered. Tryss guessed there was some significance in this. He would ask Auraya about it later, if he had the opportunity.

Inside the tent was a large table too high for Tryss to see what was on top. All but the White moved to chairs arranged in a circle around the walls of the tent. Two of these chairs were empty. Tryss frowned as Auraya gestured to them. They were landwalker-sized chairs. The seats were as high as Tryss’s chest.

They could have brought some smaller chairs for us, he grumbled. It seems a bit rude . . .

Sirri didn’t complain, however. She moved to one and sprang easily up onto the seat. Tryss was conscious of the many eyes on him as he leapt up onto the second chair. He turned to face the room and saw that he could now see the top of the table.

Ah, that’s the reason they didn’t.

A large sheet of thin material lay on the table. On it had been painted a colorful shape surrounded by blue. Looking closer, Tryss felt a thrill of amazement. This was a map— and he had never seen a map of such detail or scope. It was a map of the entire continent of Northern Ithania.

He stared at it, trying to work out where Si was. Eventually he realized the lines of scribbly upside-down “v” shapes were mountain ranges. The great mass of “v’s near the bottom must be Si—it was the most mountainous part of Northern Ithania. He could not make sense of the placement of the individual mountains, however. Since no landwalker had ever charted Si, as far as he knew, the mapmaker had probably guessed their placement.

The White’s leader, Juran, began to speak. As he did, Auraya moved away from the table and slipped between Sirri’s and Tryss’s chairs.

“He says that we will begin by discussing how the Siyee can assist us before and during the battle,” she murmured. “Since he’ll be mainly talking to you, he’ll speak your language as best he can, and Dyara will translate to the others.”

Sirri nodded. Juran turned to face her.

“Welcome to the war Gathering, Head Speaker Sirri,” he said, forming the words slowly and carefully. The woman, Dyara, translated for the others in a murmur.

“Thank you, Juran, leader of the White,” Sirri replied. “I am eager to help in any way I can.”

He smiled. “How you may help us is what we will discuss tonight. What do you wish your people’s role to be?”

Sirri paused. “As archers of the air,” she said. “As eyes in the sky.”

“Indeed, that is how I imagine they would be best employed,” Juran agreed. “I do not think it wise to send you out to randomly attack our enemy during the battle. That would be risky and a waste of your potential. We should use every opportunity to surprise the enemy and work together on land and in the air to our best advantage.”

“How might that be done?” Sirri asked.

“Our war adviser, Lanren Songmaker, has many suggestions on this matter.”

Sirri looked at the man who had greeted them. “I am eager to hear them.”

“Then he will describe them now. Lanren?”

The friendly landwalker rose from his seat. At a nod from Juran he began to speak. Auraya translated. Tryss listened in fascination as possible encounters with the enemy were described, and how they might be resolved with the Siyee’s help. He had imagined the two armies clashing in one great confrontation, not in these carefully planned complex stages and layers of attack.

The man’s understanding of the Siyee’s limitations in flight was surprisingly good. It seemed Tryss had not been the only person watching and assessing the strengths and weaknesses of his allies. Then the man made a blunder, an assumption that the wind conditions in the mountains would be the same as on the plains. Tryss found himself interrupting. Too late, he realized what he had done and fell silent, his face burning.

“Don’t stop, Tryss,” Auraya murmured. “Speak up. This is what we are here for: to correct each other’s mistakes. Better now, than after they have caused deaths on the battlefield.”

He looked up at her, then at Sirri. The Speaker nodded encouragingly. Tryss swallowed hard.

“Air moves differently in the mountains,” he said. “Sometimes to our advantage, sometimes not.”

Auraya translated. The man spoke.

“Can you predict how these winds will move?”

“Only in a general way. We won’t know until we get there if the air will flow as we expect it to.”

From there, the discussion became more detailed. Sirri joined in, but often looked to Tryss when the scenarios Songmaker described became complex. The war adviser was full of enthusiasm, but after a while he stopped and spoke to Juran. Auraya translated.

“We could talk about this for hours, even days. May I suggest that we continue in my tent? All interested in the fine details would be welcome to join us.”

“Yes,” Juran agreed. “First I would like to consider how the Siyee might be of use before the battle as our ‘eyes in the sky.’ ” He looked at Sirri and returned to the Siyee language. “We have no spies in the Pentadrian army. The sorcerers who lead it are able to read minds and discovered our spies who had infiltrated their forces. The only reports of their position we are receiving are from scouts observing from afar, and their last report was to tell us that the army has entered the forests of the foothills. Would you be willing to send some of your people over the mountains to learn more?”

Sirri nodded. “Of course.”

“How long would they take to cross the mountains and return?”

She shrugged. “A day, perhaps two, to get across, and the same in returning. How long they spend scouting once they’re there depends on how many Siyee I send and how difficult it is to see into this forest. How large is the area they need to search?”

Juran pointed at one of the mountain ranges on the map. Sirri nodded as he circled his finger over the map to indicate an area.

“I’ll send twenty pairs. That should reduce the searching to a day.”

Juran nodded. “Can they leave tonight?”

“There is no moon tonight. It is dangerous flying in the mountains during times of such darkness. They can leave before dawn, however. By the time they reach the mountains there will be enough light to fly by.”

Juran smiled. “Then we must wait. Thank you, Speaker Sirri.”

Sirri chuckled. “I should thank you, Juran of the White. I have too many energetic young men itching for excitement and adventure. This will keep some of them occupied.”

The landwalkers smiled as Dyara translated this.

“Perhaps you should choose the more sensible of them,” Auraya suggested. “Ones who won’t reveal themselves unless they have to. We’re hoping your people will be a nasty surprise for the enemy.”

Sirri nodded resignedly. “You’re right, unfortunately. I will have to be careful in my choosing.”

“Are there any other changes or decisions we need to make for your benefit?” Juran asked. “Are your people happy with the arrangements made so far?”

“Yes,” Sirri answered. “I do wish to apologize again for our mistake in hunting the lyrim. If we had known—”

“There is no need to apologize,” Juran soothed. “If we’d encountered these herds I would have ordered them caught and slaughtered myself. Herders and farmers have always understood that such things happen in times of war. If they did not, they would never have had the courage to come to me and ask for compensation.”

“I see.” Sirri looked thoughtful. “Should we continue hunting, then?”

Juran smiled. “If you wish, but take only half from each herd you encounter, and leave the males and the pregnant females so that the lyrim may quickly replace their numbers through breeding.”

Sirri grinned. “We will.”

“Do you have anything else you wish to discuss?”

She shook her head. Juran glanced around the room. He spoke to the other landwalkers.

“He’s asking if anyone has any questions,” Auraya translated.

None of the landwalkers spoke, though a few of them looked as if they’d like to. As the discussion turned to other matters, Tryss felt himself relax as everyone’s attention moved away from him. Now, with Auraya translating, he would learn more about how these landwalkers planned to wage this war. A young Hanian soldier stared into his campfire. He saw in the flames the shapes of fierce warriors and great sorcerers. What is it going to be like? he wondered. I only joined the army last year. That can’t be enough training, can it? But the captain says a disciplined fighting spirit is all that I’ll need.

:And a great deal of luck, Jayim added.

:Move on, Leiard told his student. You look in order to learn, but if you linger for the sake of entertainment you are abusing your Gift.

Jayim was learning fast. He had achieved the trance state needed for mind-skimming the night before, but had not been able to converse with Leiard at the same time without losing concentration. Now he was faring better.

The next mind was more lively. A Siyee male, his thoughts distorted by tintra. He and two others of their tribe had invited a few Somreyan soldiers to their bower. They had not been prepared for the effect the alcohol had on their small bodies.

:I hope the Somreyans don’t take advantage of them, Jayim worried.

:They may, they may not. You cannot help them without revealing that you looked into their minds. They will not understand why we do this. Move on.

The thoughts they caught next were less verbal and more physical. This Siyee’s attention was entirely on her partner, on touching and feeling. She thought neither of fighting nor of the coming battle. Jayim was finding this all very, very interesting.

:Move on.

Jayim felt a rush of embarrassment at his hesitation. He turned his mind from the lovers.

:The Siyee have women fighters. So do the Dunwayans. Why don’t Hanians?

:Why do you think?

:Because our women are weaker?

:They could be as strong as Dunwayan women if they wanted to be. It only takes training.

:Because someone has to look after the children and homes?

:What of the Siyee children and homes? You know from the many minds we have touched that they have left their offspring in the care of the elder Siyee.

:I don’t know, then. Perhaps Hanians just don’t need to. We have enough men to fight for us.

:Or so we hope.

:There’d be no point bringing women if they were untrained. Women don’t have time to train if they marry and have children young.

:The Siyee marry young, too.

:So what is the reason?

:I don’t know for certain. We can’t read the mind of a race like we are reading the minds of individuals tonight. Customs and traditions accumulate over time and are resistant to change. Only a great need for change can alter the way a people live, or their sense of morality.

:So if we didn’t have enough men to fight, women would learn to?

:Probably. The trouble is, by the time the situation forces women to fight there is no time to train them. Now, seek another mind.

Leiard followed Jayim. The boy brushed past the minds of Dreamweavers camped around their tent. From one came a sharp jolt of alarm, but not at their touch. Something else. A shape in the darkness beyond the camp . . .

:Wait. Go back.

Jayim paused, then returned to the alarmed Dreamweaver’s mind. Through her eyes they saw a figure walking out of the darkness. A priestess. A high priestess. As the woman drew closer, the Dreamweaver recognized her and felt a wary relief. It’s the friendly one. Auraya.

:Auraya. Leiard felt a thrill of both pleasure and fear rush through his body. She has come looking for me.

:Looks like my lessons will have to end early tonight, Jayim said smugly.

:We’ll make up for lost time tomorrow, Leiard replied.

:Then I expect you to make sure my sacrifice is worth it.

Leiard sighed. The boy was as bad as Mirar.

:Enough, Jayim. Assert your identity.

As Jayim followed the ritual, Leiard concentrated on his sense of self. I am Leiard, Dreamwe—

And a fool, a voice in his mind interrupted. You knew she would join the army, yet you still tagged along with your fellow Dreamweavers when you should have run in the other direction.

Mirar. Leiard sighed. When am I going to be rid of you?

When you regain your senses. It’s not your identity you’re having problems with, it’s your loins.

I am not here to see Auraya, Leiard thought firmly. I am a Dreamweaver. I have a duty to treat the victims of this war.

Liar. You have a duty to protect your people, Mirar retorted. If these Circlians whom you feel a duty to treat discover you seduced their high priestess, they’ll pick up their swords and slaughter every Dreamweaver they can find. It’ll be a nice little warm-up to the battle with the Pentadrians.

I can’t just disappear, Leiard protested. I have to explain to her why I must leave.

She already knows why you must leave.

But I have to talk to—

And say what? That you know of a nice little remote spot, perfect for those times she fancies a bit of rough and bumpy? You can tell her that in a dream, just as you can explain why you can’t—

“Leiard?”

It was Jayim. Leiard opened his eyes. The boy was staring at him.

“It hasn’t got any better, has it?”

Leiard rose. “I have not lost control to him in weeks. That is an improvement. I expect it will take time.”

“If there’s—”

“Hello? Leiard?”

The voice sent a shiver down Leiard’s spine. Auraya’s voice. He had not heard it in months. It brought memories of dreams they’d shared, echoes of that first night together. His heart began to race.

All he need do was invite her in. He drew breath to speak and paused, waiting for Mirar to protest, but the other presence remained silent. Perhaps out of caution. If Mirar spoke, Auraya would hear him and . . .

“Leiard?”

“I am here. Come in, Auraya.”

The flap opened and she stepped inside. He felt his chest slowly tighten, realized he was holding his breath, and exhaled slowly. Her hair was pulled back into a plait, but wisps of it had blown free in the wind—or more likely in flight—and hung about her face. She was even more beautiful like this, he decided. Tousled, like after that night of . . .

“Greetings, Auraya of the White,” Jayim said.

She looked at the boy and smiled.

“Greetings, Jayim Baker. How is your training progressing?”

“Well,” the boy replied.

Her smile was warm, but it faded a little when she turned to regard Leiard.

“I heard you had resigned.”

Leiard nodded.

“It was nice to meet you again, Auraya,” Jayim inserted. “I’d best be going.”

She watched as he hurried from the tent, then turned back to Leiard.

“He knows.”

“Yes. A weakness of our mind-link teaching methods. I trust him.”

She shrugged. “Then so do I.” She took a step toward him. “I understand why you resigned. I think I do, anyway. You had to in case we were found out and my people reacted badly.”

“I did not resign only to protect Dreamweavers,” he told her, surprising himself with the force of his words. “I also did it so that we might . . . we might continue to meet.”

Her eyes widened, then she smiled and her face flushed. “I have to admit, I was a little worried. The dream links stopped and it’s taken me two nights to find you.”

He walked to her, then took her hands. Her skin was so soft. She looked up at him, and her lips curled into a small, sensual smile. The scent of her was teasingly faint, making him want to breathe in deeply.

What was I going to say? He blinked and thought back. Ah, yes.

“I had to make some decisions,” he told her. “Decisions best made alone.” He could feel the tension within her through her hands.

“And what did you decide?”

“I decided . . .” He paused. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how close he had been to giving in to Mirar. Life would be easier if he simply ran away. Now that he was with Auraya again—seeing her, touching her—he knew he couldn’t run from her. She would haunt him day and night.

“I decided that what mattered was that we be who we are,” he told her. “You are one of the White. I am a Dreamweaver. We are lovers. To be otherwise would be denying who we are. To allow others to be harmed because of our love would be wrong. We both know that. So . . .”

“So?”

“We can only meet in secret.”

“Where?”

“Far from Jarime. I have a place in mind. I will send you the location in a dream.”

The corner of her lips twitched. “Just the location? Nothing else?”

He chuckled. “You were getting a little too fond of those dreams, Auraya. I was afraid you would put me aside for them.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “No, I still prefer the real thing. Or . . . at least I think I do.” She looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the bed. “Maybe I had better make sure.”

He glanced toward the tent flap. Jayim had closed it well, he noted. No gaps.

“Don’t worry,” Auraya murmured. “Nobody will hear a sound. I’ve already made sure of it.”

As she drew him toward the bed, Leiard could not help wondering at the irony. What did the gods think of one of their most favored priestesses using her Gifts to hide her secret affair with a Dreamweaver?

He sobered. There was little chance they didn’t already know. If they’d disapproved, they would have done something about it long ago.

Then Auraya kissed him and all thought of the gods fled his mind.

35

Emerahl pulled the fur collar of her tawl close. Turning to face the tent’s entrance, she sighed deeply, then straightened her back and strode outside.

At once she felt eyes upon her. The first were those of the guards charged with watching her. They were supposed to be her protectors but their role was more akin to jailors. She had endured their polite attention since the day the brothel had left Porin.

When Rozea had heard of Emerahl’s “accident” with formtane she had decided that she must announce her new favorite that day to prevent any more “foolish and destructive habits.” Since then Emerahl had travelled in Rozea’s tarn and was given the best of everything—including her own personal guards.

The other whores stood farther away. Emerahl had barely spoken to them since leaving Porin. She knew from short snatches of conversation with Tide that they believed she had planned her little “accident” with formtane in order to get an audience with Rozea and persuade the madam into promoting her.

It didn’t help that Rozea wouldn’t let Emerahl visit Tide or Brand, or allow them to see her. She knew that Brand had purchased the formtane for Emerahl, and didn’t trust either of Emerahl’s friends not to smuggle something else to her.

There was one dubious benefit to her new position. Her customers were always the richest nobles of the army. The few priests who did visit the brothel’s tents could not afford the services of the favorite. So far.

Emerahl almost wished she hadn’t told Rozea she didn’t want to go on this trip. Once Star had related Emerahl’s gloomy predictions for the trip, Rozea had decided there was a chance her favorite’s fears might get the better of her. The tents were arranged each night in a way that ensured Emerahl’s was watched from every direction. No sharp tools were allowed, and her customers were asked to remove all weapons before visiting. Rozea loved fanciful adventure stories and knew that a stolen knife and quiet slash of an unwatched tent wall had given many a fictional heroine the means to escape her captors.

None of these precautions were keeping Emerahl from leaving, however.

It’s not the guards or the tent walls, she thought as the servants deftly removed the tent poles and the structure collapsed. It’s been the neighbors.

She looked around at the empty field they had camped in. The remnants of an already harvested crop had been trampled well into the ground—first by the army and now by Rozea’s caravans. She felt a twinge of anticipation. So far they’d managed to keep up with the Toren army. The troops often disappeared into the distance during the day, but the brothel caravan always managed to catch up late that night.

Last night they hadn’t. A small party of wealthy customers had ridden back to visit them and had left in the early hours of the morning. Emerahl’s customer, a second cousin of the king, had told her that the army was now travelling as fast as men could be driven so that they would join the Circlian army in time for the battle.

Every night of the journey before this last, the brothel had camped among the troops. Every night priests wandered among these soldiers, bolstering spirits and keeping the general sense of purpose high. It was this that had prevented Emerahl from leaving. Any confrontation between herself and her guards was bound to draw attention. Even if she did manage to slip away unnoticed, the news that Rozea’s prize whore had run away would fill many soldiers’ heads with ideas of a free roll with a coveted beauty, and a reward when they brought her in. She could defend herself easily enough, but doing so would, again, attract attention, and she didn’t have much chance of avoiding that if the entire army was looking for her.

Now that the army had moved ahead of the caravan the danger was gone. Soon the brothel would be too far behind for nobles to visit it at night. She had only to arrange a distraction for her guards and slip away, and with no customer in her bed all night her absence probably wouldn’t be noticed until morning.

“Jade.”

Emerahl looked up. Rozea was walking toward her, her high boots caked with mud. The woman was obviously relishing this travelling lifestyle and always spent each morning stomping around the camp issuing orders.

“Yes?” Emerahl replied.

“How are you feeling?”

Emerahl shrugged. “Well enough.”

“Come along, then.”

Rozea led her to the lead tarn and ushered her inside. A servant handed them goblets of warmed spicewater. Emerahl drank hers quickly, intending to lie down and sleep as soon as she was finished. She was in no mood for conversation with Rozea today, and if she had the chance to escape tonight she wanted to be as rested and alert as possible.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Rozea noted. “Too early for you?”

Emerahl nodded.

“We have to start early if we’re going to catch up with the army tonight.”

“Do you think we will?”

Rozea pursed her lips. “Perhaps. If not, at least we’ll keep ahead of Kremo’s caravan.”

Kremo was one of Rozea’s competitors. The man’s caravan was larger and he catered to all but the poorer soldiers, who could only afford the lone, sick-looking whores that trailed the army like carrion insects.

“I’d better get some sleep, then,” Emerahl said.

Rozea nodded. Emerahl lay down on the bench seat and fell asleep straightaway, waking only briefly when the tarn jerked into motion. When she woke next, the tarn had stopped. She looked up and discovered Rozea was gone.

Closing her eyes, she started to drift into sleep again. Shouting male voices jolted her awake. She opened her eyes, cursing the noisy guards.

Screams erupted somewhere beyond the tarn.

Emerahl scrambled upright and yanked the door flap of the tarn-cover open. Trees crowded the road. Men she did not recognize were rushing through them toward the caravan. Emerahl heard Rozea somewhere in front of her tarn, bellowing orders to the guards, who were already moving to meet the attackers.

They were wearing the armor and brandishing the swords and spears of Toren soldiers, Emerahl realized. She stared hard at one of them. His emotions were a mix of greed, lust and a gleeful exultation at being free of endless orders and restrictions.

Deserters, Emerahl guessed. Turned thief and outlaw most likely.

She looked around, heart racing. There didn’t appear to be many attackers, but more could be hiding in the trees. She paused as she noticed the fallen tree lying in front of Rozea’s tarn. The trunk had been hacked at; this was no natural obstruction.

A stranger suddenly stepped in front of her. She recoiled in shock, shrinking back into the tarn. He grinned up at her and ripped the flap aside. As he started to climb into the tarn, Emerahl gathered her wits. She drew magic, then hesitated. Best make it look like a physical blow. She sent it in a ball of force at his face.

His head jerked backward and he grunted with surprise. Blood began to pour from his nose. He growled in anger and heaved himself into the tarn.

Tough bastard, she thought. And stupid, too. Drawing more power, she directed it at his chest. The blow threw him backward out of the tarn. As he fell, his head struck a tree trunk with an audible crack.

Emerahl crept toward the doorway. She jumped as another figure stepped into view, then relaxed as she recognized the face of one of the brothel guards. He bent and she heard a chopping sound.

“He won’t be bothering you again, lady,” the guard called cheerily.

“Thanks,” she replied dryly.

“Now keep out of sight. Kiro and Stillo need a bit of help.”

The whores’ screaming had changed to a panicked shrieking. As the guard moved away, Emerahl ignored his order and peered out the door.

Three of the deserters were backed up against one of the tarns. They were fighting two guards—now three as her rescuer joined them. The girls inside the vehicle sounded hysterical. As she watched, the skinny, wasted-looking attacker lashed out—faster than he looked capable of moving—and the guard that had been fighting him sagged to the ground.

The skinny man paused to regard his remaining two comrades. Instead of joining them, he stepped behind them, swung around and hacked at the tarn cover. The frame broke and the cover collapsed inward. The girls started screaming again.

At the same time, one of the two fighting deserters fell. The skinny man reached inside the tarn. Emerahl held her breath, then her heart sank as the man pulled out a slender arm. He yanked at it and Star toppled out of the tarn and onto the ground at his feet.

He put his sword-point against her belly.

“Stand back or she dies!”

The fighters paused, then backed away from each other. The remaining deserter was bleeding heavily from a leg wound.

“That’s right. Now, bring us your money.”

The two guards exchanged glances.

“Bring us your money!”

Emerahl shook her head sadly. There’s only one way this will end. If the guards ignore Skinny’s demands he’ll kill Star. If the guards give in, Skinny will take her away as insurance against the guards following him and retrieving the brothel’s money. He’ll most likely kill her as soon as he feels he has escaped them.

Unless I intervene. But I can’t. Not without revealing I’m powerfully Gifted.

Or would she? Rozea already knew her favorite had a few Gifts. If Emerahl kept her use of magic basic—just a weak blast to knock the sword from the man’s hand, for instance—nobody would be more than a little surprised. She would have to wait for the right moment, when Skinny was distracted. The slightest hint of a magical attack and he’d push that sword into Star’s belly.

Emerahl drew magic and held it ready.

“You’re not getting a coin from us, you cowardly lump of arem dung.” Rozea stepped into view from between two tarns.

The wounded deserter chose that moment to collapse. Skinny didn’t glance at his fallen companion. He only pressed his sword harder into Star’s belly. The girl cried out. “Make one move and I’ll kill her.”

“Go on then, deserter,” Rozea challenged. “I’ve got plenty more like her.” She nodded to the guards. “Kill him.”

The guards’ expressions hardened. As they raised their swords, Emerahl sent a bolt of magic forth, but even as it left her she saw Skinny’s blade stab downward.

Star screamed in pain. Emerahl’s magic knocked the sword aside at the same moment a guard’s sword sliced through Skinny’s neck. Star screamed again and clutched at her side. Emerahl realized with dismay that her blast had ripped the sword out of the girl and caused even more damage. Blood gushed from the wound.

Emerahl cursed and leapt out of the tarn. The guards stared at her as she passed them and crouched at Star’s side. She heard Rozea say her name sharply, but ignored it.

Kneeling down beside the injured girl, Emerahl pressed a hand firmly over the wound. Star cried out.

“It hurts, I know,” Emerahl said quietly. “We have to prevent your blood escaping.” Pressure alone wasn’t going to stop the flow, however. She drew magic and formed it into a barrier beneath her hands.

She looked up at the guards. “Find something to put under her so we can carry her to my tarn.”

“But she’s—”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

They hurried away. Emerahl looked around. Rozea was still standing several strides away.

“Do you have a kit of cures and herbs?” Emerahl asked.

The madam shrugged. “Yes, but no point in wasting them. She’s not going to survive that.”

Cold-hearted bitch. Emerahl bit her tongue. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen worse fixed by Dreamweavers.”

“Have you now?” Rozea’s eyebrows rose. “You become more interesting every day, Jade. When did a poor runaway like you get the chance to observe Dreamweavers at work? What makes you think you can do what takes them years of training to learn?”

Emerahl looked up and met Rozea’s eyes. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you—if you get me the kit and some water. And some bandages. Lots of bandages.”

Rozea called to the servants. The door flap of the last tarn opened and fearful faces appeared, then one servant emerged and hurried to Rozea. The guards appeared with a narrow plank of wood. Emerahl rolled Star on her side. The girl made no sound. She had fallen unconscious. The guards slid the plank underneath her. Emerahl kept her hands pressed against the wound as she rolled Star back onto the plank. The guards took the ends of the makeshift stretcher and carried the girl toward Rozea’s tarn.

Rozea followed. “You’re not putting her in there. You can treat her just as well outside.”

The sooner I get away from this woman the better, Emerahl thought. “She shouldn’t be moved once I’ve sewn her up, so we have to get her somewhere warm and comfortable first.” She looked at the guards. “Put her in.”

They obeyed her. As they climbed out again, Rozea stepped into the doorway. Emerahl grabbed her arm.

“No,” Emerahl said. “I work alone.”

“I’m not letting you—”

“Yes, you are,” Emerahl growled. “The last person she will want to see when she wakes up is you.”

Rozea winced. “She would have died either way.”

“I know, but she needs time to accept that. For now you’ll only agitate her, and I need her calm.”

Rozea frowned, then stepped aside. Emerahl climbed inside and crouched next to Star. A moment later servants deposited a large bowl of water, scraps of material and a pathetically small leather bag on the floor near the entrance.

Emerahl didn’t touch them. She placed her hands on the wound again.

“Nobody is to disturb me,” she called out. “Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Rozea replied.

Emerahl closed her eyes. Forcing her breathing to slow, she turned her attention inward.

She reached the right state of mind quickly. This healing technique was similar to her own method of changing her physical appearance but not as demanding of time or magic. Her mind must alter its way of thinking in order to grasp the world of flesh and bone. In this state of consciousness everything—flesh, stone, air—was like a vast puzzle made up of a multitude of pieces. Those pieces formed patterns. They liked to form patterns. When healing, she need only to realign pieces roughly in their proper pattern and old links would re-form.

That was how she liked to work, anyway. Mirar had tried to encourage her to hone her skills beyond what was necessary. He had made an art of this healing method and would always continue refining his work until the patient was back to his or her original state—or better—with no scarring and no need for rest in order to recover strength. Emerahl hadn’t seen the point of spending so much time and effort on healing just for the sake of aesthetics. Besides, if Star didn’t end up with a scar, the others might realize Emerahl had done something exceptional. Tales of her work would certainly draw the attention of priests.

Slowly, the broken inner edges of the wound realigned. Fluid no longer spilled out, but flowed along appropriate channels. When nothing remained but a shallow wound, Emerahl opened her eyes.

Reaching for the water and bandages, Emerahl heated the former and used the latter to clean the wound. She reached for the kit and took out a needle and thread. Using a little magic, she heated the needle as Mirar had taught her, to help prevent infection. The thread smelled of a herb oil known to fight festering of wounds. The kit might be small, but its contents were good.

When she turned back she found Star staring at her.

“You’re not what you seem to be, are you, Jade?” the girl said softly.

Emerahl regarded her warily. “Why do you say that?”

“You just healed me with magic. I could feel it.”

“That’s just the cure I gave you making you feel strange.”

Star shook her head. “I was watching you. You didn’t do anything but sit there with your eyes closed, while I could feel things moving inside me. The pain is less, when it should be worse.”

Emerahl considered Star carefully. She doubted the girl would believe a denial.

“Yes. I did use a little magic trick I learned from a Dreamweaver to ease the pain. Don’t think you’re all properly healed. You could come apart again if you’re not careful. I have to sew you up now, to help stop that happening. Do you want medicine to make you unconscious?”

Star looked at the needle and went pale.

“I . . . I think you’d better give me some.”

Emerahl put the needle down and looked through the kit. She found a vial of liquid labelled “to force sleep—three drops,” which smelled of formtane and a few other sedatives.

“This will do.” Emerahl looked at Star and sighed. “Will you promise me something?”

Star paused, then nodded. “You don’t want anyone to know you used magic.”

“Rozea already knows I have a few Gifts. I don’t want her to know how Gifted I am or she’ll have me doing things with customers I don’t want to do. So let’s pretend that you weren’t as hurt as you appeared to be and that I only used magic to stop the blood flowing and to hold things together while I sewed you up.”

Star nodded. “I’ll tell them that.”

“You promise you’ll tell them no more?”

“I promise.”

Emerahl smiled. “Thank you. I miss you all, you know. Sitting up here with Rozea is so boring. She won’t even let Brand come and talk to me.”

“Now you’ll have me to talk to,” Star pointed out, smiling.

Not if I leave tonight, Emerahl thought.

She put a hand behind Star’s head and lifted it so she could tip a few drops of the cure into the girl’s mouth. Star swallowed, grimaced, then continued talking.

“You were right, about this trip being dangerous. We are so far behind the army now. How many of the guards are dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Some are. I know that. What if this happens again?” Star looked at Emerahl, her eyes becoming glazed. “I’m so glad yr with ’s. If yr powrs’r strong, y cn help pr’tect ’s. We need y.’ ”

Emerahl looked away, turning her attention to threading the needle. Of the guards she had seen fighting only two had been alive at the end. Others might have been keeping watch for further attack, out of her sight, but if not then the caravan was now badly under-protected.

And two guards can’t watch me effectively.

She began sewing the edges of the wound together. Star made a small whimpering sound at first, then her breathing slowed and deepened.

Star’s right. The whores need protection, Emerahl thought. Especially if the caravan doesn’t meet the army again for days.

Days in which she was in no danger of being discovered by the priests.

She muttered a curse. Finishing the stitching, she put the needle and spool of thread back in the kit. Then she called Rozea’s name.

The madam peered into the tarn. She looked at Star and her eyebrows rose.

“She lives?”

“For now.”

“Well done.” Rozea climbed inside and sat opposite the sleeping girl. “Nice stitching. You’re full of surprises, Jade.”

“Yes,” Emerahl replied. “Including this one. I’m leaving. I want the money you owe me.”

Rozea paused. Emerahl could sense the woman’s indignation turn slowly to annoyance as she realized she could not keep her pet whore from escaping. “If you leave now, you go without a coin.”

Emerahl shrugged. “Very well. But don’t expect to see me again. Ever.”

The madam hesitated. “I suppose I can give you some food and a few coins. Enough to get you back to Porin. When I return we’ll talk about the rest. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable,” Emerahl lied.

“Good—but before you do, tell me why you feel you must abandon us. Was it today’s unpleasantness? It was a bit of bad luck, but surely travelling with us is safer than travelling by yourself. You’ve seen the lone workers, how ill and beaten they look.”

“I don’t intend to sell my body. I can get work as a healer.”

“You? Why would people pay you when they could get the services of a priest or Dreamweaver for free?”

“When people don’t have a choice they’ll take any help they can. There can’t be many priests or Dreamweavers left in the villages between here and Porin. They’ve all joined the army.”

“Of course there are. There are plenty of healers too old to travel who stayed behind.” The woman’s voice softened. “Are you sure about this, Jade? I would hate for anything bad to happen to you. You think a few Gifts make you safe, but there are men out there with cruel minds and stronger powers.”

Emerahl lowered her eyes.

“What are your chances of attracting unwanted attention alone, a girl of your looks? Here, with us, you are safer. As soon as we catch up with the army I will hire new guards. How does that sound?”

“Perhaps if . . .” Looking away, Emerahl chewed her lip.

Rozea leaned forward. “Yes? Tell me.”

“I want to be able to refuse a customer I don’t like the look of,” Emerahl said, raising her eyes to meet Rozea’s. “I want every third night off.”

“So long as you don’t refuse them all the time, I suppose that is reasonable for a favorite, but resting every third night is unreasonable. What about every sixth night?”

“Fourth.”

“Fifth, and I’ll raise your fee.”

“What point is there in that? You won’t pay me.”

“I will, when you need it—and I have enough to pay new guards.” The woman paused. “Very well,” she said slowly. “I will accept your limitations.” She leaned back in her seat and smiled. “So long as you give me your word you will stay with me for the next year.”

Emerahl opened her mouth to give her acceptance, then paused. She should not give in too easily.

“Six months.”

“Eight?”

Emerahl sighed and nodded. Leaning forward, Rozea patted her on the knee. “Wonderful. Now stay here while I see if the boys have managed to move that tree yet.”

As Rozea climbed out of the vehicle, Emerahl looked at Star and smiled grimly. She had no intention of keeping her word. As soon as the caravan neared the army and the girls were safe, she would leave. The conditions she had set would only help to ensure her safety until then.

And perhaps I can arrange for us to fall too far behind the army for nobles and priests to ride back to visit us, she thought.

As soon as Auraya’s feet touched the ground, Mischief leapt off her shoulder and ran into her tent. Auraya approached slowly. She had seen the light within as she’d flown closer to the camp, and the lack of any sense of a mind there had told her that one of the White was waiting for her.

“Mrae! Mrae!”

“Hello, Mischief.”

Auraya relaxed a little, though she wasn’t sure why finding Mairae waiting for her was different to finding any other White. It was probably because Mairae had admitted to enjoying many lovers. She, of all the White, would be the least bothered by Auraya having one, too.

The tent flap was open. Auraya peered inside to find Mairae sitting on one of the chairs. In the lamplight she appeared even younger and more beautiful. She looked up at Auraya and smiled.

“Hello, Auraya.”

Auraya entered the tent. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing new.” Mairae shrugged. Her smile became more forced. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to visit you. Seems like I never get a chance to talk to anyone. It’s always war and politics. Never just talk, between two people.”

It was more than that, Auraya guessed. Something was bothering Mairae. Auraya didn’t need to read the woman’s mind to know it. She moved to the chest that Danjin had packed for her. Opening it, she lifted out two goblets and a bottle of tintra.

“Drink?”

Mairae grinned. “Thank you.”

Auraya filled the goblets. Mairae took one and drank deeply.

“So where did you go tonight? Just flying about?”

Auraya shrugged. “Yes.”

“Juran seems eager to face the Pentadrians. Have you noticed?”

“I wouldn’t have said he was ‘eager.’ ” More like . . . if he has to do it, he’ll do it well. How do you feel?”

“I . . . I’m dreading it,” Mairae admitted with a grimace. “You?”

“Definitely not looking forward to it,” Auraya smiled wryly. “I have no doubts, though. We’ll win. The gods will make sure of it.”

Mairae sighed and took another gulp of tintra. “It’s not defeat that I’m worried about. I dread the killing . . . the bloodshed.”

Auraya nodded.

“You don’t seem worried, though,” Mairae commented.

“Oh, I am. When I find myself thinking about it, I think of something else. It’s going to be horrible. Of that we can be sure. There’s no point tormenting myself now by imagining how horrible. It’ll be bad enough when it happens.”

Mairae considered Auraya thoughtfully. “Is that why you spent the last few nights flying around? Are you distracting yourself?”

“I suppose I must be.”

One of Mairae’s eyebrows lifted suggestively. “Is this distraction a ‘he”?”

Auraya blinked in surprise, then laughed. “If only!” She topped up Mairae’s goblet, then leaned forward. “Do you think I could persuade Juran to revoke the law against using a Dreamweaver’s services?”

Mairae’s eyebrows rose. “I’m surprised you haven’t attempted it already.”

“If I hadn’t been in Si I would have.” Auraya met and held Mairae’s eyes. “Do you think he would revoke it?”

“Perhaps.” Mairae frowned as she considered. “If he’s reluctant to, suggest lifting the ban for a set time after the battle.”

“I will. I would rest a little easier if I knew those that survive the battle might survive their injuries.”

“I don’t think it would make me rest any easier,” Mairae said glumly.

Auraya smiled. “Sounds like you need to find yourself a distraction, Mairae. Surely, in the greatest army Northern Ithania has ever seen, there’s a man or two who has caught your eye.”

Mairae’s eyes brightened. “Yes, quite a few actually, but with so many of my former lovers here as well I have to be on my best behavior. It wouldn’t do if I was seen to favor one ally over another.” She paused, and a thoughtful look came over her face. “Though there is one race I haven’t tried . . .”

Auraya felt a stab of horror as she realized what Mairae was considering.

“No!”

Mairae grinned. “Why not? They might be small, but—”

“It’s forbidden,” Auraya told her firmly. “By Huan. Matings with landwalkers produce deformed children.”

“But I won’t conceive.”

“No, but if you seduce any of them into breaking one of their most serious laws, you’ll mar or even destroy this new friendship between Siyee and landwalker.”

Mairae sighed. “I wasn’t all that enchanted by the idea, anyway.” She lifted her goblet to her lips, then hesitated. “Do you think anyone will mind if I don’t choose from the nobility? There’s a good-looking war-platten driver in the Genrian army. A real champion, that one.”

Auraya smothered a sigh. The rest of the night was not going to pass quickly.

36

Not long after Danjin had drifted into sleep he was startled awake again by someone poking at his legs. He opened his eyes just as the sensation became a warm weight, and looked down to find Mischief curling up on his lap.

He sighed and shook his head. No matter how carefully he locked the veez’s cage, the creature always managed to escape. He ought to put Mischief back, but the cage was underneath the opposite seat, behind the legs of Lanren Songmaker. The military adviser was asleep and Danjin did not want to disturb the man.

The veez was a welcome extra source of warmth, anyway. Wouldn’t my father love to see me now? I was hired for my intelligence and knowledge of the world, but all I have been useful for so far is as a pet’s guardian.

He looked around the tarn. All of the other occupants were asleep, even the new Dreamweaver adviser, Raeli. Her face had lost much of its rigid wariness. She was not a beautiful woman, but without the constant frown of tension marking her forehead she was not unattractive either.

Last night, over dinner, Auraya had told him that Raeli’s aloofness stemmed from fear and suspicion. The woman was afraid of ill-treatment and of making mistakes that might harm her people. She hesitated to make friends lest they betray her. Auraya assured him that Raeli noted and appreciated every friendly gesture made toward her. She had pointed out that he would find it easier to befriend the Dreamweaver than she would, as one of the White. He had taken that as a hint that she wanted him to befriend Raeli for her.

It wouldn’t be easy. Raeli responded to most questions as briefly as possible. This morning, when he had entered the tarn with Mischief, a hint of warmth had entered Raeli’s gaze, and he began to consider whether the veez would provide common ground between himself and the Dreamweaver. She was Somreyan and keeping veez as pets was a Somreyan habit. Though he had no idea when he was supposed to find time to befriend her, when every moment of his day was taken up with war councils, attending to Auraya, or obeying the unspoken rule against chatter in the advisers’ tarn.

Danjin closed his eyes and sighed. It would be so much easier if Leiard hadn’t resigned. He hadn’t seen Leiard since the day he had visited the Dreamweaver in Jarime. Last night Auraya had mentioned speaking to Leiard the previous night. She told Danjin how, while flying about two nights ago, she had noticed an encampment of Dreamweavers in the distance. She had visited them, and found Leiard there.

That would have to have been after the war council. Doesn’t she need sleep?

He yawned. Perhaps not. But I do.

For a while his thoughts drifted. Weariness overcame the discomfort of sleeping upright and the jolting of the tarn as it trundled along the road. Then something kicked him in a way that made him grateful for the heavy leather vest protecting his groin. He started awake with a curse, and the first thing he saw was the veez slip under the flap covering the opening of the tarn and disappear. Next he realized he was the object of several reproachful stares. Throwing off the last vestiges of sleep, he leapt up and went in pursuit of the creature.

It was raining outside the tarn. The army was a long line of men, women, animals and vehicles. The column in front was more like a procession. The leaders of each nation had brought or been provided with spacious, decorated tarns and a regiment of elite troops. Ahead of all these was a large, covered tarn painted entirely white.

He could see no sign of Mischief, but he knew from experience that the best place to look first was wherever Auraya might be. If only I still had her ring, he thought. I could ask her. She’d taken the ring from him to give to the leader of the Siyee scouts. Knowing what the sky people saw was clearly a much more important use for the ring than allowing him to find her wily pet a little faster.

Ah, but I hadn’t realized how useful it was until it was gone.

He frowned as he considered what to do. If Auraya had returned from accompanying the Siyee to the next camp she would probably be with the other White. He started jogging toward the white tarn.

As he drew closer he saw that Juran was riding beside the tarn on one of the famous Bearers. The leader of the White spent most of the day in the saddle. He was always somewhere in the long column, talking to people. Danjin had seen grooms tending to the other four Bearers, but the only other White he had observed riding were Dyara and Rian. Mairae seemed to prefer the comfort of the tarn, or perhaps remained there so that anyone who wanted to speak to the White was always sure of a place to find one.

Auraya, he knew, had never learned to ride. Danjin was not sure why a Bearer had been brought along for her. Perhaps the White didn’t want her lack of riding ability to be known, although surely her flying ability more than made up for that.

Flying was how she preferred to travel now. She had flown with the Siyee yesterday, far ahead of the army. In part this was to provide protection and a voice of authority if herders decided to retaliate against the Siyee hunting their stock. Partly it was to ensure the White could communicate with the sky people, since the Siyee had no priests to relay messages telepathically. Danjin also suspected it was to ensure the camping grounds the Siyee chose were suitable for landwalkers and accessible for vehicles.

Danjin knew that Juran had been reluctant to allow Auraya to stray far from the other White at first. When she had demonstrated just how quickly she could return to the army, Juran had changed his mind. Her ability allowed her to travel at incredible speeds.

Danjin, however, was puffing as he neared the white tarn. He was relieved to see Mairae and Auraya inside. Juran glanced back at him.

“Adviser Spear.”

“Is Mischief . . . ?” Danjin panted.

“Yes, he’s here.”

As Danjin drew level with the tarn he slowed to a walk. Auraya turned to smile at him.

“Ah, Danjin.” She chuckled. “You could have sent one of the servants for him. Come aboard. He’ll settle down after a bit, and you’ll be able to take him back.”

Danjin climbed up into the vehicle. Mairae was lounging in one of the seats with her legs curled up beside her. Auraya’s feet were planted firmly on the tarn floor, her boots and the hem of her circ stained with mud. Mischief was perched on one of her knees, and had left small pawprints on her circ.

“Fly!” the veez said insistently. As Danjin sat down beside Auraya the creature looked at him suspiciously. “No cage.”

“No fly,” Auraya replied. “Fly later.”

The veez sagged in dejection. It gave a sigh and looked away.

“Hello, Danjin.” Mairae smiled sympathetically. “He’s a handful, but don’t worry. He won’t see you as an adversary so long as you feed him.”

Danjin opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated as he noted a Bearer approaching swiftly, ridden by Dyara. Mairae looked over her shoulder at the woman, then back at Auraya.

“I can’t see the point in this,” she murmured. “What could you possibly learn in the next few days?”

Auraya shrugged. “Perhaps something useful. At least I’ll get some battle practice in.”

Mairae turned to Juran. “You said yourself, so long as Auraya follows your lead—so long as we all do—she’ll be fine. She’s not going to pick a fight with one of these black sorcerers on her own. Not after what happened before.”

Juran shook his head. “Should Auraya be separated from us—which is possible since she so often joins the Siyee— she may be cornered by one of these sorcerers. It may be her skills rather than her strength that save her.” He turned to watch as Dyara’s Bearer drew up on the other side of the tarn. “Hello, Dyara. Did Guire agree?”

The woman smiled thinly. “Yes. He’s always reasonable, but how long he’ll remain so will depend on Berro. Things are going to get interesting once the Torens arrive.” She looked at Danjin and nodded politely, then turned her attention to Auraya. “I thought we might head north and put some distance between ourselves and the army.”

Auraya smiled. “That would be wise. We don’t want to frighten anyone, or break anything.” She looked at Juran. “You will consider what I suggested before?”

Juran nodded. “Yes. As you said, the fighters will resent us if we don’t allow them the choice.”

Auraya rose and placed Mischief in Danjin’s lap. He looked from her to Juran, wondering what they were referring to.

“Fly?” Mischief said hopefully.

“No fly,” Auraya replied firmly. “Stay with Danjin. Behave and we’ll fly later.” The veez’s head swivelled in impossible angles to follow her as she climbed out of the tarn.

Dyara dismounted. A groom hurried forward to take the halter. As she and Auraya walked away from the road, Danjin felt Mischief sigh heavily.

Juran looked over his shoulder abruptly, then smiled. “My presence is needed yet again.”

“Go on, then.” Mairae chuckled. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much.” As Juran rode away, she turned to Danjin. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to stay and keep me company. You look like you need a good night’s sleep. You and Auraya both.”

He smiled wryly. “I was beginning to think the White did not need to sleep.”

Her expression became rueful. “We do as much as any mortals, though our Gifts enable us to overcome the effects for a while. It is not easy to find time to sleep right now. Or when any of us find the time, we can’t.”

Danjin regarded her in surprise. None of the White were showing any signs of anxiety, but perhaps they were merely good at hiding it. There had been something both disturbing and reassuring in the way Juran and Mairae had calmly analyzed Auraya’s chances of surviving a confrontation with one of the enemy sorcerers.

Mairae shrugged. “We all have our ways of dealing with our fears. Juran stays up all night planning and plotting. Rian prays. Auraya flies around.” Mairae suddenly smiled coyly. “Or so she says.” Her eyes slid sideways to regard Danjin. “I did wonder if she had found another distraction. Perhaps she is spending time with someone close to her heart.”

Danjin frowned. Then he realized what she was inferring and felt a mix of embarrassment and shock. Auraya take a lover? It was possible, of course. She would have told him, surely. She trusted him enough to . . . but then again, if she wanted to hide it from the other White she couldn’t tell him . . .

He shook his head. “How am I supposed to sleep now? I’ll be wondering the same thing all day.”

Mairae laughed. “I’m sorry, Danjin Spear. I did not mean to add another source of disturbance to your rest. Go. You had better return to your tarn before I give you more unsettling ideas.”

He rose and made the sign of the circle, then climbed out of the tarn. Mischief rode on his shoulders as he walked past the procession. The veez appeared to have forgotten Auraya now. Danjin rubbed the creature under its chin, as he’d seen Leiard do.

Leiard!

Danjin stumbled to a halt. Auraya had found the Dreamweaver encampment two nights ago while “flying around.” Was this where she had been last night? Was there more to her visits than catching up with an old friend?

Surely not. He knew she considered Leiard as much a friend as an adviser, but what if the feelings she had were stronger than friendship?

That would explain the secrecy, he thought.

What secrecy? Danjin shook his head and continued walking. All I know is that Auraya visited Leiard once and that she flies about at night. That is far from proof that she has a lover, let alone that the lover is Leiard.

As he neared his destination, he stopped and looked back at the white tarn.

Besides, he thought. Auraya’s no fool. She’d never risk all she’s achieved by taking a Dreamweaver as a lover. The sun was low in the sky when Dyara and Auraya began to walk back to the road.

“So how am I doing?” Auraya asked.

Dyara glanced at her and smiled grimly. “Well enough. You have a natural talent for magic, but that’s no surprise. The gods would not have chosen you otherwise.”

“I thought it was my charming personality.”

To Auraya’s surprise, Dyara chuckled. “I’m sure they chose you for that as well. You won’t survive this war on charm alone, Auraya—and I know you understand that.”

Auraya nodded. “We covered almost everything I’ve learned since being chosen. What will we do tomorrow?”

Dyara frowned. “I have been thinking of ways that your flying ability might be used to your advantage. You know that when you draw a great deal of magic to yourself, you lessen what exists in the world immediately around you. Magic flows in to replace what is used, but too slowly if what you are doing uses a great deal of power quickly. To compensate, you need to draw magic from farther away from yourself, which takes more effort, or move yourself physically to where magic isn’t as depleted.”

“And avoid moving to where my enemy has been standing.”

“Yes. You are not restricted to moving across the surface of the land as we are. You have the entire sky to move through. Your source of magic will always be fresh so long as you remain airborne and in motion.”

Auraya felt a small thrill. “I see. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The trouble is, Juran will want you with us as it will be easier to—”

:Auraya? Are you watching?

Auraya stopped. The mental call was weak and hesitant, but clear enough that she recognized the sender. Tireel, the Siyee ambassador who had come to Jarime, had volunteered to lead the scouts over the mountains. She had given him her link ring so he could contact her when they arrived.

:Tireel. Where are you?

:The other side of the mountains. We’ve found the Pentadrians. They’re a lot closer than you said they’d be.

She could feel his excitement and fear. Reaching out to Dyara, Juran, Mairae and Rian, she told them what was happening and channelled Tireel’s communication to them.

:How close are you? Show me what you’re seeing.

It took him a few tries before he was able to convey a clear image of his surroundings. When he did, he sent an impression of a narrow valley seen from high above. Two rivers wound down the center, one blue, one black. Then she realized that the black river was a flow of people, not water.

The Pentadrian army.

The sight of it was no surprise, yet it was a shock. Until now she had only heard of the enemy through reports and only encountered it in the form of lone black sorcerers. Seeing this endless column marching steadily toward the pass and her own country made the threat of invasion real and chilling.

:Can you get closer? Juran asked.

:I’ll circle around and drop down with the sun at my back.

Tireel directed some of the other Siyee to inspect the neighboring valleys, then instructed others to wait out of sight of the army. Any Pentadrians who happened to look up would dismiss the flying shape as that of a large predatory bird. Predatory birds were solitary, however. Several large birds would attract attention, and it would not take much speculation before someone realized they might not be birds, but humans.

Satisfied that his instructions were being carried out, Tireel began to descend. He did so in stages, copying the flying habits of predatory birds. Details of the Pentadrian army became visible. Auraya noted that the column was divided into five sections. Each was headed by a lone rider and followed by supply carts.

:Are these leaders the five sorcerers and sorceresses we’ve been told of? Juran asked.

:I’ll try to get a closer look at one, Tireel offered.

Tireel dropped lower until Auraya was able to see that one of the lead riders was a woman. On the woman’s arm perched an enormous black bird. Unlike the trained hunting birds of the Genrian nobility, this one was unhooded. Its head swivelled about, looking into the trees on either side of the road. Then it abruptly cocked its head and spread its wings. Its screech echoed through the valley.

The woman’s head snapped up. Tireel could see the oval of her face, but not judge her expression. She moved her arm. The black bird leapt into the air, its wings beating strongly.

:Get away, Auraya urged.

Tireel circled away. Looking back, he glimpsed several more birds fly up from among the Pentadrians. Fear lent him strength and Auraya registered a little of the strain he felt as he beat his wings.

:Do you think she recognized what he is? Mairae asked.

:If she is the only Pentadrian with birds then she is probably the one who entered Si, Auraya answered. So she has seen Siyee before.

:We’d best assume our hopes of surprising them have been dashed. Juran’s thought was quiet, and only heard by the other White.

:I doubt we would have surprised them anyway, Dyara replied. This woman saw Auraya with the Siyee. She will have considered the possibility that the Siyee would join us.

:So these are the black birds that—

Impressions of shock and pain cut Mairae’s question short. A confusion of thoughts and sensations followed. Tireel, stunned, could only wonder what had happened. His head and shoulders felt battered. He felt as if he’d flown into a cliff, but he could see he was still in midair. He wasn’t falling. He was lying on something. When he looked down, he saw nothing but the ground below.

The Pentadrian army had stopped. Hundreds of upturned faces watched him. The sorceress stood with arms raised, stretched in his direction. Black birds circled between him and the ground.

Auraya felt her stomach turn over.

:The sorceress has him. Dyara’s thought was tense with dismay.

:This is not good, Juran murmured.

The support that had held Tireel fell away and he dropped. Spreading his wings, he stopped his fall, but not before he reached the birds.

They swooped in close, jabbing him with their beaks and slashing with claws. He drew his arms in close, instinctively protecting his wings, and dropped like a stone. An instant later he realized this might be a way to escape them. Drop below and arc away . . .

Auraya felt a rush of hope.

The birds followed. He saw their sleek shapes beside him. Wings drawn close into a dive. The ground rushed up toward him. He spread his arms again.

At once they darted in to claw and rake. He gritted his teeth against the pain and resisted the urge to protect himself. The ground was not far below now. He could not drop any farther.

:Get away, Auraya whispered, even though she knew he could not escape.

Glancing down, Tireel saw the enemy. Hundreds of faces watching. Then claws ripped through his wings. He screamed in agony and fell. The knowledge that he would never fly again was like an extra weight dragging him down. He closed his eyes and prayed that death would be instant.

The ground did not come like a last merciful blow. It curled around him and slowed his fall. As he felt the texture of it against his back he could not help feeling hopeful. He was alive. His wings might be torn, but he was still . . .

Then he opened his eyes and saw the ring of black-robed men and women surrounding him.

:This is not good, Juran repeated.

:No, Dyara agreed. They will learn much about us from him.

:What can we do? Mairae asked.

:Nothing.

:Perhaps the other Siyee will kill him.

:If they try, they will be captured too, Auraya told them. They can’t get close enough without being caught themselves. Her heart ached. This is my fault. I should have gone with them. I should have gone instead of them. I could have been there and back in less than—

:No, Auraya, Juran said firmly. If you had gone, we would have lost a White instead of Tireel.

:He’s right, Auraya, Mairae added.

:We did not know these birds would be there, or that they would see Tireel and be able to alert the sorceress to his presence, Dyara pointed out.

:I know it is hard to watch, but we must know what Tireel reveals, Rian said. Keep the connection, Auraya.

She focused on Tireel’s mind. His vision was blurry. He was losing a lot of blood. The sorceress was beside him. She took his hand and drew it closer to herself. The movement stretched his wing membrane and sent fresh rips of agony through him. He felt something sliding from his finger.

:The ring! Dyara exclaimed in dismay. She is taking the ring.

:It is a loss that cannot be helped, Juran murmured. But perhaps worth it if we glimpse her thoughts . . .

As the ring left Tireel’s finger, the sense of his mind disappeared. In its place came a feeling of regret tempered by a ruthless determination. The Siyee chose to ally with the heathens, the woman thought. Best remember that. What is this, then? A trinket, or something more? Perhaps a magical device. What if I . . . ? No!

The sense of her thoughts disappeared as she threw the ring away. Auraya opened her eyes. For a moment she stared at the grassy hills around her, disoriented. Dyara stood beside her.

:Did we learn anything useful? Mairae asked hopefully.

:No, Juran replied wearily. At least not from her. Tireel has shown us much that we did not know. The size of their army. How close they are to the pass. We will have to hurry, if we are to meet them there. Then there is this new threat that these birds pose, especially to the Siyee. There is much to discuss tonight. I will send your Bearer back for you, Dyara. What about you, Auraya?

:I will fly.

:Then I will see you both soon.

As the other White broke their link with her, Auraya looked at the line of mountains to the east and sighed.

“I had not thought the first death would be a Siyee,” Dyara murmured.

“No.”

“Would you like me to tell Speaker Sirri?”

Auraya glanced at Dyara, then shook her head. “No, I will tell her.”

Dyara nodded. “Then go. I will be fine walking alone. In truth, I’ll enjoy—relatively speaking—a bit of solitude. I’m sure Juran won’t mind if you take your time, too.”

Their eyes met, and Auraya suddenly understood that Dyara’s toughness was not absolute. She was cold, but not uncaring. The death of Tireel had distressed her greatly.

Stepping away, Auraya drew a deep breath and sent herself into the sky.

37

Tryss woke to find his face pressed against the membrane of his portable bower. Muffled voices penetrated the thin walls. He rolled away and felt the pressure of a warm body behind him.

“Hmph, you woke up,” Drilli observed as he turned over. “I was expecting to have to shake you. You came back so late last night.”

He smiled, moved closer and rested a hand on her bare waist. “I’ll always wake up early when you’re next to me.”

She caught his hand as he began to slide it up toward her breast. He pouted, and she laughed. “It’s not that early,” she told him. “I’m surprised Sirri hasn’t come to see why we haven’t packed up yet.” She kissed him then pulled away. Sitting up, she grimaced and rubbed her belly.

“Still feeling sick?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “It’s just the food. Too much meat and bread. Not enough fruit and vegetables.” She looked around the bower. It was barely big enough for them to sit up in. But her attention was on the sounds beyond the walls.

“Something has stirred everyone up.”

He listened to the muffled voices. From one side came an exclamation of dismay. Somewhere close to the front of the tent two Siyee were having a rapid discussion. He couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Let’s get dressed and find out.”

She was already reaching for her clothes. They quickly shrugged into their vests and wriggled into trousers, then strapped on harnesses and weapons. Drilli finished first, but she waited until Tryss was ready before crawling out of the bower.

Siyee had gathered into groups. From their expressions Tryss guessed that something serious had happened. Some looked frightened, others angry.

“Tryss, Drilli,” a familiar voice called.

He turned to see Sirri step out of a group and start toward him. Drilli hurried toward her, Tryss a step behind.

“What’s happened?” Drilli asked.

“The scouts found the Pentadrian army. Their leader, Tireel of the Green Lake tribe, has been captured.”

Tryss felt his heart sink. “How?”

“He flew too close to them. He didn’t see until it was too late that the sorceress with the black birds—the birds that attacked the men of the Sun Ridge tribe—was leading that part of the army. The birds saw him, and the sorceress brought him down.”

“Is he dead?” Drilli asked in a low voice.

Sirri grimaced. “We don’t know. He wasn’t killed by the fall, but was in a bad state when Auraya’s link with him was broken.”

“If there’s a chance he’s alive, we should find out.” Tryss felt a spark of hope. “We must rescue him.”

The Speaker sighed and shook her head. “If only we could, Tryss. He is in the middle of the Pentadrian army and imprisoned by sorcerers. We would only get ourselves captured as well.”

“Of course.” Tryss felt his face flush. The answer was obvious. “Auraya will rescue him.”

“No.” Sirri put a hand on Tryss’s shoulder. “She’d have to fight five powerful Pentadrian sorcerers and all their priests and priestesses. Alone, she would not survive either. We might be able to win this war with one less Siyee, but I doubt we’d have a chance with one less White.”

Tryss stared at her in disbelief. “So we just give up?” He felt a pang of frustration and anger. “It could have been me. I wanted to lead the scouts, but you said I’d be more useful here, working with Songmaker.”

“Tryss . . .” Drilli murmured.

“And you are,” Sirri told him firmly. “I’m as grieved as you are, Tryss, but all the same I’m glad you didn’t go. I need you here. Tireel may have saved many more of us. We know about the black birds now. We have time to invent ways to fight them.”

He looked at her sharply. Something about the way she had said “invent” suggested that she had used the word deliberately to distract him. Of course she did, he told himself. She’s trying to drag my attention away from Tireel’s fate to something more pressing—the safety of us all.

He managed a smile of sorts. “We had better start making plans, then.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s why I’ve called a Gathering. The landwalkers can leave without us today. We’ll catch up later, after we’ve discussed this among ourselves. Tonight you and I will tell the war council our plans.”

Her gaze shifted away from him. She looked over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes.

“There’s Speaker Vreez. I must go now. When I join my tribe to discuss ideas, Tryss, I hope you’ll have plenty of them.”

“I will,” he promised.

She nodded, then managed a half-smile for Drilli. Walking past him, she strode away toward a trio of older men.

Tryss felt Drilli’s hand curl around his. “If I complain about you spending all night talking with Songmaker again, kick me,” she murmured. As the last massive tree trunk was lowered into place across the road, Kar heard footsteps behind him.

“That is my favorite so far.”

Kar glanced back at the approaching man. Fin, Lem of the Tarrep warriors, was tall for a Dunwayan. He was handsome, though, and kept his beard short. The tattoos on his face accentuated slightly tilted eyes and an intelligent gaze.

“I see that the hidden dartfly nest is the true obstruction, but why did you set fires at either side?” Fin asked.

“Smoke subdues dartflies,” Kar explained. “The wood is mytten. It burns slowly and makes much smoke when green. The smoke will keep them within the hive until the logs are disturbed.”

“Lessening the chance a few stray dartflies will warn of the trap’s nature.” Fin nodded. “I see.”

He barked out orders to the fire-warriors and his clan members, then turned away. Kar followed as his leader started along the road to the pass. The rest of the men followed silently, the last driving an open tarn carrying tools and materials for their traps.

The way twisted and turned. Parts of it were steep. Kar considered every feature for potential. He still had a few trap ideas he wanted to try, but they needed the right sort of terrain. When they had been walking for an hour they turned a corner and Kar came to a halt.

“Ah.”

Fin smiled. “I thought you’d like this.”

The road continued steeply between two rock walls. The walls leaned inward, nearly touching. Wedged between them, several paces along the “passage,” was an enormous boulder.

Kar stroked his beard, then started walking again. He moved to the walls and examined them. There were plenty of seams and creases running the length of the passage. He looked up at the boulder as they passed beneath it, then continued his inspection of the walls. At the end of the passage the walls drew back from each other again, forming the sides of a narrow ravine filled with rocks and huge boulders. The road wound onward.

He turned around and walked back. Coming out of the passage he saw what he was hoping for.

Just above the turn, in the place he had been standing when he first saw the suspended boulder, was a wide ledge. Sighing happily, he beckoned to the fire-warriors and told them what he wanted them to do.

Less than an hour later they had finished. The fire-warriors looked tired. Their task had demanded constant concentration. Their brows glistened with sweat despite the cold, and their gold brow-bands were dulled with dust. He hoped they would not be too tired for their next task.

Looking up at the walls, he could just make out the two thin ropes following the creases in the rock. Their path was guided by small iron rings set into the stone. He followed the ropes to the ledge, where they were attached to sand-filled sacks supporting a carefully arranged pile of rocks.

He then traced the strings back along the wall, his assistants following as he marched up the steep passage between the walls. He did not even glance at the boulder above. When he reached the end of the passage, he found Fin waiting for him.

The clan leader was frowning, but he said nothing as Kar ordered the sorcerer-warriors to roll the nearest of the huge boulders across the passage entrance. Fin remained tense and silent as small iron rings were set into the boulder’s surface and the strings attached. Only when Kar declared the trap set did Fin call Kar over to explain.

“You did not use the suspended boulder.”

“I did,” Kar assured him. “It is a distraction.”

“How so?”

“The enemy will be too busy worrying that the suspended boulder is a trap to notice the ropes.”

Fin nodded slowly. “And when the enemy’s sorcerers move this boulder out of the way, they will trigger the fall of the massed rocks on the ledge back at the turn. You strike not at the head of the army this time, but at its guts.”

“They will put their fire-warriors at the front of their army, to shield against traps or remove blockages.”

Fin chuckled. “What will you come up with next, I wonder.”

Kar smiled. “We still have not used the acid.” He looked at the fire-warriors. “That will require alert and rested minds for safe handling.”

“Yes. We all need a rest. Let us find a place to sit.” He gestured to the man driving the tarn. “Bring us food and water.”

As the men settled onto rocks to rest and eat, Kar gazed at the road ahead. The pass and Hania were still many hours’ walk away. He, Fin and their assistants had fallen far behind the rest of the Dunwayan army, but they would catch up eventually. In a day or two they would enter the pass and join the Circlian army.

He smiled. Then they would join in the greatest battle between mortals ever to take place in Northern Ithania. The Plains of Gold were crisscrossed with roads. Those the Dreamweavers had been taking were smaller and less maintained than the main east–west road the army was following. Sometimes they ran parallel to the main road and sometimes they took a different direction, but in general the Dreamweavers were able to keep pace with the army fairly easily.

Today they had been forced to travel along an uneven grassy track that wandered far from the army’s path. Arleej was unconcerned, however. Local farmers had told them that the track would soon meet with a more frequented road, which ran directly south to meet the east–west road. At that point the Dreamweavers would begin following the army at a cautious distance.

Leiard glanced at his student. Jayim was watching the ground before the arem, a crease between his eyebrows. He had grown more confident and skilled at driving the tarn now, but still needed to concentrate at the task. It was too much to expect the boy to receive lessons at the same time.

Jayim now had a tendency to stray away from lessons into speculation about Auraya or the coming war. When Leiard grew tired of fending off the boy’s questions he simply gave his student the reins.

“I have a question,” Jayim said suddenly.

Well, it works most of the time, Leiard thought wryly.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been teaching me the same sorts of things you did back in Jarime—apart from the mind links. I’d have thought you’d concentrate on teaching me to heal with magic. After all, that’s what we’re here for.”

Leiard smiled. “Teaching magical healing always presents us with a dilemma. How can I teach you to heal when you have no injuries to practice on? We Dreamweavers do not harm others or ourselves in order to provide subjects to heal.”

The boy was silent. “So I won’t learn to heal until we get to the battlefield.”

“No.”

“I was expecting . . . I thought I’d be . . . well, ready by the time I got there.”

“Nobody is ever ready to face a battlefield for the first time.” Leiard looked at Jayim and chuckled. “You will learn a lot quickly when you do. Do not fear the learning. I will guide you.”

Jayim shook his head. “No point in worrying about something you can’t avoid; you’ll have enough worries when it happens.”

Leiard looked at Jayim in surprise. “That is an old saying.”

The boy shrugged. “My mother says it all the time.”

“Ah. I imagine you’ve given her many reasons to . . .”

The tarn before them slowed to a stop. As Jayim pulled on the reins, Leiard peered around the side of the vehicle before them. Another vehicle stood side-on to the lead tarn, blocking its path, and four Dreamweavers Leiard did not recognize stood beside it.

“Looks like our numbers have just grown a little,” Leiard said. “Stay here. I will greet the newcomers.”

He climbed down from the tarn and strode forward. As he drew closer to the strangers he saw that Arleej’s caravan had reached the end of the track. Three vehicles waited on the side of a wider road. Arleej was talking to one of the newcomers, a stocky male Dreamweaver with pale hair. She saw Leiard and beckoned him forward.

“This is Dreamweaver Leiard, former Dreamweaver adviser to the White,” she said. “Leiard, this is Dreamweaver Wil.”

The man was Dunwayan, Leiard noted. Wil’s eyebrows had risen when Arleej had mentioned Leiard’s former position.

“Adviser to the White,” he said. “I had heard something of this.” He paused, then snorted. “I had best tell you now that I have my doubts about the wisdom of it. These White are mind-readers. They could rob us of much of our knowledge.”

“Only that which is valuable and acceptable to them,” Arleej replied. “Which, when you remember that they consider our use of herbs quaint and our mind-linking skills taboo, is little.”

Wil shook his head. “Attitudes change.”

“And they have, to our benefit, for now.” She smiled. “You will find Auraya of the White surprising, Wil. She visits us every night. She and Leiard are old friends, since before her Choosing.”

Wil’s eyes widened slightly. He stared at Leiard for a moment, then shrugged. “I look forward to meeting her.”

“We had best return to our tarn,” Arleej said firmly. “We have much travelling to do before we draw close to the army again.”

Wil nodded, then headed toward the first of his group’s tarns. As Leiard turned away, Arleej spoke his name. He looked back. She gestured to her tarn.

“Join me for a while?”

He followed as she climbed up onto the seat. The newcomers waited while she urged her arem forward and took the lead along this new road. After several minutes Arleej looked at Leiard and smiled.

“The White have told Raeli that they have lifted the ban on people using our services for a day after the battle.”

“That is good news.”

“Yes. It appears some good has come from your friendship with Auraya.”

He nodded in reply.

“I expect she does not reveal any of the White’s plans for the army?”

Leiard shook his head. “Nothing we don’t already know.”

“Has she mentioned the new Dreamweaver adviser at all?”

“Once.” He grimaced. “She finds Raeli’s aloofness disappointing, but understands the reason for it. She hopes there will be time later, after the war, to befriend Raeli—or at least gain her respect.”

“I see. What else does she talk about?”

Nothing you could repeat now, Mirar muttered.

Quiet, Leiard thought sternly.

“Reminiscences.” He shrugged. “Stories of her visits to Si and Borra.”

Liar.

“Has she noticed this trouble you have with Mirar’s link memories taking on a personality in your mind?”

He frowned and looked away. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t mentioned it.”

Because you block me out too effectively when you’re with her, Mirar growled. Nothing like pure lust to make a man take full possession of his body.

Then she is the key to getting rid of you!

No. You can’t be with her all the time.

A feeling of threat came with the reply. Leiard felt his control slip and found himself looking at Arleej.

“I have a confession to make,” he found himself saying. “This fool of a Dreamweaver has been . . .”

No!

Leiard fought Mirar and managed to regain control. Arleej was frowning at him in puzzlement.

“What’s wrong?”

Leiard shook his head. He dared not speak for fear that the words that came out would not be ones he’d planned to utter.

“It’s Mirar, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

Her eyes widened in understanding, then she frowned again in concern.

“Jayim told me he thought things had been getting worse lately. He said it started after Auraya first visited you.”

Leiard looked at her in alarm.

“Don’t worry, he kept his promise. Though he could not hide his concern for you.”

Arleej took his hand and held it firmly when he tried to pull away.

“There’s more to this than you’re willing to tell. I would leave you your secrets, but I suspect they’re destroying you. Tell me, Leiard. Obviously Mirar wants you to.”

He shook his head.

“I am already avoiding the White so they do not learn you are keeping something from them. I may as well know the whole truth.”

He looked away. Arleej fell silent. Then she sighed.

“Mirar.”

The name was spoken like an order. A summons. He felt control melt away.

“At last.”

His own voice was different: higher and with an authority and arrogance he’d never possessed. He found himself straightening and turning to regard Arleej.

She stared at him and he saw a hint of fear in her face.

“Why are you doing this to Leiard?”

“For his own good. He cannot continue this affair with Auraya. It will destroy him, and my people.”

Her eyes widened. “Affair?”

“He loves her. She probably loves him, too. It’s pathe— sweet. But dangerous.”

“I see.” She looked away, her gaze intense as she considered what she had just learned. “I do not think Leiard would do anything to harm our people,” she said slowly. “He must believe there is no danger.”

“He is wrong.”

“How so? If this secret remains hidden there is no immediate—”

“Even if accident does not reveal it, you can be sure the gods know.”

She shuddered. “Obviously they don’t disapprove or they would have put a stop to it.”

“They will when it brings them the greatest advantage. You can be sure it will not be for our benefit. Never think that they don’t hate us. We contain memories of darker times, when they were not so benevolent. They do not want their followers to know what they are capable of.”

Arleej had turned a little pale. She grimaced, then shook her head. “Leiard, Leiard. What are you doing?”

Suddenly Leiard had control of himself again. He gasped and raised shaking hands to his face.

“You’re back!” Arleej exclaimed. “I did speak your name,” she added thoughtfully.

“If that is how it works then please don’t speak his name again,” Leiard choked out.

She patted his knee apologetically. “I won’t. I’m sorry.” She paused. “What are you doing, Leiard? The risks you’re taking—”

“Are small,” he finished, taking his hands from his face. “When this war is over, I will retreat to an isolated place. No one need ever know about us.”

“No one? Mirar is right. The gods must know. He may be right about them waiting for the right time to retaliate. You . . . you have a duty to protect your people. You should end this affair, Leiard.”

Leiard looked away. “I know. When I’m with her, I can’t even think of it.”

Slowly Arleej’s expression softened. She leaned back in her seat and sighed.

“Oh, that’s love all right.”

She stared ahead, her forehead deeply creased. Leiard watched her closely. What would she do? Would she tackle Auraya? Would she order him to stop seeing Auraya?

Would you obey her? Mirar asked.

Probably not, Leiard admitted. If she wants me to leave now, I will.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Arleej said softly, without looking at him. “I must think on it for a while. From now on we will not camp as close to the army as we have in the past. I would rather it was a considerable inconvenience for the White to visit us. If Auraya comes . . . I will not interfere. I will do all I can to ensure this secret remains undiscovered.”

“Thank you,” Leiard murmured.

Her gaze shifted to his. “I will do this thinking better alone.”

He nodded, then, feeling like a chastised child, climbed down from the tarn and made his way back to Jayim.

38

Auraya fastened her circ and walked back to where Leiard was still rolled up in blankets on the floor. She smiled down at him. He smiled back and she felt his hand grab her ankle.

His thoughts were wistful. He wished that she could stay longer—that she would be here when he woke up in the morning. He knew they couldn’t risk that.

Everyone here believes these quick visits in the middle of the night are merely official business, she heard him think, undertaken late because she’s too busy or because we don’t want the new adviser knowing she’s still consulting me. He sighed and thought of Arleej. Everyone believes that but two.

Auraya frowned. His smile faded as he realized she’d read his mind. She felt him let go of her ankle.

“Arleej knows about us,” she said.

“Yes.”

Auraya chewed on her lip. This could prove awkward. Someone in such a high position in Somrey and among Dreamweavers was likely to meet one of the other White at some time. One stray thought from Arleej and their affair would be discovered.

“We can trust her not to say anything.”

Auraya looked at him closely. “You aren’t entirely sure of that.”

He frowned and sat up, the blankets falling from his bare shoulders.

“She is concerned about Mirar’s presence in my mind.”

“The link memories?” Auraya shrugged. “Why?”

He hesitated. “You haven’t noticed . . .” He looked away and frowned. “He remains silent when you are here.”

Auraya shook her head. Leiard wasn’t making much sense. “He?”

“Mirar, or the echo of his personality in my mind. He speaks to me sometimes. Occasionally he has . . . spoken through me.”

Looking closer, she began to understand. Sometimes this manifestation of Mirar’s memories had spoken using Leiard’s voice. He had found it disturbing, understandably. He was afraid she would be repelled by it.

“I have always managed to regain control,” he assured her.

“I see. I can understand why that would worry you, but why does it concern Arleej? I would have thought she’d be happy to have this link with your former leader.”

“It’s just that . . .” He paused. “It doesn’t bother you?” he asked hesitantly.

Auraya shrugged. “They’re only memories. They’ve been quite useful to me, actually. What you told me about the Siyee was invaluable.”

He looked away and she sensed he was still troubled.

“It bothers me,” he said. “He doesn’t like us together. He says we endanger my people.”

Auraya felt a small stab of hurt. A part of him didn’t want her. That’s not entirely true, she told herself. These memory links are from a man who hated and feared the gods and who was killed by Juran at the gods’ bidding. Of course I spark an echo of fear in his mind.

“I don’t agree with him,” Leiard said.

“So you argue with him?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Yes. But . . . not when you’re here.”

She smiled, relieved. “Then I am good for you.”

His lips curled up at the corners. “Yes.”

Yet she sensed a hesitation. She looked deeper and understood. To give in to this other personality would also bring peace. It was tempting, sometimes. She sat down and wound her arms around him.

“We’ll fight him together then. I’ll help you any way I can. When this war is over,” she added. “Can you wait that long?”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I’d wait centuries for a moment with you.”

She grinned. “There you go, getting all romantic on me again. You’ll only have to wait a day, not centuries. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm. Pleasant memories rose. She wanted to touch him, but resisted. Instead she pulled away and stood up.

“You had better get dressed and see me out.”

He pouted, then grinned and threw off the blankets. Naked, he began to gather his clothes from the floor. She watched him dress. There was something both fascinating and sobering about this reclothing. As if he was putting on an identity at the same time. When he had finished, he ushered her to the entrance like a respectful and attentive host.

“It was pleasant meeting with you again, Auraya of the White,” he said formally.

She nodded. “As always, I hope. Give Dreamweaver Elder Arleej my assurances.”

“I will.”

He held open the tent flap and she stepped outside. Lamplight from within spilled out, illuminating the dark shapes of other tents. Then the flap closed and all was darkness.

She looked up at the sky, then concentrated on the world around her. It was so easy now. She drew magic and moved herself upward.

Cold wind ruffled her hair. A few strands, wet from a quick wash in a basin of water, chilled her neck. She dried them with magic. Rising higher, she saw lights in the distance. The army camp.

Were there more lights than usual, or was she imagining it?

Drawing more magic, she created a shield to protect her body from the wind and sent herself speeding toward the camp. It did not take long before her suspicions were confirmed. She could see lines of torches moving through the tents. At the point where the line fragmented, near the edge of the camp, she could make out tents being erected.

Newcomers. This must be the Toren army.

As she drew closer she saw four pale figures standing outside the war-council tent. Facing them was a small crowd, lamplight reflecting from an abundance of polished metal and shining cloth. Nobles and other important personages, she guessed. One figure stood a few steps in front of the rest.

Berro. The Toren king. Why didn’t Juran call me when they first arrived?

She hovered above the gathering. The sound of the king’s voice drifted up to her. Deciding it would be rude to interrupt, she sent Juran a quiet communication.

:Juran? Should I join you?

He made a small, surprised movement, then glanced upward.

:Yes, he replied. When I indicate.

She heard him say something. Then he made a small beckoning gesture. She dropped down and landed beside Mairae.

The king turned to stare at her in astonishment. He looked up at the sky, as if expecting to find she had jumped from some structure, then at her again.

“Auraya,” Juran said. “I believe you met King Berro just after your Choosing?”

“Yes,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you again, your majesty.”

The king drew in a deep breath and appeared to gather his wits.

“It is an honor to see you again, Auraya of the White. You have settled into your new position with impressive speed and confidence. I had heard of your Gift of flight, but did not quite believe it until now.”

She smiled and made the sign of the circle. “The gods give us what we need in order to do their bidding.”

His gaze flickered, and she was pleased to see his thoughts turn to the Siyee. By pointing out that the gods had given her the Gift of flight, she had hinted they had done so in order that she might convince the Siyee to become the White’s allies. Hopefully he would think twice about contesting the removal of Toren settlers from Siyee lands. No monarch dared to defy the gods.

The king’s attention returned to Juran. “I have travelled at the fastest pace my troops could sustain in order to join you in time. We are, I believe, two days’ travel from the pass. Will there be time to rest?”

Juran frowned. “I can only give you a shorter day’s travel tomorrow. Your troops may have more time to rest once we reach the pass, however.”

“That will be sufficient.”

“You are also weary,” Juran stated. “It is late to be discussing war plans. If it is agreeable to you, I will travel with you tomorrow in order to relate to you all that has been discussed and decided.”

Berro smiled with relief. “That would be most agreeable. Thank you.”

Juran nodded and made the formal gesture of the circle. “I will speak to you in the morning then, your majesty.”

The king returned the gesture, then moved away, the crowd of nobles following. Auraya turned to regard her fellow White. Juran looked relieved, Dyara resigned. Rian and Mairae appeared to be pleased.

“At least they’re here,” Dyara murmured. “The Dunwayans are in the pass, setting traps. When they join us we will be quite a force.”

“Indeed we will,” Juran replied. “For now we should return to our beds.”

The others nodded. Mairae and Rian strode away. Dyara paused, then headed toward the Genrian army camp. Seeing that Juran hadn’t moved, Auraya approached him. He looked at her.

“What is it?”

“I was surprised you didn’t call me,” she said.

He looked relieved. “No. Mairae said you were doing an aerial patrol. That you have been doing so for the last few nights and I should leave you to it. Actually, I’m surprised you hadn’t told me.”

Auraya shrugged. “It’s just my way of pacing when I can’t sleep.”

He smiled, then suddenly became serious. “Well, just remember that effects from lack of sleep have a way of sneaking up on you when you least need them to. I don’t imagine an unintentional nap would be beneficial if you happened to be airborne.”

“No,” Auraya grimaced. “Not very. But . . . don’t hesitate to call me if you do need me here.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“I’d best be off to bed then.” She paused. “You too.”

He sighed. “Yes. You’re right.”

She moved away. Hearing a quiet yawn, she glanced back to see Juran cover his mouth with a hand. She nodded to herself. Perhaps he would rest a little easier now that the Torens had arrived. Emerahl jolted awake. For a moment she felt panic rising. Was the caravan being attacked? Then a lingering feeling of suffocation sparked her memory and the dream came flooding back.

The tower dream. She felt a flash of irritation. Had the Dreamweavers become so unskilled they could not teach one of their own to stop projecting his or her dreams?

“Are you all right, Jade?”

Emerahl looked at Star. A mattress had been brought into Rozea’s tarn for the girl. Star was managing to pretend her injury had been bad, but not potentially fatal. Unfortunately, being mostly healed meant she easily grew bored with lying about all day. Sometimes Emerahl pretended to fall asleep to escape the girl’s chatter. Right now, Star was looking up at Emerahl in concern.

“A dream, that’s all,” Emerahl replied.

“What were you dreaming? It wasn’t about a tower falling down, was it?”

Emerahl blinked in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

Star shrugged. “A few of my customers have told me about it. Said they had the same dream many times.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

Emerahl shook her head. “I mean, how many customers told you they had the dream?”

Star considered. “Three or four.” She looked at Emerahl. “So did you have it?”

Emerahl nodded. “Yes.”

“Is it the first time?”

“No, I’ve had it a few times.”

“What’s it all about then?”

“There’s a tower. It falls down.”

Star grinned. “I mean, why are people having the same dream? What does it mean?”

“ ‘A dream’s meaning depends on the dreamer,’ ” Emerahl quoted. She frowned, considering her theory that the dream was about the death of Mirar. Something about this didn’t quite fit.

“To be crushed under a building . . .” Star shuddered. “Nasty way to die.”

Emerahl nodded absently. If the dreamer was dreaming about the death of Mirar, they couldn’t be reliving their own experiences. They were reliving Mirar’s. To do that they must have link memories of his death, which meant that someone must have linked with him as he died.

That was extraordinary. The thought of it sent a shiver of cold down her spine. No wonder the dreamer could not stop experiencing the dream over and over.

“Maybe it means the White will fail.”

“Dreams aren’t predictions, Star,” Emerahl said.

Not this one. This one was historical. Mirar’s experience of death must have passed from Dreamweaver to Dreamweaver for the last century. Now, in the mind of a powerful Dreamweaver, it was being projected to every man or woman Gifted enough to receive dreams.

I wonder if that’s deliberate. Is somebody trying to remind the world who killed Mirar?

“Jade?”

Emerahl raised a hand to stall Star. The gods made Mirar a martyr. This dream is no doubt touching the minds of priests and priestesses, too. Surely the gods are trying to put a stop to it.

“I have to tell you something,” Star said in a quiet voice. “I told . . .”

Maybe they can’t. Maybe this dreamer is protected. By whom? Someone powerful. An enemy of the gods. The Pentadrians! Maybe—

“. . . I told Rozea you healed me with magic.”

Emerahl turned to stare at Star. “You did what?” she snapped.

Star flinched away. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “She tricked it out of me.”

The girl looked frightened. Emerahl began to regret her harsh response. She softened her expression.

“Of course. Rozea’s cunning enough to talk a merchant out of his ship. I was wondering why she’s being so nice to me all of a sudden.”

“I’ve never been much good at keeping secrets,” Star admitted.

Emerahl looked at Star closely. She sensed enough to guess that “tricking” the girl hadn’t been difficult. What should I do now?

I should leave.

Emerahl smiled. Now that Rozea knew she was a sorcerer there was no reason to hide the fact. She was free to take the money Rozea owed her, by force if necessary. Yet once the caravan did join the army, Rozea was bound to tell of the sorceress who’d robbed her. Her story might attract priestly attention. No, I should just leave. The money isn’t worth the risk.

Yet Emerahl still felt a foolish obligation to protect the girls for as long as possible. Once the caravan drew close to the army and Rozea hired new guards, the girls would be safe enough.

And then? Emerahl considered her idea about the dreamer being protected by Pentadrians. She had made no plans beyond escaping the priest, then Porin, and now the brothel. Perhaps she would seek out this dreamer. Perhaps he or she could offer Emerahl protection from the gods and their servants.

If that meant joining the Pentadrians, so be it. For all she knew, they might actually win this war.

39

During the afternoon the east–west road met a wide, stony river. It continued along the banks, the constant din of water rushing over rocks drowning out all but raised voices and the occasional honk of an arem or the call of a reyer. The road entered a wide valley. It passed small villages where the army was greeted by smiling adults and excited children. Then, as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, they arrived at the end of the valley and Juran called a halt.

I guess this means we’ve left the plains and entered the mountains, Danjin thought as he stepped into the war-council tent. From here it’s all uphill. He looked around, noting the haughty expression on King Berro’s face, the stiff posture of Speaker Sirri and the concerned and sympathetic looks King Guire was giving the Siyee leader.

He moved to one side to wait. The tent remained unusually silent until the arrival of Auraya and the Siyee scouts.

Auraya made the sign of the circle. “Greetings all. This is Sveel of the Snake River tribe and Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe. They are the first of the Siyee scouting expedition to return.”

Juran stepped forward. As he spoke to the two Siyee in their language, Dyara translated for the rest of the council.

“I thank you, Sveel of the Snake River tribe and Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe, for undertaking this dangerous journey. Without your help we would know much less about our enemy. It grieves me, however, that this information cost us the life of one of the Siyee.”

The two Siyee warriors nodded. They looked exhausted, Danjin noted.

“Auraya has told me you hastened to return in order to report something you suspect may be of importance. What is that?”

The Siyee named Zeeriz straightened. “After Tireel was captured we tried to stay close enough to see what happened, but the birds came for us and we had to fly farther away to avoid them. They kept us away from the army until night, when they finally left and we were able to search for Tireel. We found him beside the road. Dead.”

He paused and swallowed audibly. Danjin noted that Sirri’s head was bowed and her eyes closed. He could not help feeling admiration for her. I can’t imagine the Toren king shedding a tear for a lost scout.

“I was chosen to lead in his place,” Zeeriz continued. “I left four behind to bury Tireel, and took the rest with me to pursue the army. We could not find them. They were no longer following the road and we could not locate them in the surrounding land.”

Juran frowned. “No tracks?”

“None that we could find, but we are people of the air and have little skill at tracking. The land there is stony and hard and feet do not leave much imprint.”

“Perhaps they travelled faster than you expected,” Dyara suggested.

Zeeriz shook his head. “We circled a large area. Farther than they could have travelled in a day. When we could not find them I decided we should return here at first light.”

King Berro leaned forward. “It was night when you were searching, wasn’t it?”

When this was translated, the Siyee scout looked at the monarch and nodded.

“Then it’s obvious what happened. They knew there’d be more of you watching, so they travelled without torches. Most likely they were right under your noses, but you didn’t see them.”

“Large groups of landwalkers make a lot of noise,” Speaker Sirri pointed out. “Even if my scouts did not see them, they would have heard them.”

“Unless the troops were ordered to keep quiet,” Berro countered.

Zeeriz straightened his back. “I am confident that I would have heard them if they had been there. An army of that size cannot travel silently.”

“Oh?” Berro’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “How would you know? How many armies of that size have you encountered before?”

“We heard yours coming half a day before it arrived,” Sirri answered tartly. “Even if your men had kept their mouths shut, we’d still have heard them.”

King Berro opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut in.

“It is possible the Pentadrians were sheltering in the old mines for the night,” Jen of Rommel, the Dunwayan ambassador, said mildly.

Danjin heard someone close by suck in a breath. He turned to see that Lanren Songmaker’s eyes were wide with realization.

“Mines?” Juran frowned. “You mean the ancient mines of Rejurik?”

Jen shrugged. “Perhaps. My guess would be the more recent ones. They’re just as extensive as their famous predecessors, but less likely to have collapsed. There are caverns deep inside them that are large enough to hide an army. Why you would want to, however . . .” He spread his hands. “Bad ventilation, so no fires and no hot food. They had a cold sleep that night.”

“Could they travel through the mountains into Hania?” Lanren Songmaker asked.

Jen shook his head. “Impossible. The mines never extended that far.”

“They have plenty of sorcerers. They could make the mines extend that far.”

“No,” Juran said. “It would take months, if not years, to carve a tunnel large enough. The rock and debris removed would have to go somewhere. Ventilation shafts would have to be created and sorcerers posted to pull air inside, as natural circulation wouldn’t be enough for that many people.”

As this was translated for the Siyee, Zeeriz looked relieved. Danjin felt a pang of sympathy for the young man, who’d rushed back only to have his abilities questioned so derisively by the Toren king.

“It sounds as if they sheltered in the mines for the night,” Berro said, waving a hand at Zeeriz. “Perhaps they feared an attack from our little spies.”

Little spies. Danjin suppressed a sigh. Berro was known for his habit of antagonizing the Genrians. It looked as if he was set on insulting the Siyee as well.

“If the army emerged the next day we’ll find out when the rest of the scouts return tomorrow,” Sirri replied.

“If they saw them.”

“An army that size is hard to miss from the air,” Auraya pointed out. “Even if they deviate from the road, doing so would slow them down and they would eventually have to return to it to approach the pass. There is only one road through the mountains.”

Berro nodded respectfully. “That is true, Auraya of the White.”

His unquestioning acceptance of her words only highlighted his disparaging attitude toward the Siyee, Danjin noted. Auraya looked at Juran, who met her eyes and nodded.

“Are there any further questions for Sveel of the Snake River tribe and Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe?” Juran asked.

Silence followed. Auraya turned to the two scouts. “Thank you for coming to us to report. You are tired and hungry. Allow me to escort you back to your people.”

As Auraya left, Danjin realized that Mairae was watching him. He smiled and inclined his head. The corners of her lips curled up, her expression unmistakably speculative. She turned to watch Auraya leave.

At once he remembered his conversation with her the day before. As her gaze snapped back to him and her eyebrows rose questioningly he realized she wanted him to. I don’t know if she has a lover, he thought at her. Do you?

She smiled and nodded.

He blinked in surprise.

Who?

She shrugged.

He looked away, both disturbed and curious. Imagining someone bedding Auraya was like imagining his daughters engaged in the act with their husbands—not something he was ever comfortable thinking about. Yet he also wanted to know who had caught her attention.

He glanced around the room, but even as he considered the men there he realized it could not be one of them. Mairae could read their minds, so she would know if any of them was Auraya’s lover. So it could only be someone whose mind she couldn’t read—or someone she hadn’t met.

As far as he knew, the White couldn’t read each other’s minds. He looked at Mairae. So it was possible . . .

Mairae’s eyes widened in horror. She shook her head, a movement akin to a shudder. He smiled. She obviously found the idea of bedding a fellow White appalling, but that did not mean Auraya would. He turned his mind from the possibility anyway, not wanting to cause Mairae discomfort.

If Auraya’s lover wasn’t one of the White, he would have to be someone Mairae never encountered. If that was so, and she was visiting him regularly, he must be in the army.

To his surprise, Mairae shook her head. How could she be sure? She smiled. So someone outside the army, he thought. But close enough for Auraya to visit.

His stomach sank as the possibility he had considered before wormed itself back into his mind.

The Dreamweavers. Leiard.

No, he told himself firmly. They are friends. No more than that.

It made sense that Auraya would visit Leiard. Mairae must be assuming there was more to Auraya’s night excursions than there was. He looked at Mairae. She was frowning, but as he met her eyes she smiled, shrugged and nodded.

Then Juran announced a break for dinner and Danjin sighed with relief. He’d been half afraid Auraya would return and find him speculating about her private life. Hopefully, by the time she saw him again, his mind would be preoccupied with something else. It had been a long day, but now that Auraya had finally escaped the war council she felt her weariness replaced by a growing anticipation. Soon she would be with Leiard again. All that was spoiling her mood was the absence of Mischief. She had found his cage open when she had returned to her tent. No doubt a servant was being led a chase around the campsite.

She didn’t dare leave without him. He might lead a servant a long way, right up to the Dreamweaver camp. That could prove awkward to explain.

“Auraya?”

Recognizing Danjin’s voice, she moved to the tent entrance. In his arms was a squirming, struggling ball of fur. She sighed with relief.

“Thank you, Danjin.” She beckoned him inside. “Now, Mischief, where have you been?”

“Owaya. Owaya. Bad man. Take Msstf away. Bad.”

She looked at Danjin, alarmed by the words. He grimaced and let the veez squirm from his arms and bound into hers. Mischief curled up around her neck.

“Not so tight,” she gasped. She looked at Danjin. “What happened?”

His expression was a mix of concern and guilt. “At dinner a servant came to tell me Mischief was gone. It’s taken me hours to find him. Or rather, he found me.” Danjin sighed. “He’s been saying ‘bad man’ over and over. I fear someone may have taken him.”

Auraya could feel the veez’s heart racing. Stroking his back, she gently probed his mind. Memories flashed through his thoughts. A human face, the lower half covered with something. The cage opening and a hand grasping the veez’s neck. Scratching, biting, the taste of blood. Being trapped inside something. Chewing through and the relief of freedom.

Bad man! he said into her mind. She started. He’d never spoken to her telepathically before.

“I think you’re right, Danjin,” she said. She looked at him and sensed guilt again. Surely he hadn’t . . .

She looked closer and was relieved to see the true source of his guilt. Mairae had asked if she had a lover days ago and he had forgotten about it until she had posed the question again tonight. He felt ashamed of himself for speculating about her private life. Then Leiard’s name flashed into his thoughts and she felt her relief evaporate. Danjin believed she was merely visiting Leiard out of friendship, but suspected Mairae thought there was more to it.

Her whole body went cold. She knew Mairae was inclined to speculate about such things, but she hadn’t thought the woman would go so far as to lure her adviser into considering possible lovers. If Mairae was prepared to do this, how much further would she go to satisfy her curiosity? It would only take a few hours’ riding and a little mind-reading for speculation to become known fact. Her heart began to race. Mairae might already be riding toward the Dreamweaver camp.

I can’t take that risk. Leiard has to leave now. Tonight.

Unwinding Mischief from around her neck, Auraya handed him back to Danjin.

“Stay here. Keep him company. He’s had a fright. I want to find out what I can. Which servant told you to look for him?”

“Belaya.”

She nodded, then strode out of the tent. Her heart was pounding. She glanced around with both eyes and mind, but detected no watchers. Drawing magic, she sent herself up into the sky, created a wind shield and drove herself through the air.

The Dreamweaver camp was farther away than before, but she reached it in moments. A lamp burned within Leiard’s tent. She landed in front of it and walked to the door flap.

“Dreamweaver Leiard?”

The flap opened, but no hand held it aside. She looked beyond and felt her heart stop. Juran stood within.

He knows. The knowledge rushed over her like a blast of cold wind. She saw the anger in Juran’s face. His entire body was tense; his hands were clenched at his sides.

She had never seen him so angry before.

“Come in, Auraya,” he said in a low, tight voice.

To her surprise his fury did not frighten her. Instead, she felt a surge of affection for him. She knew him well enough to be sure he would never allow anger to override reason. He did not like violence. The few times he had referred to killing Mirar, he had always expressed regret at the necessity.

I trust him, she thought. I even trust that he would never harm Leiard, despite what he now knows.

But Leiard wasn’t in the tent, and the bag that he kept with him at all times was missing.

“Juran,” she said calmly. “Where is Leiard?”

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“I sent him away.”

She looked at him; held his gaze. “Why?”

“Why?” Juran’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I haven’t discovered your affair? Or do you think I’d allow it to continue?”

Auraya crossed her arms. “So you get to approve my lovers, then?”

His gaze wavered. “When I learned of . . . this . . . I asked myself the same thing. The answer was simple: my first duty is to our people. As is yours.” He shook his head. “How could you do this, Auraya, when you must have known what the consequences would be when you were discovered?”

Auraya took a step closer to him. “I can accept that our people do not embrace change quickly, that improvement in attitudes happens over generations. I intended to keep our affair private only to avoid testing the people’s tolerance. I knew I could not keep it from you forever. Nor did I intend to. You have long disliked Dreamweavers, and I did not know how long I should wait before telling you. I doubted you had put aside all prejudice. How long would I have needed to wait before you did? Years? Decades? Centuries? I am in love now, Juran. Leiard is growing older. He will die one day. I cannot wait for you to get used to the idea that a Dreamweaver might be worthy of me.”

He gazed at her intently. “My views are not the issue here, Auraya. You are one of the White. Your first duty is to guide and protect the people. You may have lovers, but they must not come between you and the people. If they do, you must give them up.”

“He won’t come between—”

“He will. He already has. I saw it in his mind. You have broken the law against dream-linking. What next?”

“I’ve accepted Dreamweaver healing before, Juran. There is a similarly ridiculous law against that too. You’re not so foolish as to think this is a sign that I do not respect the laws in general.”

“You must appear to be lawful,” he replied. “Or you will lose the respect of the people. Just learning of your affair will damage your standing in their eyes.”

“Not as much as you think. Not all people dislike Dreamweavers.”

“The majority distrust them.” He paused, then sighed. “Auraya, I wish I did not have to ask this of you.” He grimaced. “I do not wish to cause you pain. But you must give up Leiard.”

Auraya shook her head. “I can’t, Juran.”

“You can,” he said firmly. “Eventually you will look back and see it was the right thing to do, even if it was painful at the time. You have to trust me on this.”

Trust? This has nothing to do with trust. Everything he’s said comes from fear. Fear that a Dreamweaver will have too much influence over me. Fear that if I offend just one prejudiced Circlian, the rest will stop respecting us all. Most of all, he fears change.

She managed a smile. “I do trust you, Juran. I expect you to trust me in return. I will not let Leiard come between me and the people. They will barely know he exists.”

She turned away and strode to the door flap.

“Auraya.”

Pausing in the entrance, she looked back.

“He can’t come back,” Juran told her. “I gave him an order, and I don’t think even he will disobey it.”

She smiled. “No. He wouldn’t. Doesn’t that tell you something, Juran? Doesn’t that tell you he isn’t someone to be afraid of?”

Turning away, she stepped outside and launched herself into the air.

40

Clouds were slowly creeping down from the north, blotting out the stars one by one. Bellin yawned, then turned his attention back to the gowts. Most had folded their long, spindly legs beneath themselves and were dozing. A few remained alert, their slender heads moving from side to side as they kept a watch for predators.

They were clever animals. They accepted him as an extra form of protection, and allowed him to milk them in return. Yet they never lost their natural wariness. Despite his presence, they took turns as lookouts throughout the night.

Which is just as well, he thought. I can’t help falling asleep or being distracted now and then.

He leaned back against the rock wall and drew some magic. Converting it to light, he sent a glow into the space before him, then he began to shape it.

First he created a gowt. That was easy; he spent all his time with them so he knew how they looked. Moving the gowt was harder. He got it to walk, then run, then leap from rock to rock.

When he grew bored with that he started shaping another familiar form. Old Lim. The wrinkled old face looked right, but the body was too straight. Old Lim was bent like a wind-twisted tree.

There. That’s better. Bellin made the figure scratch its rear—something Old Lim did all the time. He chuckled, then felt a small pang of guilt. He shouldn’t make fun of Old Lim. The man had found him abandoned in the mountains and raised him. Lim didn’t know who Bellin’s real parents were. Bellin didn’t even look like most of the people who lived in these parts. The only clue he had to his past was a scrap of material with a symbol stitched onto it. It had come from the blanket he’d been wrapped in when Old Lim found him. There had been a gold amulet, too, but Lim had sold it to pay for food and clothes for Bellin.

Bellin occasionally wondered where he had come from, and even thought about setting off on an exciting journey to find his parents. But he liked it here. He didn’t have to work hard, just watch the gowts and gather their wool when they moulted. When Old Lim died the safety of these gowts would be his responsibility. He couldn’t leave them unprotected.

Bellin sighed and considered what he could make next. Old Lim had taught him how to make the light pictures. They helped keep away predators as well as kept Bellin awake.

The pictures weren’t the only Gift the old man had taught Bellin. If fanrin or leramer were bold or desperate enough to approach the gowts, he chased them away with little balls of fire.

“You’re lucky you’ve got me,” Bellin told the gowts. At the sound of his voice, several of the sleeping gowts started awake. Which was odd. They were used to his voice.

“Old Lim can barely sting them, but I could kill one if I wanted to,” he said in a soothing voice, hoping to reassure them. “I could . . .”

He paused, then frowned. His back felt odd. The rock wall he was leaning against was vibrating.

Leaning forward, he discovered that he could feel the same vibration beneath his buttocks and feet. The gowts were climbing to their feet. Their narrow ears were twitching in fear.

Slowly, Bellin stood up, turned and placed his hands on the rock wall. The vibration seemed stronger now. Something struck his head lightly. He yelped in surprise and looked up. Dirt and bits of stone were raining down. He backed away hastily.

When he was several strides away he found he could see a crack widening at the top of the wall. He stared at it and slowly realized that the rock wasn’t splitting; the dirt that had accumulated in the crack was spilling out. It cascaded down, forming a growing mound of earth where he had just been sitting.

The vibration under his feet was growing stronger. Then he heard and felt a concussion of air. A plume of dust and stones escaped the crack. He ducked and threw his arms up to protect his head as they scattered over the surrounding area.

The sound stopped, then a whistling began. He looked up to see that the grasses atop the rock wall were all bent toward the crack. Air appeared to be rushing into the fissure.

The ground had stopped vibrating. He glanced behind and felt his heart freeze.

The gowts were gone.

Forgetting the disturbing behavior of the mountain, and the strange whistling of air being sucked into the crack, he created a ball of light and started to search for the tracks of his beloved gowts. Leiard looked back at Jayim and felt a pang of guilt and sympathy. The boy was pale and in obvious discomfort. Arems were not the most pleasant of mounts, and even less so without a saddle. Free of the tarn harness and urged to a faster pace, they had settled into a trot that they could keep up for hours, but which made for an unpleasantly jolting ride.

It could not be helped, though. Juran had ordered them to leave immediately, and remained to ensure they did. They had grabbed some food and their bags but it was clear Juran’s patience would not stretch to them dismantling the tent, packing the tarn and harnessing the arems.

Leiard felt another pang of guilt. The arems had been bought by Arleej. She had also bought a few spare arems in case one became sick or lame, so she would not be forced to abandon the tarn.

He’d had no time to see her, or even leave a note to explain his sudden absence. Watchers in the Dreamweaver camp would have seen Juran arrive and had probably seen him leave again soon after Leiard and Jayim. Arleej would guess what had happened. She would be worried. So am I, he admitted. What will this mean for the rest of the Dreamweavers? Will they be safe?

One thing is sure, he thought. Juran won’t want the world knowing that one of his own was bedding a Dreamweaver, so he’ll keep that a secret.

Leiard was surprised that he had been singled out. He had expected Juran to order all of the Dreamweavers to leave, even if only to conceal the fact that his ire had been directed at a single man. Perhaps even Juran recognized that he would need the Dreamweavers after the battle. The army was huge. Though Circlians were supposed to refuse Dreamweaver healing, they rarely did when desperate. There would be too many injured soldiers for the priest healers to deal with when the battle was over.

Jayim will miss a great opportunity to increase his learning, he thought. He looked at the boy and felt guilty again. Jayim had been terrified by Juran’s anger. Leiard knew the boy had been all too aware that the man who had come to deal with his teacher was also the man who had killed Mirar. Jayim’s relief when Juran had ordered them to leave had been obvious.

When fear passes, he will be angry, Leiard thought. He will ask what right Juran has to send us away when my only crime is loving Auraya.

He’ll blame you, a familiar voice added. He’ll wonder why you let yourself get into this situation in the first place. He’ll wonder why you didn’t get out of it when you realized what it would lead to. When it becomes clear that you still plan to see Auraya, he’ll wonder if you care about your people at all.

Mirar, Leiard thought wearily. You must be happy at this turn of events.

Happy? No. This is what I was afraid of. Do you really think Juran will be content with sending you away? You’ve reminded him of what he hates most about Dreamweavers. Our influence over people. Our abilities. I was known as a great seducer. You will replace me in his eyes. If you continue the affair, he will know. He will find other ways to punish you, through harming our people.

Leiard shivered. No. Auraya will not allow it.

He is her leader. She is a servant of the gods. If they command her to obey him, she will. You know this.

She will do anything to prevent bringing harm upon Dreamweavers.

Anything? Would she leave the White? Give up power and immortality? Would she defy the gods she loves? You know she would never disobey them.

Leiard shook his head, but he knew the last was true. The air had become heavy and cold, and he was not surprised when it began to rain. He allowed the drops to fall on him and soon his clothes were saturated.

Far ahead he saw lights. He pulled his arem to a stop and stared at them. He had been following the road for hours. The army was far behind. Who were these people? Had Juran changed his mind? Were there priests waiting here to apprehend him?

As he watched he caught the sound of galloping hooves in front. As the rider drew near, Leiard opened his palm and created a small light. The stranger wore the uniform of a high-ranking member of the Toren army. The man grinned as he passed. His mood of smug contentment touched Leiard’s senses like a waft of heady scent.

Leiard understood, then, that the lights were those of a travelling brothel. He sighed with relief and urged his arem back into a trot.

Auraya loves you, Mirar whispered. And you love her.

Leiard frowned, wondering at this change of tack.

You say she will give up anything to protect our people. I don’t believe you, but if it is true then consider this: should you ask her to? Should you demand that she give up what she has?

The road descended. Leiard felt his heart sinking with it.

It might not come to that.

It will. I know Juran. He will demand she make a choice. Do you think you’re a fair exchange for the gods she loves so much? Can you give her what they do?

Leiard shook his head.

Do you want to see her grow old and die, and know it is your fault?

Each of Mirar’s words felt like the jab of a knife.

Love is thrilling, especially forbidden love, but passion fades and becomes familiarity. And familiarity becomes boredom. When the thrill has gone between you, do you think she will never look back at what she was, and what she might have been, and wish she had never met you?

Leiard felt his throat tighten. He wanted to argue that it wouldn’t be like that, but he could not be sure.

If you love her, Mirar urged, free her. For her own sake. Let her live on to love again and again.

And if she doesn’t want to be freed?

You must convince her. Tell her you do not want to see her again.

She won’t believe me. She can read my mind, remember.

Mirar was silent for a moment. The lights ahead were brighter now.

Then let me do it.

Leiard shivered. He was cold all over, and he knew it was not just the rain soaking his clothes that was chilling him.

She is bound to track you down tonight. I will remain only as long as it takes to convince her to leave you.

He was so tired. Tired of the risk and the secrecy. He looked up at the dark sky and felt the rain sting his face.

I’m sorry, Auraya, he thought. There can be no happy ending for us. Mirar is right: the longer this goes on the more harm it will bring.

He drew in a deep breath, then breathed out a summons.

“Mirar.” When the first rays of dawn lightened the eastern sky, Auraya felt her hopes dim. She had flown in every direction from the Dreamweaver camp as far as a rider could travel in a day. She had returned to the Plains of Gold. She had roamed the foothills of the mountains. She had followed the road almost all the way to the pass.

She had found no sign of Leiard.

As she had flown, she had kept her senses open for human thoughts. While she had sensed the minds of soldiers and villagers, herders and prostitutes, she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Leiard’s mind. He had all but disappeared.

Like the Pentadrians, she thought wryly.

She now hovered high above the ground, unsure what to do next.

Perhaps I missed something. I could return to the Dreamweaver camp and start again. This time I’ll fly in circles, moving steadily outward . . .

Before she had even finished the thought she was speeding across the sky again. When she reached the place the Dreamweavers had camped, they were already gone. She could see them in the distance, travelling along a narrow, overgrown track.

A lone figure followed them. She caught weary thoughts and a familiar personality.

Jayim.

The boy crested a rise and reined in his arem. As he saw the Dreamweavers far ahead, he felt a rush of relief. It was followed by guilt and uncertainty. He looked over his shoulder to the southeast.

I shouldn’t have left him . . . but he wouldn’t listen to me. The way he spoke . . . something’s wrong. I have to get help.

He urged the arem into a trot, thinking that if he caught up fast enough Arleej would be able to return to the brothel camp before Leiard moved on. He pushed all thought aside but the need to reach them. Auraya watched him go, fighting a rising dismay.

The brothel camp?

She had flown over more than a few. The presence of prostitutes was an accepted consequence of having a large army travelling across the country. She had mixed feelings about them. While she could see that bedding a whore might boost a soldier’s confidence, or soothe an agitated mind, there was the spread of disease to worry about. She also didn’t like how some of the men believed they weren’t being unfaithful to their wives by sleeping with a whore during a war.

Which was why she hadn’t looked too closely at the minds in these camps. Which probably made the camps the perfect place to hide from her. Did this mean Leiard was hiding from her?

No. He’s hiding from Juran.

She started flying toward the closest of the camps she could remember encountering last night. As she did she forced her mind away from unpleasant possibilities. I trust him. He went there to hide from Juran, not me.

He was not in the first of the camps, nor the next two. She remembered the direction of Jayim’s backward glance and flew farther southeast. A half-day’s ride from the army she found another. Searching the minds of those below, she glimpsed Leiard’s face in one of the whores’ thoughts.

And reeled from the thought that accompanied it.

. . . at those buttocks. And I thought him scrawny last night. Definitely not scrawny. If I had my way, I’d give him this night for free. Who’d have thought a Dreamweaver would be so good at . . .

Auraya tore her mind away. Hovering above the brothel, she stared down at the tents in disbelief.

I must be mistaken. The girl must have been thinking of another Dreamweaver. One who looks like Leiard.

She looked into the thoughts of those below her again. This time she skimmed over the feminine minds, searching for a masculine one. When she found Leiard, it took her a moment to recognize him.

His thoughts were not those of a man exiled from his love. They were those of a man relishing unexpected freedom.

It isn’t that I don’t think Auraya’s attractive or smart or good-natured, he told himself. She’s just not worth all this trouble. Better we slip away with no explanation.

Gone was the affection and respect she had always seen in his mind. There was not even the slightest ember of love left within him. Instead he regarded her with a mild regret.

She gasped and recoiled, but there was no avoiding the pain that ripped through her. So this is how it feels to have your heart broken, she thought. Like someone has stabbed you and twisted the knife. No, like someone has gutted you and left you to die.

Tears sprang into her eyes, but she fought them. He had loved her. She knew that. Now he didn’t. Just a few words from Juran had killed it.

How can that be? How can something that was so strong be killed so easily? I don’t understand. She wanted to look again, to search for an explanation, but couldn’t bring herself to. Instead she began to ascend slowly. She caught the thoughts of the whore again. Leiard had just shaved his beard away completely. The girl thought he looked much younger and more handsome. She told him so, and that he was welcome in her tent any time. Would he be returning tonight? No. Perhaps if he visited Porin in the future . . .

Figures emerged from the tents below. Auraya moved herself higher, aware that anyone looking up might notice her. She continued ascending until the camp was a tiny mark on the landscape below. When she reached the clouds the world disappeared behind a wet, cold blanket of white.

41

Emerahl lifted the repaired flap of the tarn cover and peered outside. According to the customer she’d attended to last night, the army was a few hours’ ride ahead of them. He’d shaken his head when she’d expressed a hope that they’d catch up. The army was travelling fast, he told her. It would reach the pass before them. It was safer for them to remain at a distance anyway. Who knew what dangers lurked in the mountains?

He had then set about comforting and reassuring her. She’d realized that he was the kind of man who needed a woman to be weak in order to feel strong and manly. He was not one who felt comfortable around capable women so it was easy to get rid of him in the morning by striding about her tent assertively and making clever conversation. She pitied his wife. Men who needed women to be weak and stupid could be unpleasant to be around when they felt the natural order of things was being upset.

“What can you see, Jade?”

She looked at Star, then shrugged. “Rocks. And trees. And more rocks. Oh look, there’s another tree,” she added dryly.

The girls smiled. Rozea had declared Star well enough to travel with the others last night, though Emerahl was sure the decision had more to do with avoiding another day of incessant chatter. Emerahl had insisted on riding with Star in case sitting up for hours proved too much for her. This gave her an opportunity, at last, to talk to Brand and Tide.

All of the girls appeared to have forgiven her for becoming the favorite. This might be because they had realized that their grudge was ridiculous, but Emerahl doubted that. She suspected it was her healing of Star that had brought her back into their favor.

“I had the most amazing night last night,” Charity said.

Brand, Tide and Bird groaned. “Do we have to go through all that again?” Brand complained.

Charity gestured at Star. “She hasn’t heard yet.”

Brand sighed. “Go on, then.”

Charity’s eyes were bright as she leaned toward Star. “Last night a Dreamweaver came by. It was late and not many of the girls saw him. He wasn’t bad-looking, so I was rather pleased when he chose me.” She paused and grinned widely. “If that’s what all Dreamweavers are like in bed, I’ll take one any time.”

Star’s eyebrows rose. “He was that good?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Star grinned. “Tell me anyway.”

Intrigued, Emerahl found herself searching Charity’s mind for any hint of deception. She could detect nothing more than wistfulness, gratitude and, most of all, smugness.

It was rare, but not unheard of, for a customer to make more than a token effort to pleasure a whore in return. As Charity talked, Emerahl felt a pang of sadness. This night of pleasure reminded her of a few she had experienced herself, long ago, with another Dreamweaver. The Dreamweaver. She smiled as she imagined what the girls would say if she told them of that liaison.

“Any time he wants to sneak into my tent he can have the night for free,” Charity told them.

“They don’t call her Charity for nothing,” Brand said, rolling her eyes.

“What did he look like?” Star asked.

“Tall. Skinny. I thought he was a bit scrawny at first. Very pale blond hair. Almost white. He had a beard, but he shaved it off the next day. Looked much better without it, too.”

Emerahl turned her mind from the girls’ chatter. Thinking of Mirar brought her back to her plans to find the source of the tower dream. It seemed a fanciful thing to do, hunting down a dreamer for no real reason other than curiosity. Although what else was there to occupy her? After a hundred years Northern Ithania had filled up with priests and priestesses. That restricted what she could do to almost nothing.

She was growing more and more convinced that the dreamer was on the other side of the mountains. The closer she got to the range, the stronger and more vivid the dream became. If that meant he or she was among the Pentadrians, so be it.

“You were right about the secret compartments,” Tide whispered into Emerahl’s ear, making her jump.

She turned to regard the young woman. “Compartments?”

“Under the seats,” Tide said, gently tapping her heel against the underside of her seat. “I saw Rozea putting things in here a week or so ago. She does it in the morning, when we’re all still asleep. I woke up and watched her through a hole in our tent.”

Emerahl smiled. “Aren’t you a clever thing?”

Tide grinned. “Not that I’m stupid enough to take anything.”

“No, that would be foolish,” Emerahl agreed.

Foolish for anyone who needed to stay in the brothel or couldn’t fend for themselves outside of it, she amended. In just a few days the Circlians would clash with the Pentadrians. She would wait and watch, and when the right moment came she would take her money and head for the pass.

And she would leave whoring, priests and Northern Ithania behind her. As the final strut sprang into place, Tryss stood up and gave the bower one last critical examination.

“It’s fine,” Drilli said. She rose from her crouch and handed him a leg of roasted gowt. “So who did these new soldiers turn out to be?”

He looked at her in surprise. It was easy to forget that information did not always filter through to everyone. They had been flying together when the soldiers had been spotted marching down from the pass. Sirri had told him to fly back and inform the White, and though he had returned hours ago he had only just rejoined Drilli.

“Dunwayans,” he told her. “They live on the other side of the mountains, but farther north. The men who came down to meet us are tribe leaders, war planners and priests. Most of their army is in the pass, waiting for us to join them.”

She nodded and chewed slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Have you seen Auraya?”

He shook his head. “Songmaker says she practices magical fighting techniques with Dyara for most of the day.”

“She always spends some time each day with us, too, though. Nobody’s seen her at all since yesterday.”

Tryss took a bite of roasted gowt. It was interesting but not surprising that information about the Dunwayans didn’t spread quickly among the Siyee, yet they noticed Auraya’s every movement.

“I’m sure she’s occupied with something important. I might find out what it is tonight.”

Drilli made a small noise of protest. “Another war council? Am I ever going to have you all to myself for an entire night—without you sleeping through it all?”

He grinned. “Soon.”

“You always say that.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Yes. I am.” She sighed and crouched beside the fire. “Exhausted. It makes me cranky.” The firelight bathed her skin with a warm orange glow, highlighting her cheekbones and the lean angles of her body.

She’s so beautiful, he thought. I’m the luckiest Siyee alive.

“Father still won’t talk to me,” she said gloomily.

He moved to her side and rubbed her shoulders. “You tried again?”

“Yes. I know it’s too soon, but I can’t help trying. I wish Mother was here. She would talk to me.”

“She might not. Then you’d feel doubly worse.”

“No,” she disagreed with conviction. “She would talk to me. She knows things can be more important than . . . than . . .”

“What things?” he asked absently.

“Just . . . things. Here’s Sirri.”

He looked around to see Speaker Sirri land on an outcrop above their camping place. She smiled.

“Hello, Drilli. That smells delicious.”

Drilli rose. “Hello, Sirri. You’re not skipping meals again, are you?”

Sirri laughed. “I ate something before.”

“Here.” Drilli stood up and tossed something in Sirri’s direction.

The Speaker caught it neatly. “A spice cake. Thank you.”

“She makes them hot,” Tryss warned.

Sirri took a bite, chewed, then winced. “They certainly are. Well, we’d best fly or the meeting will start without us.”

Tryss nodded. He rose as Sirri leapt into the air, but paused as he felt Drilli’s arms wind around his middle. He turned to face her. Her kiss was warm and lingering and he pulled away reluctantly.

“Soon,” he promised.

“Go on, then.” She patted his rear. “Before she comes back looking for you.”

He grinned, then turned and leapt into the air.

They had camped on a small ledge overlooking the road. Most of the Siyee had set up their bowers on ledges and outcrops, whereas the only accessible space for the landwalkers to camp on was the road itself. From the air the landwalkers’ many lamps and fires looked like giant, looping glitterworm larvae.

Tryss caught sight of Sirri and flapped hard to catch up. She glanced back at him as he neared. “How are your meetings with Songmaker going?”

“I’m learning faster than he is. He has a big disadvantage, you see. Our spoken language is similar to his, but our whistling words are all new.”

“How close are you to understanding landwalkers?”

He shook his head. “A long way off. I sometimes recognize a few words. That tells me what they’re talking about at least.”

“That could be useful.”

The white tent appeared around a curve of the road. They both descended toward it. The crowd they usually found waiting outside wasn’t there. As they landed, they heard voices inside.

“Well, better late than not at all,” Sirri murmured.

He followed as she strode forward. The discussion halted as they entered.

“Please forgive us our late arrival,” Sirri said.

“Don’t apologize,” Juran replied. “We were just making introductions.” He gestured to the four Dunwayans Tryss had seen only briefly before. They were small for landwalkers, but their bulging muscles gave the impression of formidable strength and the patterns drawn on their faces added to their fierceness. As Juran introduced them, Tryss found himself thinking it was probably fortunate that Dunway wasn’t a neighbor of Si. If these people ever decided they wanted more land he doubted even poisoned darts and arrows would stop them.

When the introductions finished, Sirri moved to her usual chair. Tryss took his place beside her and looked around the room. All of the White were present except Auraya. As Juran returned to a landwalker tongue, Dyara moved between Tryss’s and Sirri’s chairs and began to translate in a murmur.

“Mil, Talm of Larrik, has reported that the Dunwayan force has settled in the pass at a place well suited to defense,” Juran said. “Hundreds of traps have been set along the road in order to slow and weaken the enemy. Scouts report that the Pentadrians have not yet reached the first of them. It appears the enemy has fallen far behind.” Juran paused. “Unexpectedly far.” He turned to regard Mil. “Any news?”

Mil glanced at a priest standing nearby, who was clearly of the same race. The man shook his head.

“Our scouts have seen no sign of them.”

“There have been no sightings to indicate that the army has diverted to the north either,” Mil added.

To the north? Tryss frowned, then understanding came in a rush. The Dunwayans were afraid the Pentadrians would turn north to attack them. Their forces were, after all, waiting in the pass rather than at home ready to defend their land.

“There is no sign of the army at all,” the priest added. “The Siyee were the last to have seen them.”

There was a pause, and many of the people present were frowning.

“Surely they’re not still in the mines,” Guire said.

“Waiting, perhaps,” the Somreyan leader muttered. “But for what?” He looked at Juran. “Are you sure they can’t be tunnelling through the mountains?”

Juran smiled and nodded. “Very sure.”

Mil nodded. “I am more concerned that the Pentadrians are taking a different route over the mountains.”

Juran frowned. “Is there one?”

“There is no road,” Mil replied. “The mountains are full of gowt-herder paths, however. It would be a slow and difficult journey crossing by these paths, but not impossible.”

“We must know what they are doing,” Juran said firmly. “If the Pentadrians emerge on the plains while we are in the pass we will end up chasing them across Hania, and beyond.”

“If they are crossing the mountains, my people will find them,” Sirri said.

Juran turned to regard her. “That would be dangerous— more dangerous than before.”

She shrugged. “We know about the black birds now. We will be careful. I will call for volunteers—and this time they will be armed.”

Juran hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Sirri smiled. “They will leave at first light. Do you want one of them to carry a link ring?”

Juran exchanged a quick glance with Dyara. “Yes. One will be brought to the leader of your volunteers before he or she leaves.” He paused, then looked around the room. “Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?”

The settling of the matter felt a little abrupt to Tryss, but perhaps he only imagined it. He watched the four White closely, particularly Mairae and Rian. Tonight Rian looked . . . well . . . unhappy. He occasionally stared out of the tent and scowled. Not an angry scowl, but it was clear something was annoying him. Or perhaps he was disappointed about something.

He’d noted before that Mairae was more inclined to give away hints of her feelings. As he watched, her gaze became distant and she frowned. He chewed his lip. Perhaps all they were anxious about was the coming battle, and the apparent disappearance of the Pentadrian army. He could not help wondering about Auraya’s absence, though. It was odd that nobody had mentioned where she was.

Then, suddenly, the answer came to him.

Of course! Auraya is missing because she’s already out looking for the Pentadrian army! Mairae was worried about her. Rian was annoyed because . . . perhaps he’d wanted to go instead. Or perhaps he’d thought it too dangerous.

Either way, it made sense that this was why she was missing. His pleasure at having worked this out faded quickly, however, and was replaced by the realization of the risk she was taking. If she stumbled upon these Pentadrian sorcerers on her own she would be outnumbered. What if she were killed? What would the Siyee do without her? No other landwalker understood them like she did.

Be careful, Auraya, he thought. We need you.

42

The servant dismantling Auraya’s tent untied the ropes at each corner one by one. As the structure slumped to the ground, Danjin sighed heavily.

She’s been gone two days, he thought. It’s all my fault. He shook his head in an attempt to dispel the gloom that had come over him. I can’t be sure of that. She might have disappeared for a good reason.

Yet he didn’t believe so. The White were behaving as if there was nothing untoward about Auraya’s absence. They’d given no reason for it, and if anyone had suspicions they hadn’t dared to voice them. However, Danjin knew the White well enough to notice the small mannerisms that betrayed worry and anger.

Which was why he had been trying to talk to them. Danjin thought it wise not to approach Juran, since the White leader was the one giving away hints of anger at the mention of Auraya. Dyara’s response to his questions had been to find him something to do. Rian just shrugged and said it was not a convenient time to discuss it.

And Mairae? She was avoiding Danjin. For someone whose role was to be approachable when the other White were busy, she was amazingly effective at this.

He looked down at the cage beside him. Even Mischief wasn’t inclined to talk. He’d entered his cage without protest, as if he hoped good behavior would bring back his mistress.

Or had his kidnapping frightened him out of roaming around the camp? Danjin felt a pang of sympathy for the veez. After Auraya had left, Mischief had curled up in Danjin’s lap. He hadn’t slept; he’d huddled there for hours, staring at his surroundings and starting at the slightest noise.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Danjin jumped at the quiet, familiar voice behind him. Recognizing it, he turned to stare at Mairae in surprise. She looked more serious than he had ever seen her appear before.

“Would Dyara have hired me if I could not?” he replied.

She moved to his side and looked down at Mischief.

“It was a bit mean having him taken, but we didn’t have time to think of anything else,” Mairae murmured. She met his eyes. “All I can say is it wasn’t my idea.”

Danjin stared back at her. “Mischief? He was a diversion, wasn’t he? To keep me away from the war council.”

She shrugged non committally. Or my guess is not quite right.

“And Auraya. It was to keep me away from Auraya.”

Her chin dropped slightly in a subtle nod.

Why? He had his suspicions, but he made himself consider other reasons. Either they wanted to conceal something from me, or prevent me from telling Auraya something. If they wanted to conceal something from me there was no need for deception. They only had to ask me to leave the war council. There was no need to have Mischief abducted.

So it is more likely they wanted to prevent me telling Auraya something. Or prevent Auraya reading my mind. Foremost in my mind had been Mairae’s suggestion that Auraya had a lover.

He drew in a deep breath. “So. Is it true? Were my suspicions right?”

Mairae smiled crookedly. “I thought you believed they were just friends?”

“So they weren’t?”

Her smile faded. “No. This you must swear to tell no other.”

“I swear I will not.”

Auraya and Leiard. Why hadn’t I seen it? Did I so badly need to believe her judgment was faultless that I could not see what I didn’t want to see?

Mairae looked away and sighed. “I feel for her. One can’t force the heart to choose wisely. It has a way of choosing for itself. Juran sent him away. It’ll take a while before she forgives Juran, I think.”

“Where is she?”

She turned to regard him. “We don’t know. She refuses to answer our calls. I believe she isn’t far away. She will return when the war begins, if not earlier.”

“Of course,” he agreed. For some reason saying it aloud made him feel better. She would come back. Perhaps only at the last moment, perhaps full of accusations, but she would come back.

Mairae chuckled. “Don’t blame yourself, Danjin Spear. If anyone is to blame for this it is me, not the least for urging you to consider who Auraya might be visiting. I think you have to agree that separating them will be for the best. For her and Northern Ithania.”

He nodded. She was right, yet he couldn’t help feeling a fatherly disappointment in Auraya. Of all the men of the world, she couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate lover. Leiard, too, should have seen the consequences of their affair and ended it.

His respect for the Dreamweaver had diminished. Apparently even wise heathen healers can be fools in the face of love, he thought wryly.

The servant was now packing the last of Auraya’s tent and belongings onto a tarn. As the man turned to regard them expectantly, Mairae took a step away from Danjin.

“I’m glad we talked about this,” she said. “Take good care of Mischief. We should reach the pass tonight. I’ll see you in the war-council tent.”

He made the sign of the circle, then watched her stride away. When she moved out of sight he picked up Mischief’s cage, told the servants to join the procession and started toward the advisers’ tarn.

Auraya paced.

The grass she was trampling grew on a stony ledge that ran along the steep side of a valley. The valley ran roughly parallel to the one the east–west road followed in order to reach the pass. She imagined explorers of ancient times wasting days following this valley in the hope of crossing the range. They would have been sorely disappointed when they reached the sheer cliffs and difficult terrain at the end. A climber might have managed to cross the mountains from here, but no ordinary traveller and certainly no platten or tarn could have.

She ought to be in the next valley, not here.

Why can’t I bring myself to return? Juran’s not responsible for Leiard’s faithlessness. Even if he was, I can’t punish the whole of Northern Ithania for his actions.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to rejoin the army. At first it had seemed reasonable and sensible to spend a few hours alone. Her mind was a whirling mess of anger, pain and guilt and she was afraid that if she returned she would either scream her anger at Juran or turn into a tearful mess. She needed to get a grip on herself first.

Those hours had turned into a day, and the day into three. Every time she thought she had regained control of her feelings and started flying toward the pass, she soon found herself reversing direction again. The first time it was seeing the Dreamweavers in the distance that had caused her to veer away; the next it was a caravan of whores. Last night it had been nothing but the thought of facing Juran again. All brought up intense feelings that she was not sure she could keep hidden.

They’ll reach the pass tonight, she thought. I’ll rejoin them then. Perhaps I’ll simply be there when they arrive. Yes, they’ll be too relieved to have reached their destination to pay much attention to me.

She sighed and shook her head. This shouldn’t be happening. It wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for Juran. Perhaps she ought to be grateful to him, as his actions had caused her to see Leiard’s true nature.

It was like looking into the mind of a different person, she thought, shaking her head. I thought I knew him so well. I thought having a mind-reading Gift meant nobody could deceive me. Obviously that isn’t true.

She’d always sensed something mysterious about Leiard. He had hidden depths, she’d told herself. She’d attributed this difference between Leiard’s mind and the mind of ordinary people or other Dreamweavers to the link memories he had. Now she knew that there was more to it. She knew he was capable of hiding a part of himself from her.

Leiard had told her the link memories sometimes manifested as another mind within his own. He had even told her this shadow of Mirar didn’t like her, but she had never sensed this other personality. Never heard it speak.

She had to accept that she might not have been able to. The trouble was, if Leiard was capable of hiding a part of himself, he also might be capable of lying to her. It was possible this notion of another personality in his mind was simply an explanation he hoped she’d believe if she ever sensed his true feelings.

She groaned. This is going nowhere! I’ve been tormenting myself about it for days. If I could just think about something else . . .

Looking around, she considered her surroundings. The ledge continued to her left and right. Some time in the distant past the surface of the slope had slipped downward, leaving rock exposed and a ledge that ran down to the valley floor in one direction and up toward the peaks in the other. Most of the ledge was hidden behind trees and plants, but with the vegetation cleared and the surface levelled it could easily become a narrow road.

Maybe it was an old abandoned road. A road to where? Curiosity aroused, she decided to follow it. She made her way through the trees and vegetation choking the ledge. After a few hundred strides the path ended. A steep slope fell to the valley floor on one side. The wall on her right was a jumble of rocks, half hidden behind grasses that had grown in the soil between them.

She turned to retrace her steps, and froze in surprise.

A glowing figure stood a few feet away. Tall and strong, but not heavily built, he was the picture of athletic maleness. His perfect masculine mouth curled up into a smile.

:Auraya.

“Chaia!”

She dropped to the ground, heart racing. I left it too long. I should have returned sooner. Suddenly her self-pity seemed foolish. Selfish. She felt ashamed of herself. She had forgotten her duty to the gods and their patience had run out . . .

:Not yet, Auraya. But it is time you forgave yourself and your fellow White. Rise and face me.

She climbed to her feet, but kept her eyes downcast.

:Do not be ashamed of your feelings. You are but a human, and a young human at that. You have an empathy for those not like yourself. It is only natural that your empathy can become love.

He moved closer, then reached a hand toward her face. As his fingers met her cheek she felt a tingling sensation. There was no sense of pressure. He was insubstantial. His touch was the touch of pure magic.

:We know you have not abandoned your people. You should not linger here alone any longer, however. You are in danger and I would not like to see any harm come to you.

He stepped close. She looked up at him and felt sadness and anger slip away. There was only room for awe. He smiled as a parent might smile at a child, with indulgent affection. Then he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

And vanished.

She gasped and took two steps backward. He kissed me! Chaia kissed me! She touched her lips. The memory of the sensation was strong. What does it mean?

The kiss of a god could not be the same as the kiss of a mortal. She remembered how he had smiled at her like a parent amused by a child. That was how she must appear to him. A child.

And parents don’t kiss their children when they are angry, she reminded herself. They kiss to comfort and to convey their love. That must be it.

Smiling, she moved to the end of the ledge. It was time to go. Time to return to the army. Drawing magic, she sent herself upward. The valley shrank beneath her. She turned to fly in the direction of the pass.

A rumble brought her attention back to the ground. Dust was wafting up from the rocks below. Then grass, soil and rocks began to stir. Chaia’s words echoed in her mind.

You should not linger here alone any longer, however. You are in danger . . .

If she was in danger, then whatever was happening was enough to threaten even a powerful sorceress. She felt a flash of fear, but it was followed by an equally strong surge of curiosity. Stopping in midair, she looked down. The rocks were now tumbling down the slope into the valley. Clouds of dirt were gusting from behind them. From somewhere inside the earth, something—or someone—was about to emerge.

She had heard tales of mountains exploding and bleeding out molten rock, causing devastation for great distances. If that was about to happen, she probably shouldn’t be hovering right above these shifting rocks. She should fly away as quickly as possible.

The area of disturbance below her was small, however. The mountains around her showed no signs of upheaval. The only area of strangeness was the place she had been standing.

Chaia didn’t say I had to return to the army, just that I should not linger here alone. Would I be safe if I watched from the other side of the valley?

Moving away, she flew to a rock formation on the other ridge and looked back. She could see a cave forming as more rocks spewed out of the ground.

Tales of great monsters living in caves under the mountains came to mind. Considering how exaggerated the tales of the Siyee were—describing them as beautiful humans with bird wings attached to their spines—it was likely those tales were as inaccurate. However, if such a beast was about to emerge, she wanted to see it.

But I had better make sure it doesn’t see me.

She searched the rock formation for possible hiding places, then dropped down into a shadowy crevice. It was barely wide enough for her to stand in sideways and the air within it was damp and cold, but it concealed her and gave her a view of the valley.

A boom brought her attention back to the opposite slope. Rock and soil sprayed out of the cave. Silence and stillness followed. All vegetation around the ledge was gone. Grass, trees and creepers had been blasted away along with soil and rocks. What remained was clearly man-made.

She saw that the rocks she had assumed were natural were stone bricks. The exposed face had been made up of collapsed walls. A massive lintel stood across the top of a gaping hole. On it she could make out a simple carved design: a pick and a shovel.

It was the entrance of a mine.

Her stomach sank as she recalled the possibility being discussed and dismissed in the war council that the Pentadrians were traversing the mountains via mines. According to the Dunwayan ambassador the mines didn’t reach as far as Hania.

Clearly they did. As a black-robed figure emerged from the darkness, star-shaped pendant glittering, she began to understand how badly she and her fellow White had underestimated their enemy. The sorcerer’s face tilted up to greet the sunlight and Auraya went cold all over. It was the one who had attacked and defeated her months before. Kuar.

She sought a familiar mind.

:Juran?

The response was immediate.

:Auraya! Where are you?

:Here.

As she let him see what she was watching, more of the Pentadrians began to emerge. They blinked in the sunlight as their leader moved out onto the ledge. She could see now that the dirt had been swept away to expose large squares of flat stone—paving.

The black sorcerer reached the edge and looked down the steep slope. He held his hands out, palms down. Grass and soil flew into the air, slowly revealing a steep staircase leading to the valley floor. When the entire flight was clear, the Pentadrian leader stepped aside and his followers began to descend.

:Where are you? Juran repeated, his question more alarmed than accusing this time.

:A valley running parallel to the one you are following. Let me show you. She sent him what she remembered of the view from above.

:How far are they from the mouth of the valley?

:A day’s walk, she guessed. If they have been travelling all night they may stop now to rest.

The sound of voices and marching feet filled the valley, and grew steadily louder as more and more Pentadrians spilled out of the mine. All looked intensely relieved. Some paused to breathe deeply and gaze up at the sun. Once on the valley floor, they stopped to wait and watch their companions emerge. Their leader remained on the ledge, smiling with obvious satisfaction.

And well he should, Auraya thought. What he has achieved is amazing.

:This changes everything, Juran said. We must hurry if we are to meet them. The Dunwayans will have to travel even faster in order to join us.

:The traps they set in the pass are useless now.

:At least they will slow or stop other Pentadrians sneaking through to bite at our heels.

:How long will it take you to head them off? she asked.

:A day. Maybe more. We will have to face them on the plains.

And lose the advantage of fighting in the pass. Auraya sighed. The mass of black robes gathering in the valley below was like a steadily growing pool of ink.

:How did you find this place?

The question came from Dyara. Auraya could not help smiling.

:Coincidence. I was walking along that ledge. Chaia appeared and warned me not to linger. As I left, the ground began to stir.

:Chaia told you they were about to emerge? Juran asked.

:No, he told me I would be in danger if I stayed where I was. I thought at first that he meant I should leave the valley, but when I saw that the disturbance was restricted to one place I decided to hide and watch.

Another figure joined the man on the ledge. A woman this time. She looked familiar.

:You will be in danger if they find you, Juran told her.

Screeching echoed out of the passage.

:Yes, Dyara agreed. Leave now. We have seen all we need to see.

Flapping forms spilled out of the passage. Auraya shrank deeper into her hiding place as black birds began to circle the valley.

:I don’t think that would be wise right now, unless you don’t mind them knowing they’ve been seen.

There was a pause.

:Stay, then, Juran agreed. Wait until they move on.

:And hope they don’t decide to camp for the night, Dyara added.

The pool of black robes had become a lake. After several minutes sinuous black forms flowed out. Vorns. Auraya frowned as she watched the murderous sorcerer Rian had fought join the two on the ledge.

Three black sorcerers. Two more to go. She could do little more than wait and watch as the rest of the Pentadrians emerged. She sensed her fellow Whites’ attention shift away. No doubt they were busy organizing their own army’s retreat down the pass road.

Another woman and man joined the trio on the ledge. To Auraya’s relief, the pair brought no other sinister animal companions with them. The birds and vorns were bad enough. Each column of the army was made up of several hundred Pentadrian sorcerers. A hundred or so men and women wearing plain clothes and carrying heavy burdens always followed. A few robed men walked alongside them, each carrying a short whip.

Slaves, Auraya thought, and shuddered with disgust and pity. There were no tarns and no arems. All the supplies were carried by these slaves.

Finally the flow of people ended. As the last of the slaves descended the stairs, the five black sorcerers formed a line across the front of the ledge. The leader began to speak. His voice boomed out, but Auraya could not understand him or read his mind. She looked down at the men and women below and concentrated on their thoughts. An understanding of the words came.

Kuar spoke of bringing truth and justice to Northern Ithania. He jeered at the Circlians for believing in dead gods. Only the new gods existed. They would soon know the truth.

Auraya drew away and shook her head. The adoration and unquestioning belief of these people was disturbing. As the Pentadrian leader raised his voice, she reluctantly sought his followers’ minds again. To her surprise, he was calling for his gods to appear. She smiled grimly, wondering what sorcerous effect he would use to dazzle his followers.

A glowing figure appeared beside him.

Auraya stared at the apparition. It was an image of a man wearing exotic armor. Her senses vibrated with the power that radiated from this being. But how could this be?

:Juran.

:Auraya. Can it wait?

:No, I think you should see this.

She let him see what she was witnessing and communicated what she was sensing. The black sorcerers had prostrated themselves before the apparition. So had the entire Pentadrian army. Even the slaves.

:It is an illusion, Juran assured her.

:If it is, then it’s the first that ever radiated power. I have never felt this except in the presence of the gods.

:The circle of five are the only gods that survived their war, Juran said firmly.

:Then perhaps this is a new god, Dyara suggested.

The five sorcerers had climbed to their feet. They moved aside as the apparition stepped forward. No sound came from the glowing man, but the people below began to cheer at intervals as if responding to his words.

:If this is a god then there is reason to fear there are more, Rian said. We know these people worship five gods. Why would this god tolerate them worshipping four additional gods if they were false?

:Five new gods? Juran said disbelievingly. All undetected by ours?

:We have to consider the possibility, Mairae said.

:We know the black sorcerers are strong, Rian pointed out. How else can they rival us in strength without the assistance of gods?

:Either way, we know this will not be an easy battle, Dyara added.

:No, Juran agreed. Our people do not need to hear of this. They would become . . . disheartened. Auraya, get out of there as soon as you can. We must meet and reconsider our own strategy.

:I will, Auraya told him. I assure you, the last place I want to be right now is here.

One loud cheer burst from the Pentadrians. The apparition disappeared. Auraya felt a surge of relief.

:It’s gone, she told them.

The sorcerers descended the stairs. The lake of black robes stirred and separated into five columns. Auraya murmured a prayer of thanks to Chaia as the Pentadrian leader moved to the head of a column and began to lead the army down the valley.

43

Leiard opened his eyes. He was riding an arem and he was alone. Mountains rose before him. The road wound toward them. He felt a flare of panic and reined in the arem.

I’m heading toward the pass. What’s going on? I should be going in the other direction.

Yes, Mirar replied, but that fool student of yours ran away and we have to find him.

Jayim? Why would he run away?

I don’t know. When I went to find him he was gone.

Find him? Were you separated?

I thought he’d appreciate his privacy.

Leiard felt suspicion growing. Why? What have you done?

I bought him a gift, to keep him distracted. You wouldn’t have wanted him to witness a confrontation with Auraya, would you?

What gift?

A whore. Who’d have thought a young man like Jayim would take fright at that?

Leiard groaned and pressed his hands to his face. You’re supposed to be wise and skilled in understanding the mind and heart. How could you have made such a mistake?

Nobody’s perfect.

If you were wrong about Jayim, you might also be wrong about Auraya.

No, Mirar replied firmly. Only a lovestruck fool cannot see the danger you were putting our people in. Arleej agreed. So did Juran.

And Auraya? Leiard felt his heart sink with dread. What did you say to her?

Nothing. Haven’t seen her. Which is a pity. I was looking forward to it.

Gazing up at the mountains, Leiard sighed. You may still get your chance. We do have to find Jayim. Juran had made it clear that Leiard must ensure his and Auraya’s affair remained a secret. Jayim could not learn from anyone but Leiard, since he could not link with another Dreamweaver without the risk of passing that knowledge on.

Except Arleej, he thought. She knows. He nudged the arem into a walk. She could teach him.

Ah! Of course! Mirar exclaimed. I gave control back to you because I thought you’d find Jayim more easily than me. I didn’t need to. We don’t need to return at all.

Yes we do. I am Jayim’s teacher. I cannot abandon that obligation to another without his consent—or theirs.

Of course you can. Juran ordered you to leave. He will be angry if you return. Your duty to avoid bringing trouble onto your people outweighs your obligation to Jayim.

Leave what? Leiard argued. The tent? The mountains? Northern Ithania? No, he ordered me to leave Auraya. So long as I avoid her company, I am obeying his order. I will return and find Jayim.

No. I will fight you.

Leiard smiled. I don’t think you will. I think you agree with me on this.

How can you be so sure?

You set down these rules. You’re even more obliged to follow them than I.

No answer came to that.

Leiard considered how he might find Jayim. First he should contact Arleej. But if it was daylight she’d be awake and impossible to reach with a dream link. She might sense him seeking her, however. Sometimes powerfully Gifted Dreamweavers could, if there were no other distractions. Leiard dismounted and led the arem to the side of the road where a large, elongated boulder stood on its end. Numbers had been carved into the surface. These markers were a new feature of the east–west road, placed there by the Circlians at intervals of roughly a day’s march.

Sitting with his back to the rock, he closed his eyes and willed himself into a dream trance. It was not hard, since he felt as if he hadn’t slept in days.

We haven’t.

Quiet!

Leiard slowed his breathing and sought a familiar mind.

:Arleej?

He waited, then called again. After the third call he heard a faint reply.

:Leiard? Is that you?

:Yes, it is me.

:You sound different. This is you—not Mirar?

:Yes, it is me. Is Jayim with you?

:Yes.

He sighed with relief.

:Where are you? he asked.

:On the east–west road. We’re backtracking. Raeli says the Pentadrians have been seen emerging from mines on this side of the mountains. The Circlian army is hurrying back to confront them. Where are you?

:The east–west road. I doubt I overtook you, so you’re probably heading toward me. I’ll wait here for you.

:Good. Jayim will be glad to see you.

Leiard opened his eyes. He rose and led the arem on to a place where he could see the road ahead, then sat down again. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he was too tired to get up and see if the arem was carrying any food.

How long has passed since I let you take control? he asked Mirar.

A day and a half.

What did you do in all that time?

You don’t want to know—though in truth I mostly searched for Jayim.

Leiard sighed. You’re right. I don’t want to know.

He let the arem’s lead-rope go. It took the opportunity to graze. Carrying a rider was easier for the beasts than hauling a well-laden tarn. So long as they had plenty of water and a bit of grass to eat by the side of the road each night they could be ridden for days at a steady pace. Leiard examined the beast critically. She wasn’t ill or injured. Mirar had not abused her.

Though all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, Leiard stood up and tended to his mount. The sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time the Dreamweavers appeared. Arleej, as always, was driving the lead tarn. Leiard mounted the arem and waited.

“Dreamweaver Leiard,” Arleej said as she drew close. “I’m glad you have returned to us. It saves us the trouble of finding you later.”

“It is good to see you again, Dreamweaver Elder,” he replied. “Surely you would not have come looking for me?”

As the tarn reached him he directed the arem to walk beside it. Arleej looked at him critically.

“After what Jayim told me? Definitely.” She frowned. “You look tired. Have you slept? Eaten?”

He grimaced. “Not for a while, I think. I do not recall anything of the last day and a half.”

“Then Jayim was right. Mirar did take control of you.”

“He worked that out?”

“Yes. He was afraid it might be permanent and came back to us for help. Which put me in a difficult situation. Should I search for you or fulfil my duty as a healer?”

“You made the right choice.”

“Jayim did not think so.” She glanced at him. “The Circlian army is racing down the road behind us. We must get out of their way and still manage to remain close enough to be of help. I would never have thought anyone could find their way under the mountains.”

Leiard shrugged. “It has been done before. The way is not all underground. Mines lead to limestone caves, which lead to hidden valleys used for grazing by gowt-herders. There is another old mine on this side of the mountains, though last I heard the entrance had caved in. Nothing a powerful sorcerer couldn’t unblock, however.”

Arleej stared at him, then shook her head. “If you had not resigned from your position, you would have been part of the war council. They discussed the possibility that the Pentadrians might follow the old mines under the mountains. You could have warned them of this.”

“If I’d warned them, would they have believed me?”

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Auraya would have.”

“You haven’t mentioned them discussing this before.”

Arleej frowned. “Raeli told us of it two nights ago. The night you left.”

“So if Juran had not sent me away, I would have told you it was possible, and you would have warned Raeli, and the White could have disbelieved her instead.”

Arleej threw back her head and laughed. “I will have to point this out to Juran one day.” She looked thoughtful. “That is what I will do if Juran learns you returned to us and protests.”

“I can’t stay, Arleej.”

She gave him a serious, determined look. “You must stay with us, Leiard. What is happening to you is unnatural and dangerous. Only we can help you. I intend to take you back to Somrey with me when this foolish war is over. I doubt Juran will object to having a large stretch of sea between you and Auraya.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Will you agree to that?”

Leiard looked away. What she wanted was much more sensible than running blindly with no destination in mind. Surely Mirar would see that. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude to Arleej and turned to meet her gaze.

“It seems the more I try to leave, the more reasons I find to stay. Thank you, Dreamweaver Elder. I will remain with you.”

She looked relieved. “Good. Now go back and see to your student. He’s been worried about you.” “Jade.”

The voice brought Emerahl out of a deep sleep. A sleep her body surfaced from reluctantly. She scowled with annoyance, drew in a breath and opened her eyes.

Rozea was leaning over her, smiling.

“Quickly. Sit up. I’ve sent the servants for some things. We’ve got to get you presentable.”

Emerahl sat up and rubbed her eyes. The tarn was motionless. “Presentable? Why?”

“The army is coming. It’ll pass us at any moment. It’s the perfect opportunity to show you girls off. Come on. Wake yourself up. You look terrible.”

The flap of the tarn opened and a servant passed Rozea a bowl of water, a towel and Emerahl’s box of grooming tools, paints and ointments. Emerahl could see that the caravan had pulled over to the side of the road. Then she noticed a rhythmic sound in the distance. The sound of many, many feet marching to the pace of drums.

“The army? Coming back?” Emerahl’s heart skipped as the full meaning of Rozea’s words came to her. The army was returning from the pass. For Rozea this was an opportunity to put her wares on display that was too good to miss. For Emerahl, being put into the sight of hundreds of priests could be disastrous.

“Yes,” Rozea said. “They’re coming back down the road. I don’t know why. We’ll find out when they get here, which will be in a matter of moments. Tidy yourself up. I’m going to see to the other girls. I’ll send a servant back to you.”

Emerahl took the bowl and towel. As Rozea left she began to wash her face. I have to find a way to avoid this— and quickly. She looked down at the box and pushed off the lid with a toe. If she was less than presentable, Rozea might let her remain unseen. The reason would have to be convincing, but then Emerahl had seen enough sick people in her long life to know how to pretend to be unwell, and healing powers could be used for other purposes.

Picking up the water bowl, she closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her stomach.

When the door flap opened again, Emerahl was lying across the seat, this time with her head by the door. As bright light streamed in, she cringed away and buried her head in her arms. The servant stared at her, then at the contents of the bowl, and hurried away. A moment later Rozea appeared.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice strained.

Emerahl shifted her head slightly so Rozea could see the paint-darkened skin under her eyes. “I tried,” she said weakly. “I thought I could pretend . . . I’m sorry.”

Rozea called back the servant and had the girl take the bowl away. She climbed inside the tarn.

“What’s . . . what’s wrong with you?”

Emerahl swallowed and rubbed her stomach. “Bad food, I think. When I sat up before . . . Urgh. I feel sick.”

“You look a sight.” Rozea scowled in frustration. “I can’t have you scaring customers off, now can I?” She drummed her fingers on her sleeve. “That’s fine. You’re my favorite, not to be seen by just any common soldier. Only by those who can afford to pay for a glimpse of rare beauty.”

Emerahl made a small noise of resignation. The madam smiled, then patted her on the shoulder. “Get some rest. These things don’t last long. I’m sure you’ll be well by tonight.”

When she had left, Emerahl raised her head and lifted the door flap a little. She could see nothing, but the sound of marching was louder now. The faint giggle of the other whores close by made her smile. This would be exciting for them. Then a male voice—one of the guards—called out, “Here they come!”

A rider came into view and her heart all but stopped.

Juran.

At first glance he looked no different to the man she had seen a hundred years before. She looked closer and realized this was not true. The years showed in his eyes—in the hard, determined expression on his face. He still looked handsome and confident, but time had changed the man. She could not say exactly how, and did not care to find out.

As he moved out of sight, two more riders came into view. A woman and a man, both good-looking. They wore the same undecorated white robes. Two more of the White. The woman also wore a hard expression. She looked about forty. The man beside her, in contrast, appeared to be much younger. He had a disturbingly intense gaze. As his attention fell on the brothel’s caravan, he frowned with disapproval, then lifted his chin and looked away.

A tarn followed. Within this sat two young women. Again, both wore white and both were attractive. The blonde’s expression was more open than the other. When she saw the caravan her lips twitched into a faint, wry smile that made her look older and wiser than her physical appearance suggested.

Immortals, Emerahl thought. You can tell, once you’ve met a few. I wonder if I’m so easy to read.

The other woman wore her hair unbound. She had large eyes and a triangular face. She stared at the caravan, then quickly looked away. Not out of disdain, Emerahl saw. The woman looked pained.

The pair passed out of sight. Another tarn followed. It was highly decorated and surrounded by elaborately uniformed soldiers. Emerahl recognized the current Toren king’s colors and symbols. Several more fancy tarns followed. Genrian. Somreyan. Hanian. Then the priests and priestesses began to file past. She let the door flap fall and rolled onto her back, heart pounding.

So those are the ones they call the White, she thought. The ones the gods chose to do their dirty work among mortals.

She listened to the sound of the army passing and the calls of the girls. It was disturbing knowing so many of the gods’ followers were filing past her, separated only by the tarn cover. I should not have stayed with the brothel after the ambush, she decided. I should have taken my money and left.

She would have felt bad about leaving the girls unprotected, however; she could not have known that they would be safe. And if I’d left, I would never have been in this unique position to see the Gods’ Chosen without being seen myself. She smiled at the thought. I do believe I’m gaining an adventurous spirit, she mused. What next?

She sighed. The caravan had caught up with the army, though in an unexpected way. Rozea could find herself new guards now. There was no reason for Emerahl to stay. I can leave . . . or can I?

The caravan would probably follow at the rear of the army and camp beside it tonight. She faced the same danger she had before—that the news Rozea’s favorite had run away would inspire an entire army to search for her.

Yet there was a new danger if she stayed. Rozea might mention her favorite’s amazing powers of healing to the wrong person. Emerahl might find herself facing curious priestly visitors.

She cursed.

The door flap opened. She looked up to see Rozea regarding her. The woman moved to the opposite seat, her expression serious.

“It seems the enemy has found another way through the mountains. The Circlians are rushing to stop them.”

“Will we go too?” Emerahl asked, keeping her voice weak.

“Yes, at a distance. We don’t know if the Pentadrians intend to ambush the army. I don’t want to end up in the middle of a battle.”

“No.”

“You rest now,” Rozea said soothingly. She lifted the door flap, revealing lines of ordinary soldiers, to Emerahl’s relief. “I doubt we’ll have customers tonight. It sounds as if the army will march all night. We’ll catch up with them tomorrow—ah, there’s Captain Spirano.”

She leapt up and climbed out. Emerahl turned onto her back and listened to the sound of marching. It went on and on. By the time it had stopped she was sure hours had passed.

The girls fell silent, probably taking the opportunity to sleep without the constant rocking of the tarn. Emerahl heard the guards challenge Rozea to a game of counters. She listened for a while, gathering her courage, then sat up and used the damp towel to clean her face.

As she stepped out of the tarn, Rozea looked up.

“You look better. How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Emerahl replied. She moved over to the table and looked down at the game. “Counters. You would not believe how old this game is.”

The guard playing Rozea moved a piece. Emerahl chuckled. “Bad move.”

The man gave her a hurt look. It was the same guard who had “rescued” her from the deserter she had thrown out of her tarn during the ambush.

“What would you have done?” Rozea asked.

Emerahl looked at the guard. “It is his game.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Win it for me, and you can have half the takings.”

She laughed. “Rozea won’t let me keep it.”

“Of course I will,” the madam said, smiling. She moved the man’s piece back to its former position.

Emerahl met the woman’s eyes, then looked down at the board. She drew a little magic and sent it out. A black counter slid across the board and flipped on top of another.

The two guards jumped, then grinned at her. “Clever trick, that,” the friendly one said.

“Yes.” Rozea was staring at the board. “Very clever.”

“Yield?” Emerahl asked.

“Can’t say I have any choice,” Rozea admitted.

“What?” The guard turned to stare at the board. “Did she win the game for me?”

“She did.” Rozea pushed a few coins in his direction. “I believe half of that is hers.”

“Oh, you owe me much more than that, Rozea,” Emerahl replied. “And it’s time you paid up. I’m leaving.”

The madam leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “We had an agreement.”

“I’m breaking it.”

“If you leave now, you go with nothing.”

Emerahl smiled. “So you’ve said. That’s hardly fair. I’ve earned you quite a sum. If you will not give me the wages I’ve earned, I will take them.”

Rozea uncrossed her arms and set her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do? Fling counters at me with magic? Your sorcery does not scare me. If you were able to force me into giving you money, you would have done so before now.”

“Your weakness, Rozea, is that you think others are as selfish and greedy as you. I only stayed to protect the girls. Now that you’ve caught up with the army you’ll be able to hire new guards. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Need you?” Rozea laughed. “You flatter yourself.”

Emerahl smiled. “Perhaps. It’s been a long time since I had to use magic to hurt anyone. I don’t like to. I prefer to find ways around it. So I’ll give you one last chance. Give me my wages. Now.”

“No.”

Emerahl turned and strode toward the tarn in which Brand and Tide were sleeping.

“Where are you going?” she heard Rozea demand.

Emerahl ignored her. She reached the tarn and opened the flap.

“Wake up, girls.”

The girls started awake and blinked at her in surprise as she climbed inside.

“Jade?”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving,” Emerahl told them. She turned to the front seat. “Stand up.”

Tide and Star rose. Emerahl felt under the seat and found a tiny latch. She pulled and the compartment opened. Behind was a collection of boxes.

Rozea’s face appeared in the doorway. “What are you . . . stop that!”

Emerahl drew out one of the boxes. It was encouragingly heavy.

“Give that to me!” Rozea demanded.

Emerahl opened the box. The girls hummed with interest as they saw the coins inside. Rozea cursed and started to climb into the tarn.

With a gesture and a small shove of magic, Emerahl pushed the madam out of the tarn. Rozea toppled backward and was caught by the guards.

“Stop her!” the woman shouted. “She’s robbing us!”

“I’m not robbing you,” Emerahl corrected her. “Now, Panilo said you were charging twice what he originally paid me. That’s a hundred . . .” she paused as the guards reluctantly tried to enter the tarn, and gently pushed them out again “. . . ren per customer. Since coming to your establishment I’ve had forty-eight customers, many who were richer and more important than Panilo. Let’s make it a nice round five thousand ren, which makes ten gold. I’ll subtract one gold for a month’s food and board—and for the clothing—which I’m sure you’ll give to another girl anyway. I’ll need some change, of course, so . . .”

Emerahl began counting, aware that Rozea was standing a few steps away, glaring at her. The girls in the tarn were silent—too surprised to speak.

“Jade? Jade? Are you sure about this?” Brand asked suddenly, her voice low and urgent with concern. “There’s a battle about to happen. You’ll be all alone.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s you girls I’m worried about. Don’t let Rozea take any risks. Get yourselves back to Toren as soon as you can.”

“I don’t understand.” This came from Star. “If you’ve got Gifts enough that you can heal me and take your wages off Rozea, why’d you end up in a brothel?”

Emerahl looked up at her, then shrugged. “I . . . I don’t know. Bad luck, I suppose.”

The question made her uncomfortable, and not just because it might get them thinking of reasons why a healer sorceress might have resorted to prostitution at a time when the priests were searching for someone of that description. She counted the rest of her earnings out in silver and gold, to quicken the task.

When she had finished, she looked at each of the girls. They still looked confused. She smiled.

“Take care of yourselves. And take this advice: if you all demand it together, Rozea will have to give you your earnings. Don’t squander it all; put some aside for the future. Never think you don’t have a life outside the brothel. You’re all talented, beautiful women.”

Brand smiled. “Thanks, Jade. You take care of yourself, too.”

The others murmured farewells. Emerahl turned away and climbed down out of the tarn. She caught the eye of a servant.

“Get me a pack, with food and water. And some plain clothes.”

The man glanced at Rozea. To Emerahl’s surprise, the woman nodded. He hurried away.

“I guess I shouldn’t force you to stay when you’re so set on leaving,” Rozea said resignedly. “I’m not happy about this, but if you must go, you must go. Should you decide to return to the business at some stage, don’t think you’re unwelcome in my house. I’m not such a fool that I wouldn’t consider employing you again.”

Emerahl regarded the woman thoughtfully, sensing a sullen respect. Why so friendly now? Perhaps I didn’t take as much money as she expected. I still can’t get used to the way prices have inflated over the last century.

“I’ll remember that,” she replied. The servant appeared. He thrust a bag into her arms. She gave the contents a quick examination, then hoisted it over her shoulder. “Look after those girls,” she told Rozea. “You don’t deserve them.”

Then she turned her back and started along the road toward Toren.

44

As the sun rose above the horizon, light spilled over the Plains of Gold. The shadows of the Circlian priests, priestesses, soldiers and archers stretched out like fingers pointed in accusation toward the mass of black-robed invaders.

The last shred of lingering weariness disappeared as Tryss watched the two armies draw closer. Of the entire Circlian army, only the Siyee had rested the previous night. It had been a restless sleep even so. Few were able to keep their minds from the coming battle. He suspected that if the landwalkers had stopped their march they might not have gained much rest from the long night either. Even from the air he had seen signs of agitation and nervousness among them.

Black flapping shapes rose from among the Pentadrians—an evil cloud of potential death. Tryss heard exclamations of dismay around him. He glanced at the men and women nearby. People of his own tribe. Not his family or wife—the Speakers had decided it was too much to ask a flight leader to take his relations into battle—yet tribes were never so large that a Siyee didn’t know every member. It was still hard to think that these people might die if he made a mistake in judgment.

His stomach clenched. He ignored it and took a deep breath.

“These black birds have beaks and claws,” he called. “But they must get near us to use them. We have darts and arrows. We will kill them before they reach us.”

He did not know if his words had any effect. Perhaps their expressions were a little less grim and a little more determined. The birds circled above their masters, waiting for the battle to begin.

The coming together of the two armies was excruciatingly slow. Tryss watched as landwalker advanced on landwalker, creeping over gently undulating grassland. The Pentadrian army reached the top of a low ridge on one side of a valley and stopped. The Circlians marched up the far side of the valley. They, too, halted.

The two armies were still.

Then a lone black-clad figure stepped forward from among the Pentadrians. Sunlight glinted off something hanging about his neck. Tryss noted the five white figures standing before the Circlian army. One moved forward.

The two met at the bottom of the valley.

How I wish I could hear that conversation, Tryss thought. Are they offering each other a chance to back off? Are they tossing threats and boasts of strength back and forth like children? This was supposed to be a religious war, he reminded himself. Perhaps they’re having a theological argument. He began to imagine how it might go.

“My gods are real.”

“No they’re not; mine are.”

“Yours aren’t real.”

“Are too!”

He choked back a laugh. I’m being silly now. This is serious. People are going to die.

All humor fled at that thought. As the two figures parted, Tryss’s stomach clenched again. He watched them rejoin their armies.

The distant sound of horns rang out. The Pentadrian army surged forward and the Circlians followed suit. As the roar of voices reached Tryss, Sirri’s whistle pierced the air. It was time for the Siyee to join the battle. As one, the Siyee dropped into a dive.

The two armies had not yet met, but Tryss could see the air in the valley twist and glow as magical attacks met magical shields. Strange tearing, shrieking noises reached him and the occasional boom sent a vibration through the air.

It must be deafening down there, he thought.

The black cloud spiralling above the Pentadrian army fragmented and rushed upward. Part of it sped toward Tryss. He forgot all else as the black birds drew rapidly closer. Whistling orders, he directed his flight to fly straight for them, then set his fingers firmly on the levers of his harness.

“Attack!”

The spring of his harness sang. He heard the twang of others. A swarm of darts enveloped the black birds. Tryss cheered as the creatures shrieked and fell. He gave the signal to veer aside, grinning as his people whooped with triumph and indulged in a few fancy acrobatic moves.

Then he heard a shriek of pain and his heart sank like a stone. He twisted around to see that some of the birds had survived and had latched onto the legs of one of the Siyee. Their weight was dragging her down and they were clawing along her trousers toward her wings.

Not sure what he could do but hoping he would think of something, Tryss dived toward her. He could hardly use his hands to remove the birds. Instead he clenched his teeth, folded his arms and barrelled into the girl’s legs. He heard squawks and a yell of surprise, and felt himself falling. Extending his arms, he caught the wind and turned back to see what had happened.

The Siyee woman was free. Her legs were bleeding. He could see a bird flying below them, unharmed but clearly stunned. Tryss quickly caught his blowpipe between his teeth, sucked in a dart and let it loose.

The bird gave a squawk of protest and surprise as it was hit. Tryss did not wait to observe the poison take effect. He looked up and called to his flight. They moved closer. Aside from scratches they were all alive and uninjured.

Relieved, he looked past them and caught his breath in dismay. The sky was full of Siyee and birds, some locked in savage struggles. As he watched he saw three Siyee fall.

He also saw that two other flights as well as his had managed to get past the deadly birds. They now flew above the battle. He remembered Sirri’s instructions.

“The birds will try to keep you occupied. Don’t let them distract you. Aim for their masters, the black priests and priestesses. They control the birds, so try to kill them first. Once their source of control is gone, the birds may become harmless.”

With an effort he turned away from the battle and called for his flight to follow him. They did not argue, but their expressions were grim. Tryss looked down at the Pentadrian army below and considered how he should best direct their first attack. Blood was everywhere. The air was full of the spray and reek of it. Faces, clothes and swords were slick with it. The grass was no longer yellow, but an evil orange-red.

Another black-clad monster came. The soldier lifted his shield to block the attack and swung his sword. The motions were familiar and comfortable. Years of training finally proving to be useful. His sword was an extension of his arm. He felt his blade glide through flesh and shatter bone. It was a much more satisfying feeling than the resistant bounce of padded wood.

The Pentadrian dropped to his knees, gurgling as blood filled his lungs. A yank released the sword. A stab through the neck stilled the hand groping for a knife.

Sudden panting to his left. The soldier ducked and spun about, catching the attacker in the stomach. The man’s eyes bulged in surprise. Coward, attacking from behind. He left that one to die slowly.

A glance told him that the fighters around him were now mostly of his own side. He turned and searched for the enemy. A distant growling caught at his attention. Far to the right he saw Toren soldiers fall beneath impossibly large creatures. Vorns. He stared in disbelief, and turned to run.

Then his foot caught on something. He fell and landed face down and cursed into the mud. Heat seared his ears. He reached up to cover them. The touch of his muddy hands was wonderfully soothing, but it did not muffle what came next. Screaming. Unearthly screaming that just went on and on.

Something terrible had happened.

He lifted his head. Painfully dry, smoky air filled his lungs. It set him coughing. He dragged himself into a crouch and looked around.

The grass was gone . . . no, it had become shrivelled, blackened tussocks. Black shapes covered the ground. Some of them were moving. Twitching and writhing. The source of the screaming. He tasted bile as he realized what they were.

Men. The fighters he had been walking with a moment ago.

He hauled himself to his feet. At once he understood what had happened. The burned grass and dead—dying— men formed a long, wide line back toward the enemy. A sorcerer’s strike. Deadly magic.

No training could save a soldier from this.

He had been fortunate to have been at the edge of it. His armor and heavy clothing, and falling face down in the mud, had saved him, though his ears burned fiercely. Looking down, he saw the outstretched hand of the Pentadrian who had tripped him. The man’s face was charred as black as his clothes.

Setting his jaw, he picked up his sword, still warm from the strike, and started toward his less-fortunate comrades. No link between Auraya and the other White had ever been this strong or complete.

They worked as one, their powers directed by Juran. It was surprisingly easy. There was no imposing of will. They simply opened their minds to him and followed his instructions. In return, he had four extra minds and pairs of eyes to call upon when making decisions, and four extra positions from which to attack.

It was proving to be an effective way to coordinate their efforts. And it was almost thrilling to work so smoothly with the others. No misunderstandings. No mistakes.

Yet they still had limitations. The enemy had already found Mairae’s, and at one point she had been forced to leave soldiers vulnerable in order to protect herself. Their deaths had distressed Mairae, and shocked them all, but their linked sense of purpose ensured they did not falter.

Rian, too, was struggling. Juran was constantly forced to intervene whenever one of the more powerful black sorcerers attacked Rian or Mairae. Auraya had managed to defend herself against all attacks by the enemy sorcerers so far, but she knew the Pentadrian leader was stronger than she was. She, too, would need help if he threw all his power at her.

He hadn’t, however. Perhaps he did not have enough strength to protect himself as well as attack her. He might still do it if the other black sorcerers shielded him.

She looked at her fellow White, all standing calmly, then at the Pentadrian sorcerers far across the valley.

Five black sorcerers, Auraya thought. Five White. A coincidence? No, more likely they waited until there were enough of them to face us.

At Juran’s instruction, Auraya let loose a blast of power at one of the sorcerers. She sensed a shift in the man’s shield as the other sorcerers helped him protect himself.

:He is the weakest of them, Juran observed. From our spies’ descriptions, he is the one called Sharneya. We might take adva—

The Pentadrian leader sent a blast up toward the Siyee. At Juran’s instruction, Auraya threw up a barrier to intercept it. She sensed Speaker Sirri’s relief through Mairae; the Siyee leader was wearing Mairae’s link ring.

The attack increased and Auraya strained to hold her barrier against the blast as the speed and ease with which she could draw magic to herself lessened. She took a few steps forward and was able to strengthen her barrier once again. It was not the first time she had thinned the magic around her. In the hours since the attack began, they had moved several steps into the valley from the ridge as the magic around them diminished. So had the black sorcerers. It was incredible to think how much magic had been used already, but she had no time to feel awe.

From somewhere close by came an animal snarl and a cry of pain and terror. No mere man or beast could reach her, but she was all too aware that the most Gifted of Circlian priests and priestesses stood behind and beside her and the other White, adding their strength when directed. She turned to see a huge black vorn tearing at the throat of a priestess. It must have slunk around the back of them in order to attack without warning.

:Kill it, Auraya, Juran ordered.

She blasted it. It howled as her magic sent it tumbling away from its victim, then lay twitching. Other black shapes darted away from the priests and priestesses around her. They wound between Circlian fighters, too fast for her to strike at without endangering her own people.

:Do you think the Pentadrians attacked the Siyee in order to keep us distracted long enough for the vorns to sneak behind us? she asked.

:Yes, Juran replied. And they sent those beasts in to attack the people around you, not us. I think they were testing you, to see if you are inclined to protect the sky people in preference to the rest of the army. Let them believe that for now. Later we will use it to our advantage.

:Yes, she replied, though she could not help feeling a twinge of doubt. Perhaps I am inclined to be protective of the Siyee more than others?

:You aren’t, Dyara assured her.

But Auraya could not shake a growing feeling of dread. Would Juran have one of the others protect the Siyee instead? Or would proving otherwise mean leaving the Siyee vulnerable to attack?

45

Though the sun was high, a chill wind kept the watchers on the ridge wrapped in their tawls. Danjin looked to either side, at the peculiar mixture of camp servants and important personages that had gathered to watch the battle. They formed a long line along the edge of the valley. Most of it was made up of crowds of servants, cooks and other camp helpers. At the center was a pavilion. Carpet had been laid over the grass and chairs placed for those of highest rank: the two kings and the Moderator of the Somreyan Council. Advisers, courtiers and servants stood around the outside of this, entering only when summoned, and grooms stood nearby holding mounts at the ready.

The White had insisted that the two monarchs remain out of the battle. Danjin smiled as he remembered that argument.

“We are quite willing to fight alongside our men,” King Berro had said indignantly, when told he and King Guire didn’t have a place in the fight.

“Be assured we know that,” Juran had replied. “But if you enter the battle you will die. The moment the Pentadrians find a gap in our defense—and they will—they will strike at anyone who looks important to us.” He paused. “You could disguise yourselves as ordinary soldiers to increase your chances of survival, but I would prefer you did not. You are too important to risk.”

Berro had scowled at that. “Why, then, do you send the Siyee Speaker into battle?”

“She is difficult to distinguish from the other Siyee, and as the Siyee elect their leaders, another Speaker has been chosen to take her place if she dies.”

“I have chosen my heir,” Berro reminded Juran.

“A child,” Juran pointed out bluntly. “Who will take some years to grow into his responsibilities.” He crossed his arms. “If you wish to venture onto the battlefield, we will not stop you. We will not protect you at the cost of victory. If you seek glory, it will cost you your life—and weaken your country.”

At that point, Moderator Meeran had cleared his throat.

“I am an elected ruler, yet you have no place for me either.”

“No,” Juran replied, turning his attention to the Somreyan. “Forgive me for pointing this out, but you are old and have no experience in fighting. You are of greater value to us for your ability to negotiate with and unite others.”

He had then asked Meeran to take charge of the non-fighters during the battle, and to negotiate on behalf of the army should the Circlians lose the battle. Nobody had asked why I-Portak, the Dunwayan leader, was joining the battle. All knew that the leader of the warrior nation was required to fight alongside his people. If he did not, he would lose the leadership to another. Several Dunwayan sorcerers— their fire-warriors—accompanied him.

Danjin looked at Lanren Songmaker. The military adviser was standing a little forward of the watchers, staring intently at the battle. His whole body was tense, his hands clenching and unclenching. Sunlight glinted off a white ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

The ring linked Songmaker to Juran, giving the White leader a view of the battlefield from afar. Looking down into the valley, Danjin frowned.

The Pentadrian sorcerers and the White had blasted at each other for hours, but neither side appeared to have an advantage. When so much of the magic loosed was all but invisible at this distance, it was hard to work out what was happening. All he saw was the effect of it when one side managed to harm the other.

That harm was most often inflicted on the fighters. Neither side appeared to have killed more or less of their enemy’s army, but Danjin had noted that it was always the soldiers, priests and priestesses protected by Mairae or Rian that suffered. Two of the enemy’s sorcerers appeared to have the same difficulty. Both sides used the strength of their Gifted followers to shore up the weaker sorcerers’ defense.

The rest of the fighting forces were not so equally matched. The advantage, to Danjin’s dismay, lay with the Pentadrians.

It had not appeared so at first. There were fewer Pentadrian fighters. They had no war plattens or mounted soldiers. As the two armies came together, however, it became clear that most of the Pentadrian foot soldiers were trained and prepared to face both.

And then there were the vorns.

The huge beasts brought death and devastation wherever they roamed. They moved so fast, only luck or a concerted effort by many archers could bring them down. The beasts seemed to enjoy killing. As Danjin watched, four of them drove a group of soldiers from the main battle. They tore out the throats of those that tried to face them, then chased the rest out of the valley, loping easily after the runners and nipping playfully at their heels.

“Why don’t we have creatures like that? Why don’t we have vorns to fight for us?” King Berro muttered.

“I guess the White didn’t have time to breed their own,” Guire replied mildly.

“They are an abomination,” a woman growled.

Heads turned to the speaker. Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli stared back, her gaze cold. “If your White created such evil beasts, would they be any better or nobler than these Pentadrians?” she asked.

The two kings looked thoughtful, though it was clear Berro was not completely convinced by her words.

“They have bred Bearers instead,” Meeran said. “And my people have provided them with little helpers.” He nodded to the cage Danjin was holding.

Danjin looked down at Mischief. The veez had remained quiet throughout the battle so far. Danjin hadn’t dared to leave Mischief behind, sure that if he did the veez would escape and go in search of Auraya.

“Reyer and veez?” Berro snorted. He looked to the left, where grooms held the five white Bearers ready in case the White needed them. “Only the White have Bearers and they aren’t even using them—and what use is a talking pet during war?”

“Out,” Mischief said.

The weight in the cage shifted. Danjin looked down. “No. Stay.”

“Out,” Mischief insisted. “Away. Run.”

“No. Auraya will come back later.”

The veez began to turn circles inside the cage, setting it rocking. “Run! Bad coming. Run! Hide! Run!”

Danjin frowned. The veez was growing more and more agitated. Perhaps the abductor was near. He turned and scanned the faces around him. Those closest were looking at the veez in curiosity. He looked farther away, to the left and right and over his shoulder.

And saw four black shapes loping up the other side of the ridge toward them.

He shouted a warning. Screams rang out as the vorns were seen. There was a moment of hesitation as people clutched at each other in terror, or collided with others as they turned to flee. The line of watchers broke. Most of it spilled down the hill toward the battle, leaving a few individuals frozen in terror on the ridge. The centermost watchers remained still, held together by a strong, confident voice.

“Everyone into the pavilion, and stay there,” High Priest Haleed said, striding forward to place himself between the vorns and the pavilion. “I will deal with this.”

Danjin frowned as he realized the Somreyan elder was the only magically trained person among the watchers, apart from Raeli—though he had no idea how Gifted she was. Not all Dreamweavers are strong sorcerers.

All squeezed into the dubious cover of the cloth pavilion. Outside, the grooms were hastily covering the heads of the reyer with cloth, including the Bearers, in the hope that the mounts wouldn’t take fright and break free. They drew them as close to the pavilion as they could.

Songmaker was still standing outside, his back to the pavilion and his attention on the battle. Danjin saw the man look around at the people fleeing into the valley in puzzlement. He called the man’s name. Songmaker turned and his expression changed from puzzlement to alarm as he took in the scene. As he walked toward the pavilion, Danjin heard an animal yowl of pain close by.

He looked out to see one of the vorns lying, twitching, on the ground. The others were scampering backward, dodging this way and that to avoid Haleed’s attacks.

“Ah, magic,” Songmaker murmured. “A soldier might lose form as he ages, but a sorcerer remains useful.”

So long as he keeps his reflexes sharp, Danjin added silently. Haleed managed to injure another of the vorns, but most of his strikes had missed the fast-moving creatures. He did not seem able to anticipate their rapid changes of direction.

“Your pet turned out to have a use after all,” a voice whispered in Danjin’s ear. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll return.”

He turned to stare at Raeli. She looked down. Following her gaze, Danjin realized the cage he was still holding was empty, the door open. He felt a stab of alarm. He cast about, searching for the veez.

“Don’t bother. He can look after himself,” Raeli assured him.

“Against vorns?”

“They aren’t after veez, they’re after—”

Her words were drowned out by a scream of pain followed by an inhuman screeching. Looking out, he saw Haleed swaying under the weight of a mass of black-feathered shapes. The priest’s white robes were splattered with blood.

“The birds!” someone exclaimed. “Help him!”

“His eyes,” Songmaker hissed. “They went for his eyes.”

Meeran barked orders. Servants hurried forward, then stopped and retreated hastily back into the pavilion. Danjin saw a black shape launch itself at Haleed, knocking the old man over. He felt a rush of terror as two more black shapes leapt past the priest. The small crowd surged back and he felt himself shoved sideways.

Losing his balance, he began to fall, but someone grabbed his arm and steadied him. All was chaos: screams, yells, shouted orders and the screech of birds. How could so few people make so much noise? A hand grasped his arm and spun him around.

He found himself facing Raeli. He stared at her in surprise. Over her shoulder he saw a reyer gallop away, King Berro in the saddle.

“Stay close to me,” Raeli said. “I’m forbidden to kill, but I can shield you.”

He nodded. As she turned to face the pavilion there was a loud crack and the structure collapsed. The awning was covered in birds. Raeli spread her hands. The air sparked, then filled with flapping wings as the flock took off.

The sound of galloping hooves drew Danjin’s attention. He saw the Bearers racing away. Each bore two riders. Danjin was relieved to see Moderator Meeran among them.

“Good,” Raeli said. “Less trouble for me.”

Then a black shape wriggled out from under the pavilion and streaked away in pursuit.

Raeli grimaced. “I hope those Bearers can run as fast as people say they can.”

“They can,” Danjin assured her. “Though whether—”

As a chilling snarl came from under the pavilion, he jumped. He backed away as the cover began to shift and writhe, but Raeli stayed still. She stooped and grabbed the edge of the cloth.

“Don’t free it!”

She ignored him and hauled it aside. Danjin winced as he saw the bloodied bodies underneath. A black shape reared up and launched itself at Raeli. She made a quick gesture and the vorn jerked aside. It regarded her with chilling intelligence, then slunk away.

A familiar voice cursed vehemently. Looking down, Danjin was amazed to see Songmaker struggling to his feet. His left arm was bleeding badly from deep gouges.

“I can heal you,” Raeli offered, stepping closer to examine the wound.

Songmaker hesitated, his gaze becoming distant for a moment, then frowned.

“Thank you, Dreamweaver Adviser,” he said, his tone formal, “but I must decline. A bandage will do for now.”

Her lips thinned. “I will see what I can find.”

Danjin felt a stab of sympathy for her and, surprisingly, anger. It seems I agree with Auraya that the ban on using Dreamweaver services is ridiculous. The vorn still lurked nearby. Raeli did not turn her back on it as she tore a strip of cloth from one of the dead servant’s tunics and used it to bind Songmaker’s wound.

“If the White want you to remain here, they had best send you a priest—and soon,” she said. “I can ward off one or two of those creatures, but I doubt I could manage more.” Her gaze hardened. “Tell your leader my people will be here in a few hours. Remind him that we do not take sides; that we will offer our help to all. Should the Pentadrians accept us, but not the Circlians, that is none of our doing.”

Lanren stared back at her, then nodded. “Several priests are already on their way.” The sun hung low in the sky by the time the Dreamweaver caravan stopped. Their numbers had grown to a hundred or so. Leiard knew there were more Dreamweavers coming to the battle than those he travelled among. Other caravans had stopped in nearby valleys. Scattered, they lessened the risk that the Circlians—if seized by some crazed fanatical urge after the battle—could rid the world of hundreds of Dreamweavers in one strike.

They had halted an hour’s walk from the battle and Arleej had gathered a group of twenty to accompany her to the scene. Most of the others would come when the battle was over. A few would stay to defend the tarns should opportunists decide to loot them.

Leiard had joined Arleej’s group. He had brought Jayim with him, knowing that the boy would sneak after them if he was left behind. Now, as they reached the scene of devastation, he sensed Jayim’s curiosity and anticipation change to horror.

The valley was dark with churned mud, charred grass and corpses. A constant roar, muffled by distance, reached them. It was made up of screams, yells, the clash of weapons and shields, and the boom and crack of magic. Five white figures faced five black ones across the valley. The air between them flashed and writhed. Great scorch marks littered with corpses indicated where their sorcerous battle had spilled past protections.

Leiard remembered other battles. Smaller ones, but just as gruesome. They were not his memories, but they were vivid. Sorcery and death. Waste and pain. He saw that there were new elements to this battle. Black beasts—the vorns Auraya had once described—roamed through the Circlian army, deadly and hard to kill. Siyee wheeled and dived above the heads of soldiers and sorcerers. Smaller black shapes harried them, tearing their wings or attacking in numbers to drag their victims to the ground.

As he watched, three Siyee dived out of the aerial battle to swoop over the heads of the Pentadrians and send down a faint rain of missiles. One Siyee then fell as archers sent a volley of arrows in reply, but they had left several victims behind them.

Yet each death was devastating to the Siyee. There were so few of them.

I have to hope the Circlians win, he thought suddenly. Or this may be the end of the Siyee.

The greatest tragedy is that they are here at all, Mirar said darkly. This will be your former lover’s greatest crime: to make a peaceful people warlike and lead them to extinction.

“So here we are. What do you make of this, Leiard?”

He turned to find Arleej standing beside him.

“Foolishness,” he replied. “Waste.”

She smiled grimly. “Yes, and I agree. But what do you make of the two armies? What are their strengths and weaknesses? Who will win?”

Leiard frowned and considered the battle again.

“It is a typical confrontation. The sorcerers fight from the back, protecting their army from magic as well as themselves. The stronger of the minor sorcerers remain with them, adding their strength.”

“You mean the White?” Jayim asked. “And the priests and priestesses.”

“Yes,” Leiard replied. “Those whose role is more physical than magical fight their own battle, hoping always that the sorcerers will protect them. Soldiers, archers, mounted fighters, war-platten drivers, Siyee, vorns, the black birds. They may not have strong Gifts, but they will use what they can.”

“The Siyee are like archers,” Jayim said. “Flying archers.”

“Yes,” Arleej agreed. “They’re relying on surprise to attack and get away before the Pentadrian archers have time to retaliate.”

“Which is the same strategy the vorns are using,” another Dreamweaver noted. “But they don’t have anything like the black birds to deal with.”

“The Siyee are holding their own against the birds,” Leiard stated. “The birds don’t appear to attack when they’re alone, only as groups, but that makes them more vulnerable to missiles.”

“What happens if the Circlian army loses, but the White win?” Jayim asked.

Leiard smiled grimly. “If the White defeat the Pentadrian sorcerers they can then kill the remaining Pentadrians—or demand they surrender.”

“Would they abandon their own soldiers in order to use all their magic to kill the black sorcerers?”

“Perhaps as a last resort.”

“I . . . I don’t understand. Why do they bother bringing soldiers into battle at all? I can see how the priests help the White by giving extra magical strength, but I can’t see how soldiers make any difference.”

Arleej chuckled. “You must look to the motive for war. It is nearly always about taking control so the maximum reward can be reaped from the defeated. An invader is thinking beyond the battle. After victory they must maintain control. Even if they are powerful sorcerers, they can’t be in more than one place at once, so they bring helpers. Minor sorcerers. Fighters. People who are lured by the prospect of loot and land.

“The defenders know this and so raise an army as insurance in case they lose. If the defenders’ army kills as many as possible of the invaders’ army there are fewer of the potential conquerers left to impose control on their people. The conquered people have a better chance of rising up against their conquerors later.”

Jayim nodded slowly. “And if they wait until the sorcerers finish their fight, and their side loses, the enemy’s sorcerers will kill them anyway. So they may as well fight now.”

“Yes.” Arleej sighed. “Though most soldiers do not realize this. They do what they’re ordered to do, trusting in their leaders’ judgment.”

“Sorcerers have been known to give the remaining fighters the opportunity to surrender,” Leiard added.

Jayim stared out at the battle and frowned. “Are we . . . are the Circlians winning or losing?”

Looking at the valley again, Leiard considered the two sides carefully. He had noted that the ordinary soldiers were struggling, but hadn’t been concerned because, as he’d told Jayim, victory or failure did ultimately depend on the White.

The Circlian priests and priestesses appeared to be suffering greater losses than the sorcerers supporting the Pentadrian leaders. There were far more white-robed corpses than black. As he watched, he gradually saw why this was so.

The vorns. They were so quick and effective at killing that from time to time they were able to get behind the Circlians’ defenses and surprise a priest or priestess. In addition, none of the Circlian forces were as effective at removing the enemy’s sorcerers. The Siyee were the only fighters able to attack them, but the black birds were keeping the Siyee in check.

“The Pentadrians have the advantage,” he said.

Arleej sighed. “The hardest challenge a Dreamweaver can ever face isn’t prejudice or intolerance, but to stand back and watch your own country lose in a war.” She looked at Jayim. “We do not take sides. If you step in and fight, you are no longer a Dreamweaver.”

Jayim nodded. His young face was creased with tension and unhappiness—and resolution. Leiard felt a mingled pride and sorrow. The boy would not falter, but he would not like himself for it.

Arleej turned and gave Leiard a direct, assessing look.

“And you?”

Leiard frowned at her. “Me?”

“Not tempted to rush in and rescue anyone?”

Her meaning came to him in a rush. Auraya. Could he stand back and watch Auraya be defeated? Could he watch her die?

Suddenly his heart was racing. He looked out at the battlefield—at the five White. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? She always seemed so strong, so confident, he thought. I might not have liked that she was one of the Gods’ Chosen, but it meant she was safe. Immortal. Protected by magic and the gods.

The gods . . . Surely they wouldn’t allow their chosen human representatives to lose?

If you believe that, you are a fool, Mirar whispered.

“What could I do to save them?” Leiard said honestly. “One single sorcerer? I doubt I’d make the slightest difference.” Aware that his voice was betraying his distress, he looked at Arleej. “Except, as always, as a healer.”

Arleej gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “And a fine one at that.”

As she walked away, Leiard sighed heavily. He no longer wanted to watch the battle. Not if it meant watching Auraya die and not being able to do anything about it.

I could spare you the ordeal, Mirar offered.

No. I am here to heal, Leiard replied.

I can do that for you.

No. When this is over with we will go to Somrey and I will be rid of you.

You think Arleej can fix you? I’m not sure you’ll like having her poking around in your mind. I’m not sure I like the idea, either.

I thought you wanted to be gone?

That depends on whether the White win this battle or not. If they do, I’ll let you go to Somrey. We’ll see if Arleej can do something about our situation.

And if the White lose? Leiard asked.

Mirar did not answer.

46

Tryss glided in a wide circle in the hope of getting a chance to view the battle. Without an immediate target, a black bird to contend with, or something else to occupy his attention, he was suddenly aware of how tired he was. Every muscle ached. He realized he was bleeding from several cuts and scratches, though he could not remember how he’d got them. They stung.

Half of his flight followed him. He looked at them critically, noting wounds and signs of weariness. Tyssi was bleeding heavily from a deep cut that worried him. The rest looked fit but tired. He surveyed the battle in the sky. The number of black birds was noticeably smaller—he gained a grim satisfaction from that—but the number of Siyee had also diminished. By about half.

Some had flown away to rest or replenish their supply of darts, but not the majority. His stomach sank. Most of the missing were dead. People he knew. People he liked. People he didn’t. His heart ached with loss. It all seemed so stupid now.

Why did we agree to come here? Why did we sign the treaty? We could have stayed at home. Given up the southern lands to the settlers. Retreated to the highest peaks.

And starved.

He sighed. We fight because the Circlians were the better choice of ally at a time when we could no longer hope that world events weren’t going to affect us. Better to be part of them and suffer the consequences, than not be and suffer the consequences of them anyway.

A whoop of triumph drew his attention down. He saw a flight of Siyee swoop upward, having unleashed a rain of poisoned darts and arrows on the enemy. The leader, he saw, was Sreil. Remembering that Drilli was with Sreil’s flight, he searched for her. She was flying close behind Sreil, grinning fiercely.

Relief and gratitude washed over him. Just seeing her lifted his mood. She was still alive. And so am I, he thought. And while I am, I will fight.

Looking down at the rows of darts and arrows attached to his harness he estimated that less than a third remained. He would use them up, then take his flight out to the camp to collect more. Glancing at his companions, he gave the signal to follow. Then he dived toward the enemy below.

He’d learned to read from the landwalkers’ posture and movements what their attention was on. The Pentadrians’ pale faces were easy to see against the black of their robes, especially when they looked up. He aimed for a group looking intently toward one of the black sorceresses.

Suddenly all of the faces turned toward Tryss in unison. He glimpsed hands in the same position holding bows and whistled a warning while dodging to the left. The rush of arrows was frighteningly close. Something scraped past his jaw. He arced away, heart pounding.

So they’ve learned to watch for us, he thought. And to pretend they haven’t until we get close. Clever.

He looked down and felt a shock as he realized how low he was flying. Fortunately the men and women below him now had their backs turned to him. Their attention was on something ahead. He looked up and felt his heart stop.

The black sorceress. He was about to fly over her into the magical battle. Twisting away, he flapped frantically and managed to reverse his flight and gain some height.

Only then did he realize he was alone.

Casting about, he forgot about potential archers below. Where was his flight? Had they turned in the other direction to avoid the archers. Or had they . . . were they . . . ?

Looking down, he saw broken, winged bodies lying on the ground. All but one was still. Tyssi was feebly dragging herself away from advancing Pentadrians, an arrow protruding from one of her thighs.

Several men reached her and began kicking.

A fury flared inside Tryss. Ignoring any danger from below, he set himself on a straight path toward her attackers. He concentrated on their backs. When he was just within range he sent two darts flying. Two of the Pentadrians fell. Tryss saw the others turn toward him and dodged away. When he looked back, Tyssi lay still, blood spreading rapidly from a wound over her heart. He felt his eyes blur with tears. Blinking them away, he turned toward the front and realized he was flying toward the black sorceress once more.

He began to turn, then stopped himself.

Even as he straightened and took aim, he knew what he was doing was utterly pointless. He did not give himself time to think. Darts shot from his harness. He saw them fly through the air. He expected them to scatter away from a magical shield.

Instead they embedded themselves in the back of the black sorceress.

Disbelief was followed by delight. He gave a whoop of glee as the woman staggered forward. Circling away, he looked back. She had turned to stare at him. As her hand moved, his stomach began to sink with realization.

Something smashed into him.

It knocked the breath from his lungs. The world rushed past, faster than he had ever flown before, then something else hit his back. The ground. He heard a crack and almost blacked out at the pain that ripped through his body.

What did I just do? he thought as he lay there, gasping. Something really, really stupid, he answered. But I’ve killed her. I poisoned the black sorceress. We’ll win now. I’ve got to see that. He opened his eyes. Lifting his head sent bolts of pain down his back, and what he saw made him feel queasy. His legs were bending in places they shouldn’t.

That should hurt, he thought. But I can’t feel anything at all. Nothing below my waist. He knew he was badly hurt—probably dying—but he could not quite believe it. Black-clothed men and women loomed over him. They looked angry.

He smiled. I killed your leader.

One said something. The others shrugged and nodded. They walked away.

Gritting his teeth, Tryss raised his head again. Through the black-robed figures he could see the sorceress. As he watched she reached back and pulled one of the darts out, then another, and tossed them aside.

She should have been affected by the poison by now.

Instead, she turned back to rejoin the battle.

If he could have made his jaw work, he would have cursed. Instead he closed his eyes and let his head drop. Drilli’s going to be so angry with me.

And he let blackness take him. Throughout the day the White had moved slowly toward the center of the valley, always seeking a fresh source of magic. The black sorcerers, too, had advanced step by step. The army between them grew ever smaller, as if diminishing due to their unrelenting advance.

Auraya could see the faces of her adversaries now. To move forward, however, meant stepping over or around dead and injured men and women. The link with her fellow White kept her mind focused on fighting, but she was conscious of a growing tension at the back of her thoughts. She had begun to fear the end of their link, when she was no longer protected from the bleak and terrible reality that surrounded her.

Perhaps she would not have to endure it for long. She knew that the Circlian army was losing. She knew that the vorns had taken too many priests and priestesses and that this was finally tipping the balance of magical strength in the Pentadrians’ favor. She knew that there were too few Siyee left flying above.

Juran’s frustration imbued them all. He clung to the hope that the enemy would make one mistake. A single error that they could take advantage of.

When it came, the source was so unexpected they did not see it at first.

The more powerful sorceress faltered. At once Juran directed an attack on the weaker of the Pentadrian sorcerers, hoping his companions would not shield him in time. The man protected himself but left his own people vulnerable. Auraya felt relief and triumph as several of the enemy fell.

Then bodies rained from the sky.

She gasped in horror. The enemy had sacrificed their own in order to spare enough magic to strike at the Siyee. But why the Siyee? They were only a minor threat now.

She realized the Pentadrian leader was looking upward. He was directing the attacks. He glanced at her and smirked. Hatred welled up inside her.

:He still believes Auraya will ignore an opportunity in favor of protecting the Siyee, Juran said. I’ll protect them, Auraya. You strike at the leader.

She gritted her teeth and drew magic faster than she had attempted before. It came to her, swift and potent. She could feel it around her, feel it respond to her will and her anger, feel it gathering and gathering within her. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by a new sense of awareness. Time stopped. She understood that this sensing of the magic around her was not unlike the sense she had of her position in relation to the world.

:Now, Auraya!

Juran’s mental shout brought her back to the physical world with a jolt. She opened her eyes and blasted the power within her at the Pentadrian leader.

The Pentadrian’s smug expression vanished. She felt his defense fail. He flipped backward, knocking men and women behind him to the ground.

Auraya waited for him to rise again. Waited for Juran’s next instruction. Slowly she grew aware of the other White’s surprise and the diminished force of the enemy. Pentadrians crowded around their leader. A cry went out.

:They’re saying he is dead, Dyara said. Kuar is dead!

Auraya stared at her fellow White.

:Surely not. He must be unconscious. They must think him dead. He is trying to trick us into lowering our guard.

:No, Auraya, Rian said. I doubt anyone could survive that blow.

:But . . .

:He made the mistake we were hoping for, Juran decided, his words laced with triumph. He didn’t anticipate such a powerful attack and didn’t put all his strength into defending himself. Maybe he was protecting something else. Something we aren’t aware of.

:We’ve won! Mairae exclaimed. Yet her smile quickly faded. What do we do now?

:Kill them, Rian answered. If we don’t they will always be a danger to us.

:Rian is right, Juran agreed. We have no choice. But there is no need to kill any other than the leaders. The rest of them may live . . .

:So long as they surrender, Dyara added.

Auraya felt Juran and the others gathering magic. She did the same.

:No!

The voice boomed through Auraya’s thoughts. Shocked, she nearly let her protective shield fall.

:Chaia! Juran replied.

:It is I. Do not kill the enemy leaders. If you do, others will take their place. You know these people now. You know how they fight. They know you are superior to them. Let them go.

:We will, Juran replied. Auraya could sense his relief and puzzlement. As the god’s presence faded, Juran turned to regard the enemy sorcerers. The four were expressionless, but they were no longer attacking.

:We will move forward to meet them, Juran decided.

As they walked through the remaining Circlian army a stillness slowly spread over the battlefield. Fighting stopped and the two sides retreated from each other. The four Pentadrian sorcerers drew closer together.

Then Auraya became aware of a new sound. Yelling and shouting. She looked around, afraid this was a new attack.

And realized the Circlians were cheering.

47

As the two armies stopped fighting and retreated to either side of the valley, Emerahl let out a long sigh.

I knew it was too good to be true, she thought. For a while there I thought these Pentadrians were going to solve my problem with the Circlians for me.

But the gods would never allow invading heathens to wipe out their followers. No doubt they had intervened in some way to ensure the White’s victory.

Why they had waited until the end of the day was a mystery. The low sun bathed the valley with a gentle light. It glinted off weapons and shields and turned white robes to gold. Most of those were on the ground, the belongings of the dead, dying and wounded.

Soon the Dreamweavers would begin their work.

She could sense a growing tension among the men and women standing nearby. They were waiting for the two armies to leave. She had never known Dreamweavers to be so hesitant or so fearful. Link memories of the slaughter of their kind had taught them to be cautious, she guessed.

After leaving the brothel caravan she had continued back down the road toward Toren for a few hours before leaving it and starting across the plains. Even if Rozea decided to keep the loss of her favorite to herself, stories of the whore who turned out to be a sorceress were bound to spread— and become exaggerated with each telling. If a Circlian priest decided to investigate, Emerahl wanted searchers to think she’d headed back to Toren. The last move they’d expect from her would be to continue following the army. At least she hoped that was the last move they’d expect.

Looking at the tense men and women nearby, she smiled. They didn’t know what to make of her. She was a young woman dressed in plain clothes roaming alone near a battlefield—too good-looking to be a solitary whore. When she had told them she was seeking the source of the tower dream and her theory that the dream was a link memory of Mirar’s death, the two men leading the group had moved away to have a long, private discussion.

“There is one among our kind who may be the dreamer you seek,” they had told her when they returned. “He has many link memories of Mirar’s. After we have done our work, we will take you to him.”

So she had waited with them and had seen the conclusion to the biggest battle ever waged on Northern Ithanian soil. It was hard to resist the opportunity. She had spent so much of her life avoiding conflict that she had rarely witnessed events that were likely to become legends.

Now I have something to relate around dinner tables and campfires, and my audience will never fail to be impressed, even millennia from now, she thought wryly.

Below, the White and black sorcerers parted. They moved slowly out of the valley. The body of the Pentadrian leader was lifted and carried away.

“They let them surrender,” one of the Dreamweavers said, clearly surprised.

“Perhaps even they acknowledge that there has been enough slaughter today.”

“I doubt it.”

Emerahl was inclined to agree with the last speaker, but she remained silent. Many of the Circlian fighters, priests and priestesses had remained in the valley and were moving among the dead and dying. So were some of the Pentadrians.

“It is time,” the leader of the Dreamweaver group said.

Emerahl felt the tension ease. Determination replaced it. The Dreamweavers started down the valley carrying bags of medicines, followed by students laden with sacks full of bandages and skins of water.

She could not join them. There were priests and priestesses still down there. If she roamed about, the only healer not wearing a Dreamweaver vest or Circlian circ, she would attract attention.

Then I need to blend in. I need Dreamweaver robes . . .

She turned to look at the tarns. There were bound to be a few spare garments in them. Surely the Dreamweavers wouldn’t mind if she borrowed a set?

Standing up, she strode back toward the Dreamweaver camp. Priest Tauken stepped over a headless corpse and stopped. A young soldier lay a few strides away, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. He could hear the man gasping for breath. Moving to the soldier’s side, Tauken dropped into a crouch. The young man looked up at him, eyes wide with hope.

“Help me,” he gasped.

“Let me see,” Tauken replied.

The young man’s arms parted reluctantly. Clearly the movement caused him pain, but the only sound he managed was a whimper.

The soldier was wearing an iron chest-plate, but even that could not stop a blow by a good sword. A large gash in the plate glistened with blood.

“We have to get this off.”

The soldier allowed him to remove the armor. His gaze was growing dull. Tauken ripped away the clothing around the wound and bent close. He could hear a faint sucking sound. It came in time with the man’s breathing. His heart sank. There would be no saving this one.

As he rose, the two camp servants sent to help him regarded him expectantly. He looked at them and made a small gesture with his hand to indicate they would not be stopping. They nodded and looked away, and their expressions suddenly brightened with hope.

Tauken turned to see what they were looking at. A Dreamweaver woman stood nearby, watching him. From her looks he guessed she was Somreyan.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

Juran had decreed that the law against using Dreamweaver services had been lifted for the day. Tauken opened his mouth, then hesitated. To say “yes” aloud would be to tell the dying soldier he was done for. Instead, he nodded.

She moved forward and looked down at the man. “A chest wound. His lungs have been penetrated.”

As she kneeled before the soldier, Tauken turned away. He took a few steps then stopped as the woman gave a piercing whistle. Looking back, he saw a younger Dreamweaver hurry to her side. She took bandages from him, and lifted a small bowl for him to fill with water from a pitcher. As the young man hurried away again, answering another whistle, she took a small jar from her vest and tipped powder from it into the water.

Tauken knew he should move on, but curiosity kept him still. Her hands moving with practiced speed, the Dreamweaver bathed the wound then put the bloodied cloth aside. She paused. Tauken saw her shoulders rise and fall as she drew in and let out a deep breath, then she placed a hand on the wound and closed her eyes.

There was something wrong about all this. Seeing her using her Dreamweaver magic, Tauken finally realized what it was.

“You did not ask if he wanted your help,” he said.

She frowned, opened her eyes and turned to regard him.

“He is unconscious.”

“And so can hardly decide for himself.”

“Then you must decide for him,” she said calmly.

He stared at her. Once he would have told her to leave. Better the young soldier die than risk his soul by being healed by a Dreamweaver. But he knew he would want to live if he was the young man. If Juran could lift the ban for a day then the gods must intend to forgive those who chose to use Dreamweaver services.

Who am I to deny this man life? Accepting a Dreamweaver’s help does not mean a man or woman becomes one. And we could learn a lot from them.

He just hoped the young man agreed.

“Heal him,” he said. Beckoning to his helpers, he led them away.

“Gods forgive me,” he muttered to himself. The Circlian camp was lit by a thousand torches. It ought to have been a cheerful sight, but those lights illuminated a grim scene.

Toward the end of the battle vorns had attacked the camp, killing defenseless servants and animals. Auraya could see survivors doing their best to tidy up the mess. Some were carrying corpses away, others were seeing to the wounded. Reyer that had lost their riders had been caught and were being used to carry others less fortunate to the edge of the camp.

Seeing this, Auraya almost wished she and her fellow White had finished the Pentadrians off.

The gods were right to let them live. I don’t like unnecessary slaughter. I don’t like necessary slaughter either, but killing a defeated enemy is too much like cold-blooded murder.

They had wanted to rid the world of the black sorcerers. Now, on reflection, she could see what the consequences might have been. The battle would have continued for a while longer and more people would have been killed.

She could also see that allowing the four black sorcerers to return to the southern continent might still be a decision they’d come to regret in the future. If the Pentadrian leader was replaced by an equally powerful sorcerer, Northern Ithania might face another invasion. However, it was extraordinary that five powerful sorcerers had been born in the last century or so. It was unlikely that another would be soon.

These southerners will think twice before confronting us again, Auraya told herself. She thought of the glowing figure she had seen after the Pentadrians had emerged from the mines. Whether illusion or new god, he clearly hadn’t ensured their victory. That, too, will give them reason to hesitate if they consider attempting another conquest.

Whereas our gods, through us, have protected Northern Ithania successfully. She smiled, but felt the smile fade. Since the moment the Pentadrian leader had died, she had replayed the scene over and over in her mind. Not to gloat at having dealt the fatal blow, but to work out what had happened.

She remembered it all clearly. There had been a new awareness of magic. She could sense it just as she could sense her position in relation to the world. If she concentrated, she could return to that state of awareness. Somehow it had enabled her to take and use more magic than ever before.

The other White had been surprised at the strength of her attack. From time to time she caught Juran regarding her with a puzzled frown. Perhaps she had learned to use her Gifts faster than he had expected her to. The others hadn’t been forced to gain skills quickly by war, however.

Or perhaps Juran was just surprised that she, rather than he, had been the one to deal the killing blow. If he was, he was not resentful about it. He seemed pleased with her. She accepted this approval a little warily, wondering if it extended to forgiveness for her affair with Leiard.

At the thought of Leiard she felt a stab of pain and was glad she was no longer closely linked with the other White. She straightened her back. He was a mistake of the past. A lesson in the perils of love. Now, after the battle, her infatuation seemed childish and foolish. It was time to think of more important things: the recovery of her people—and of the Siyee.

A lone mounted rider galloped back to the White. Auraya watched him, welcoming the distraction. The advisers had reported that King Guire and Moderator Meeran had returned a few hours after fleeing the vorns’ attack. King Berro, however, had not been seen.

The rider reined in before Juran. “No sign of him yet, Juran of the White. We could send a second group of trackers.”

“Yes,” Juran replied. “Do that.”

The man hurried away. The White continued down the slope toward the camp. When they had nearly reached it, Auraya heard a familiar high-pitched voice call her name. She heard Danjin let out a relieved sigh as Mischief leapt down from the roof of a tarn and bounced over the muddy ground toward her. Two more veez followed him, one black, one orange. As Mischief ran up Auraya’s robe onto her shoulders, the other veez raced to Mairae and Dyara.

“Little escapee,” Dyara said, scratching the bright orange head of her pet. She looked at Mischief suspiciously. “Is he teaching Luck bad habits?”

Auraya smiled. “Probably. Does he—?”

Hearing the sound of wings, Auraya felt her heart skip. She looked up eagerly, and sighed with relief to see Speaker Sirri and two other Siyee circling down. As they landed, Juran stepped forward to meet them.

“Speaker Sirri. We are indebted to you and your people. You have been invaluable to us today.”

Sirri’s smile was grim. “It was our first experience of war. We have learned much today, at great cost, although our losses are nothing to yours. When the vorns attacked our non-fighters, they were able to escape.”

“All losses are equally terrible,” Juran replied. “Our healer priests will tend to Siyee wounded as well as landwalker.”

Sirri looked bemused, and Auraya saw images of the hundreds of Dreamweavers that had descended upon the battlefield in the woman’s thoughts.

“Then I will send the non-fighters of my people, who are fresh and able to carry small loads quickly, to help them.”

Juran nodded. “Their help would be most welcome. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. I just learned something that you may be interested to hear. One of my people noticed a man sitting in a tree to the northwest of here. My hunter said she was attracted by his shouting, but dared not land as she could hear one of those large predatory creatures of the enemy nearby.”

Juran’s eyebrows rose. “That is interesting. Could you send this hunter to us so that we may locate this man?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Speaker Sirri.”

She nodded, then stepped away. “I will gather my people and send as many helpers as I can to you.”

Her companions followed as she ran down the hill, leapt into the air and glided away. Juran turned to Auraya.

“I think it would be best if you accompanied this hunter.”

:Just . . . don’t rub it in too much, he added. There’s a fine line between earning gratitude and resentment.

:I imagine that for King Berro the line is fine indeed. I will be careful.

“This poor man will need a mount to carry him back,” she said aloud.

Juran smiled. “Yes, and familiar faces to ease the shock of his situation.”

She nearly laughed aloud. With a few landwalkers present to witness the rescue, everyone would know the Toren king owed the Siyee his life.

And that couldn’t be a bad thing.

48

Areas of depleted magic were everywhere, but that was normal for a battlefield. To compensate, Leiard only had to concentrate on the sense of magic around him and draw from less depleted patches.

He channelled magic through himself into the injured man, shifting bone and flesh until a sense of rightness began to form. Liquids returned to their correct channels. Flashes of energy shot up and down repaired pathways. He heard the man gasp with pain and quickly blocked the nerve thread again, this time in a way that could be easily reversed.

Working along the leg, Leiard repaired the rest of the damage. He passed a hand over the man’s skin, feeling a deep satisfaction at the scar-free result, then unblocked the man’s nerve pathways and went in search of another patient.

He had only to open his mind and any lingering thought of the wounded or dying would guide him. Befuddled, dim thoughts drew him to a Pentadrian sorcerer. The woman had been dealt a blow to the head that had left a bloody crater.

I can’t save this one, he thought. Her mind will be damaged.

Yes, you can, Mirar whispered. I will help you.

Leiard crouched beside the woman and placed his hand over the wound. He let Mirar guide him. The work was so fine he scarcely dared to breathe. Mirar’s will blended with his as it had so many times this night, so that he almost began to feel he was losing himself. That brought a sense of panic, but he held it back. For the woman’s sake.

Leiard felt the crater in the woman’s skull expand under his hand. Bone knitted. Liquids and swelling within the brain drained away. Damaged areas were repaired.

Will she return completely to normal? Leiard asked.

No, she will have some memory loss, Mirar replied. Not necessarily a slice of her past. More likely she will have to relearn something, like how to talk, or dance—or see.

I did not know that was possible.

You did. You have just forgotten.

The woman was healed. She opened her eyes and stared at Leiard in surprise. Then she rose to her feet and looked around the battlefield. Leiard turned her to face the Pentadrian side of the valley, then pointed. She nodded, then started walking.

Leiard turned away. Pain and grief drew him to a young Siyee man, his legs and arms bent in places and directions that they would not naturally go. A young female Siyee kneeled beside him, sobbing.

Another victim of a fall, Mirar observed. His back may be broken, too.

This would take a lot of magic and concentration. Leiard ignored the crying girl, kneeled beside the Siyee and began to draw in magic. Danjin woke with a start. He was lying beside a fire. Flames licked at a fresh piece of wood. From the shape he guessed it was a piece of broken shaft from a war platten.

How long have I been asleep?

He sat up. A servant was walking away from him, probably the man who had brought the wood. He looked around at the camp. Fewer lamps burned now. A handful of people still moved about, but quietly. There was a stillness to everything. No wind. Little sound.

Then he looked beyond. The sky was glowing faintly in the east.

Dawn. It’s dawn. I slept most of the night.

He hadn’t meant to. He had only stopped for a warm drink and a little food. Sleeping on the ground had left him feeling stiff and sore. Without any destination in mind, he rose, stretched and began to walk.

His legs took him to one side of the camp. He was cheered to see a dead vorn there, a variety of arrows, knives and even splinters of wood embedded in its side. A long line of bodies lay beyond it—the servants who had died. It was a grim sight, but nothing in comparison to the battlefield on the other side of the ridge.

Looking toward the valley, he saw a row of servants standing at the edge of the camp. As he watched, a figure walked out of the darkness. A Hanian soldier, covered in blood. Two servants stepped forward, wrapped a blanket around the man and guided him to a fire.

As a pair of Dunwayan warriors appeared, Danjin realized what was happening. These were the survivors of the battle who had been healed by priests and Dreamweavers.

I have to see this.

Walking past the waiting servants, Danjin started up the slope. The sky brightened slowly. By the time he neared the top of the ridge, he was able to see men and women coming back to camp. Some walked, some limped. Some were supported by servants. A few were being carried.

At the top of the ridge stood a familiar figure. He felt a stab of guilt as he saw her. She turned to regard him, then beckoned.

“Good morning, Danjin Spear,” Auraya said quietly.

“Auraya,” he replied. “I must apologize.”

“If you feel you must, then do so. But you are not to blame. They would have discovered it anyway. I did intend to tell them, and you, eventually.”

He looked down at the ground. “You must know I think you could have made a better choice.”

“Yes.”

“Good choice or not, you must be . . . disappointed at the result.”

She smiled tiredly. “So tactfully put. Yes, I was disappointed. It is in the past now. I have more important things to do.”

He smiled. “Indeed you have.”

Her attention shifted to the valley. Following her gaze, he saw movement among the fallen. Dreamweavers and priests were at work.

“The change I’ve long considered starting has begun by itself,” she murmured.

“Change?”

She shook her head. “The healer priests and priestesses, instead of ignoring or scorning Dreamweaver healing, are paying attention. They will learn much today.”

Danjin stared at her. Priests learning from Dreamweavers? Was this what she had been aiming for all along? As the implication of this dawned on him he felt dazzled by her brilliance. If the priests could offer the same services as Dreamweavers there would be no more need for Dreamweavers.

Did Leiard know? Had he ever guessed?

Danjin doubted the man would have liked the idea. And being his lover must have made Auraya hesitate to work toward bringing about the end of his people, even if it did mean she would save the souls of those she prevented from joining the heathen cult in the future.

How long had she been planning this? Had making Leiard the Dreamweaver adviser been a step in the process? Now that Leiard was gone she was free to continue her work.

Auraya sighed and turned around. Glancing back toward the camp, Danjin saw that the other four White were approaching.

“We’re going to have a little conversation with the gods now,” Auraya said lightly. “Go back to camp, Danjin. I’ll join you for breakfast soon.”

He nodded, then watched as she walked down the slope to join her fellow White.

A soldier limped out of the valley toward him. He glanced at Auraya again, then hurried over to help the man. For a long time now, Tryss had struggled to make sense of it. For hours he had lain in a daze, listening to the sounds of men and women murmuring in languages he didn’t understand. There was a desperation to their voices. Only much later did he realize that what he was hearing was praying.

It went on and on. Eventually most of the voices faded away. He wondered if the gods had answered. He hoped so.

A new voice had started, but this one did not speak the names of gods. It spoke a more familiar name.

“Tryss! You’re alive! Tryss! Wake up! Talk to me!”

It was so familiar. And comforting, somehow. Yet he wasn’t about to do what it said. Waking up meant pain. He’d had more than enough pain today.

“Tryss . . .” There was a long pause, then a choking sound. “Tryss. I have something to tell you. Wake up.”

He felt a stirring of curiosity. It wasn’t enough. The memory of pain was too frightening. He let himself drift.

Then pain came seeking him.

It was not like before—a distant, constant ache. It came in brief stabs. Each time it shot through his body it was followed by a sudden absence of pain. He felt himself dragged out of the comfortable place. The voice will be happy, he thought grumpily. I’m waking up; just what it wants. I’ll open my eyes and . . .

Suddenly he was staring up at a face. A man leaned over him, frowning with concentration. The face didn’t match the voice.

“Tryss! Oh, thank you!”

The exclamation came from Tryss’s left. He began to turn his head, but it hurt too much. So he rolled his eyes. He could see a blurred face. A female face.

She leaned forward and recognition came like a bolt of lightning.

“Drilli.”

I spoke, he thought. Perhaps I’m not dying after all. He looked at the man again. A Dreamweaver. Tryss felt another stab of pain followed by numbness. Rolling his eyes to the right, he saw and felt the Dreamweaver’s hands on his arm.

He felt movement inside his arm. Bones and flesh shifting. The sensation was peculiar and nauseating. Tryss decided it would be better not to watch. He looked at Drilli. She was so beautiful—even covered in mud, sweat and blood. She was grinning at him, her eyes all glittery.

“So what is it?” he asked.

She blinked and frowned. “What is what?”

“That you have to tell me.”

To his amusement, she paused. “So you heard that.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps we should wait until later. When you’re healed.”

“Why?”

“It’s . . . too early.”

“Too early for what?” He tried to lift his head and gasped as pain ripped down his back.

“Tell him,” the Dreamweaver said quietly.

Drilli looked at the man, then nodded. “Just remember that these things often go wrong in the first few months.”

Tryss sighed and rolled his eyes. “What things?”

She bit her lip. “I’m—we’re—going to be parents.”

“Parents?”

“Yes. I’m carrying . . .”

A baby. She’s pregnant. Tryss felt a thrill of excitement. The next stab of pain hardly bothered him. He grinned at Drilli.

“That explains why you’ve been sick all the time. I thought it must be all those spices you like in your food.”

She pulled a face.

Tryss opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the Dreamweaver slid his hands behind Tryss’s neck. Pain shot down his body, then numbness. The Dreamweaver remained still for a long time. Slowly, feeling returned, but no pain. The Dreamweaver’s hands finally slid away and Tryss felt the man turn his attention to his other arm.

“That was . . . amazing,” Tryss managed.

“Keep still,” the Dreamweaver said.

Drilli shifted position to Tryss’s right side. He found he could move his arm. Lifting it, he was amazed to see there wasn’t even a scar left to mark his skin.

He was able to turn his head now, so he began to watch the Dreamweaver working. The sight of his other arm bent at a strange angle was disturbing, but as the Dreamweaver’s hands slowly moved over it, his elbow bent back in the right direction. Tryss felt a growing awe. He had heard of Dreamweavers’ legendary abilities, but nothing like this.

I was dying, he thought. And this man has done what should have been impossible: made me whole again. He has saved my life.

The Dreamweaver sat back on his heels and regarded Tryss critically. Then he rose and turned away.

“Wait.”

Tryss hauled himself to his feet. Belatedly he realized what he had done, and paused to look in wonder at his arms and body. Then he hurried after the Dreamweaver, Drilli following.

“Wait. Thank you. You’ve saved my life.”

The man’s eyes roved about. He muttered something. Tryss frowned and moved closer.

“No. Not safe there. But Jayim. No. Forget. You must leave before he returns with Arleej.” The Dreamweaver paused and his voice became thin and weak. “One more. One more.” Then he shook his head. “Enough. The sun is rising. It is time.”

The Dreamweaver was talking to himself. Were they always like this? Perhaps only when they were working. Tryss hoped so. There was something disturbing about the idea of being healed by a madman. Shaking his head sadly, Tryss returned to Drilli.

“I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if he can,” he told her.

She nodded, and her eyes roamed over his body. “What he did . . . it was amazing. Do . . . do you think you can fly?”

He grinned. “Let’s find out.”

She frowned with concern. “Wait. What if it’s too soon . . .”

But he was already running. Racing across the battlefield with his arms spread wide. He felt a light wind catch his wings and he leapt into the air.

As Drilli joined him, he whooped with joy and soared up into the sky.

After walking for an hour the White stopped on top of a low hill. Auraya looked back. Thin trails of smoke were the only clue to the camp’s location. They moved to form a wide circle.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru,” Juran spoke. “We thank you for giving us the means to defend Northern Ithania. We thank you for protecting our people from the Pentadrian invaders.”

“We thank you,” Auraya murmured with the others.

“We have fought in your names and we have won. Now, as we face the aftermath of this battle, we need your guidance even more.”

“Guide us.”

“We ask that you appear now, so that we may ask for wisdom.”

Auraya held her breath. She could not help it, even now. A glow filled the circle. It coalesced into five figures.

All five, she thought. I haven’t seen them all together since my Choosing.

The gods’ features appeared. They were smiling. She could not help smiling too. Chaia stood facing Juran.

:We are pleased at your victory, he said. You have all done well. And Auraya . . . The god turned to regard her. You have surpassed even our expectations.

Auraya felt her face warming. She lowered her eyes, amused by her own embarrassment at his praise.

:What is it you wish to ask? The question came from Huan.

“We have allowed the remaining Pentadrians to surrender and return to their lands, as you instructed,” Juran told them, “but we fear the consequences of doing so.”

:The Pentadrians may regain their strength and invade again, Lore said. If they are determined to, they will. Killing this army would not stop another coming.

“Then if they invade again, perhaps we should not only drive them away, but rid the world of their cult,” Rian said.

:There may come a time when that is unavoidable. You are not yet ready for that battle, Chaia replied.

“When Auraya witnessed the Pentadrian army emerge from the mines, she saw what appeared to be a god,” Dyara said. “But that is impossible. What was it? An illusion?”

:It is not impossible, Yranna replied.

“But there are no other gods.”

:None of the old ones survived but us, Yranna agreed. But new ones can arise.

“Five of them?” Dyara asked.

:It is unlikely, Saru murmured.

“But not impossible.”

:No. Chaia looked at the other gods. We will investigate.

They nodded.

Chaia turned back to Juran.

:For now, return to Jarime and enjoy the peace you have fought so hard for. We will speak to you again soon. He glanced at Dyara, then his eyes met Auraya’s. His smile widened for a moment, before his attention moved to Rian and Mairae.

Then the five glowing figures vanished.

Juran sighed and broke the circle by moving toward Dyara. “Let’s hope they find nothing.”

“Yes,” Dyara agreed. “Though if the Pentadrians do follow real gods, they must be feeling a bit unhappy with them now. They lost.”

“Mmmm,” Juran replied. “Will they again?”

“Of course they will,” Mairae said lightly. She smiled as they all turned to regard her. “We have Auraya.”

Auraya sighed. “Will you stop saying that, Mairae? I didn’t do anything extraordinary. The Pentadrians made a mistake, that’s all.”

Mairae grinned. “The enemy is going to take back stories of the ferocious flying priestess who killed their leader.”

“I didn’t fly during the battle.”

“That hardly matters. Think what a deterrent for invasion that will be. Your name will be used to frighten children into obedience for generations.”

“How wonderful,” Auraya said dryly.

“If I don’t get some breakfast soon you’ll find out how ferocious a priestess can be,” Dyara growled.

Juran gave Dyara a bemused look. “That must be avoided at all costs. Come on, then. Let’s go home.” The Dreamweaver robes Emerahl had stolen were a bit big for her, but they had kept her sufficiently safe from priestly notice while she tended the sick. She had kept to the Pentadrian side of the battleground, which reduced the number of Circlians she treated. There had been no sign of the White for hours. They were probably discussing the battle among their allies.

She had no bag of medicines, but managed well enough with magic. It was satisfying work. She hadn’t been free to use her Gifts in this way for . . . a long time. Just before dawn she had decided it was time to leave, but at the edge of the battlefield she had discovered a Siyee still clinging to life and stopped to help him.

By the time she had finished, the sun had risen. Delicate light filled the valley. She had wanted to leave the field when it was still dark, but it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw her go. The Dreamweavers might wonder why one of their kind was abandoning the field, but they were probably too involved in their work to notice. No one else would know enough about Dreamweavers to wonder why she was leaving.

She glanced around. Only one Dreamweaver stood nearby, his back to her. He was looking up at the sky. She frowned. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was one of the Dreamweavers from the group she had run into.

A voice reached her, low and strained. She moved closer and felt a shiver run down her back.

I know that voice.

But it could not belong to the man she had known. What was he saying, anyway? She stepped over a corpse and crept closer.

“—must go. No. She can help. No. She will only make it worse. I can’t—”

The voice changed from high to low, weak to forceful, stranger to familiar. He was ranting at himself like a madman. As he cast about he turned to face her and she gasped.

“Mirar!”

It was impossible. He was dead. But as she said his name his gaze cleared and she saw recognition in his eyes.

“Emerahl?”

“You’re . . . you’re . . .”

“Alive? In a way.” He shrugged, then his gaze became keen. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled crookedly. “Long story.”

“Will you . . . can you help me?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I need you to take me away from here. No matter who I turn into. No matter how I protest. Using all your magic, if you need to.”

She stared at him. “Why would I have to do that?”

He grimaced. “Long story.”

She nodded, then closed the distance between them. He had aged. She had never seen him so thin and wrinkled. His hair was so light it was nearly white, and she could see from the untanned skin around his jaw that he had only recently removed a beard. It it weren’t for the recognition in his eyes, and the little mannerisms she had once known so well, she might not have recognized him at all. But here he was, changed but alive. She would ponder the impossibility of this later.

Taking his arm, she led him away.