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Frost Fair

In rumor and strange sayings the truth

EVERYTHING SEEMED TO GO QUIET.

Raffi barely breathed; his whole body was a rigidity of terror, so that for an instant there was nothing else in the world.

Then, as if from a long distance, he heard Galen at the other table, grumbling to the harassed Watchman there about the cold, and even the sound of his voice brought Raffi a sliver of courage.

He walked back. �What?� he muttered, his voice shaky.

The Watchman thrust the paper in his hands. �Look at that,� he said in a bored voice. �Have you seen any of them?�

Raffi turned it around.

It was a list of outlaws. Each one was pictured�a brief sketch�and underneath their names, a sum of money for their capture, a list of crimes. He looked at it quickly, then gave it back.

�I can�t read,� he lied.

�You can see, can�t you! Do you know any of them?�

�No.�

The man leered, his breath smelling of sour beer. �Well, keep your eyes open, bright boy. It�ll pay you more than juggling apples.�

Hurrying away, Raffi bit his lip.

Carys�s name had been on the list.

The drawing of her had been incredibly accurate; her sharp look, the short, straight brown hair. Underneath it had said:

CARYS ARRIN. FORMER WATCHSPY. INS. 547 SILVER. MARN MOUNTAIN.

WANTED ALIVE FOR ABDUCTION, TREASON, COUNTERESPIONAGE.

A PRIORITY TARGET.

30,000 MARKS.

It was a fortune! But then, it would be. She�d betrayed the Watch, kidnapped one of their children, walked out on Braylwin. They�d hunt her down till they found her.

He stumbled, barely noticing, thanking God and the Makers that she was safe back on Sarres. She�d wanted to come with them, but Galen had refused absolutely, ignoring her anger. She was like Galen. Though they both loved Sarres, they grew restless there.

�Boy!�

The big woman was waiting on the cart, her sacking sleeves rolled past her elbows. Brawny arms controlled the fidgeting marset in the harness.

Raffi climbed up beside her.

�Where�s your master?�

�Behind,� he said wearily.

She looked at him shrewdly. �You got through, didn�t you? Must be a tough life though.�

He rubbed his hair with his hands, silent, annoyed she could see he was scared, annoyed with himself.

They watched the gate. When Galen came through it he hobbled away up the road ahead of them, ignoring them. The woman whipped up the reins and the marset stumbled off, Raffi grabbing tight. They soon passed the keeper. On the ice the cart ran smooth, but when the wheels hit the rough track the lurching began, a giddy swaying up the treeless slopes, down splintering ruts. The road was bleak, all its vegetation seared to blackness by the relentless frosts, except that halfway up, a small, bent patch of bramble thicket clung on. The woman stopped the cart there, and they waited for Galen.

He walked easier now, the limp reduced to normal, and when he came up he dumped the peddler�s tray and the pack with relief among the wool-bales, brushing ashpaste out of his hair in disgust.

Then he looked up at her.

�You must be in sore need of a keeper, Majella Caxton.�

�I am, master. Believe me.� She said it calmly, her shrewd gray eyes on his. �Or I�d never have run the risk. Yours or mine.�

For a moment he studied her. Then, as if a question had been answered, he nodded and climbed into the back, stretching his legs out among the wool-bales. �Is it a relic?�

�God knows.� She started the marset moving. �It terrifies the beasts, fills me with dark horrors I wouldn�t try to describe. We�re haunted by something, master. We can�t even live in the house anymore. And if you don�t get rid of it, it will surely kill someone.�

Galen didn�t answer, though Raffi knew he was intrigued. But the woman was busy now with the driving; ice made the rough track treacherous. Twice the marset slipped, its hooves clattering, and she had to urge it on. �Come on, my darling,� she crooned. �Up you go.�

Turning, Raffi saw the Frost Fair already far below them, a squalor of stalls and pens and smoke darkening the pure lake, and beyond it at the northern shore the quenta forest, dark and ominous, its strange tangled trees forming impenetrable thickets.

He also saw the gallows.

Galen was looking at them too. The keeper�s black eyes were angry and thoughtful; as Raffi watched he fished among the trinkets of the peddler�s tray and brought out the awen-beads, jet and green, slipping them on over his head. He held out Raffi�s and Raffi took them, the two blue and purple strands of the scholar, wishing Galen would say something about the gallows. When he was silent he was planning, and Raffi feared that.

Slowly, the cart rocked to the top of the hill.

The way down was less steep; the woman took a breath and said, �Now. You want to hear all about it.�

�It would help.�

She glanced over her shoulder at him as he leaned among the soft bales.

�Well, we moved here two months ago. We�re Watchtenants. We had a farm up north, but then out of the blue they moved us. No explanations. When I saw this place I was amazed. It�s old, you�ll see that. Far too good for me and a dozen farm men. Lots of the rooms are empty.�

�What�s it called?� Galen interrupted.

�Halenden.� She flicked the reins. �For a fortnight it was all right. Then the trouble started.�

�Noises?�

She shrugged, uneasy. �Hideous sounds. First time it brought us all hurtling out of our beds. I thought some beggar-band was burning the place around our ears. Howling, echoing deep down. Max�the foreman�swears it�s some Kest-ghost, trapped under the place. He�s a loudmouth, and I�d sack him, but I need him. Most of the others have left.�

The cart jolted; Raffi clung on, feeling sick.

�What else?� Galen murmured.

�Things move. Around the place. They�re never where you left them. Doors won�t open; then they open on their own. Plates smash. Voices talk in rooms where no one is. But last week, that was the worst.�

She stopped the cart suddenly and turned to face him, her broad face red with the cold. �I�m not a woman who scares easily, master.�

�I can see that,� he said.

�Then you�ll know that I�m scared now.� The wind gusted sleet in her eyes; she rubbed it away. �Last week, on Agramonsday, I was alone in the house. The men were in the fields. I was sure I heard something moving down below. There�s a cellar, a deep cellar. It sounded like . . .� She shook her head, impatient with herself. �Flain knows what. I�m not good with words. A dragging sound. Cold. Heavy.�

The wind was icy. Raffi shivered, tugging his hands up into his sleeves. In all the bleak land around him nothing stirred, the hedges gnawed down to bare thorn.

�You went down?� Galen asked, his face intent.

�I did.�

�Not many would have.�

�Keeper, I don�t like mysteries. I�m a plain woman; I trust what my senses tell me. I took a lamp and went down the cellar steps.� She paused. Raffi felt a threat of terror break out in her, the shock of it stirring the small hairs on the backs of his hands.

Then she said, �I saw it. A shadow. Something evil. A terrible . . . venom seemed to come from it. I knew it was alive.�

The marset whinnied, impatient. Sleet was coming down heavily now, a white sheet of weather slanting out of the west.

Galen didn�t move.

The woman turned back to the harness. �That�s all I can tell you. It vanished. I was outside, shivering, when the men came back; can�t even remember how I got there. None of us will stay in the place now�we�ve fitted up a barn a few fields off and even the dogs creep in with us at night.�

The cart�s wheels began to turn, crunching down into the ruts and up again. �Can you help us?� she asked quietly.

Galen leaned back. �Is there anything else you want to tell me?�

�No,� she said, too quickly.

He gazed at her broad back. Then he said, �I can only do what the Makers wish.�

For the rest of the journey he was silent, and glancing back Raffi knew he was meditating, gathering strength, sending sense-lines out into the frozen land, waking stones and soil and the bare trees, searching for any Maker-life, any energies.

Raffi was quiet too. After the strain and racket of the fair, weariness washed over him like a wave. Despite the cold he dozed, slumping against the woman. As the cart hit a stone he jolted awake, muttering, �Sorry.� She grinned at him. �My lad was like you once. Eat and sleep. That�s all boys are good for.�

He smiled, wan.

The evening closed in. Above in the darkening sky the seven moons brightened, the crescent of Cyrax far off on the horizon; glinting through torn cloud above the black land. Stars were suddenly there too, vast scatterings of light, brilliant in the frost-cold.

The road ran down, into a hollow. Raffi felt trees, dark shapes on each side, old hollies and some yew, the faint turpy smell of their needles crushed under the wheels.

The track ran smoother. The trees closed in, became a dim avenue, their branches tangling overhead. Bats flitted in a narrow strip of sky.

And then he felt the house.

His eyes widened; the skin crawled on his neck. Behind him, he heard Galen scramble up.

Halenden was dark; a cluster of roofs and gables rising above the trees. He could see windows, most of them boarded up, and a great mass of ivy and spidervine that sprawled over half the fa�ade, smothering walls and chimneys.

As they drove up to it, the house seemed to grow. Owls called in its leaves; a skeat answered in the woods, and then a whole pack of them was howling, the farm dogs barking furiously in return.

The cart creaked to a halt.

Galen climbed out, stiff, then stood tall in his dark coat, looking up at the building, noting the battered, rainstained door, the high windows, some with broken glass, glittering with reflections of the climbing moons.

The dogs went quiet with a yelp, as if he�d ordered them to.

Raffi stood behind him. The stillness of the place made him wary. The woods were infected by its gloom; the house had eyes inside, and for a second he looked through them, seeing himself and Galen and Majella from some high place.

�Come around the back,� the woman said, climbing down awkwardly.

But when Galen turned, her face went suddenly still because there was something changed about him, some power that crackled in the air; his face was gaunt and his eyes dark in the shadows.

�I know,� he said.

Barely breathing she mumbled, �Keeper?�

He stepped toward her. Now he was the Crow, the dark energies moving in blue sparks through his fingers. �I know. The Makers have told me. The very trees have told me. Do you believe you could really hide this from me?�

The woman gasped. For a moment Raffi thought she would kneel down in the mud, her fingers making the half-forgotten signs of honor. But then she looked up boldly, her face set.

�You�re right. I should have told you.�

�Told us what?� Raffi blurted out. He couldn�t bear it. �Is this a trap? Are the Watch here?�

Galen grinned sourly. �In a manner of speaking. What she hasn�t told us is that this is the house of a Watchman. Her son�s house. Isn�t that so?�

She nodded bleakly.

Raffi was aghast. �We�ve got to get out!�

To his horror Galen just laughed. �Oh, I don�t think so. I don�t think he even knows.�

�He doesn�t.� She looked up at him, her small eyes measuring his anger. �He�d have us all killed if he found out.�

�Your own son!� Raffi couldn�t believe it.

�My own son.� Watching Galen she said, �The keeper knows. He knows we don�t stop loving our children, however they turn out. Yes, my son is a Watchman. He wasn�t taken as a child; he joined them of his own will. He enjoys power. He hates the Order. You�ve even seen him, lad. He was the one who searched you back at the checkpoint.�

Raffi�s chest was tight with fear. �We have to go. He�ll recognize me!�

But Galen was watching the woman, his face unreadable. Finally he asked, �Will he come here?�

�Unlikely. Not while the fair is on. He�ll want to see the hangings.�

Galen nodded. �Then listen to me. Tonight, if I can, I will break your house of its spell. But in return, if I survive, I want your help. Your son has a spare uniform, insignia, papers. I want them.�

�What!� Raffi grasped the keeper�s arm. �Why?�

Galen shook him off ferociously. �Because if we do nothing, there are ten people who�ll hang on those gallows. And one of them is a keeper. I intend to get him out.�

Chilled, Raffi stared at him in despair.

And instantly, from behind them in the house, an eerie, throaty cry rose up, as if it were his own fear given voice, an echoing howl from some creature trapped in unendurable darkness and pain, so terrifying that Raffi�s hands went cold and all his sense-lines stirred in a web of dizzying sickness.

It lasted long seconds. When it had ebbed, all three of them were still, shadows among shadows.

Then the woman nodded, white-faced.

�All right,� she said. �Anything.�

THE ROOM WAS VERY DARK. Galen would have only one lamp, and that was standing in the middle of the floor. Its yellow glow threw a great shadow over the keeper�s shoulder, edging his face with slants of light. Around it he was arranging the awen-beads, seven circles of green and jet, a peculiar formation new to Raffi.

Squeezed into the corner, his back against the dusty paneling, Raffi sat hugging his knees, then laid his forehead on them wearily.

The woman had fed them. A good meal�soup, mutton, and cheese, the best he�d had since they left Sarres, and despite his worry he had been hungry for it. She�d cooked it in the old kitchen below, where broken spits hung askew under the vast sooty throats of the chimneys, and she�d waited while they�d eaten it. But even Raffi had sensed the stifled fear in her, heard the small, impatient creaks her chair had made. She was desperate to get out.

At last Galen had cut a slice of cheese with deliberate care and said, �When you go, lock the doors from the outside. Whatever sounds you hear, whatever strange sights you may see, you stay away. Neither you nor anyone else is to come back to this house until full daylight. Do you understand that?�

Relieved, she had nodded, but at the door had turned and said, hesitating, �I could take the boy with me. Is it right to put the boy in danger?�

Galen hadn�t even looked up. �The boy is a scholar of the Order. How else will he learn?�

When she�d gone, they�d come up here, to the highest rooms; Galen had taken his time choosing this one. Raffi broke mud-clots off his boots nervously. He wished he were back on Sarres, or anywhere, even at the fair. At least that had been out in the open; he could breathe or run. Here he felt as if the ancient house was stifling him, all its shutters tight, the carpet of dust, the webs, the mildewed walls. It was quiet, all the sense-lines were still, but there was something wrong with them, bizarrely wrong�they were warped, as if something else was here inside them, bulging them out.

He wondered if Galen could feel it too.

Now the Relic Master sat back on his heels, the hook of his nose shadowed. Without looking at Raffi he said, �You knew a keeper was among the prisoners, didn�t you?�

Raffi clenched his fists. He�d been waiting for this.

�I heard something,� he muttered.

�And you didn�t tell me.�

�I thought you�d have heard it too.�

Galen glared at him. �And if I hadn�t? You�d have waited till they were dead, would you, before you cared to mention it?�

Raffi looked away, hot.

�For Flain�s sake, Raffi, when will you learn to have faith!� Galen�s fury was always sudden, an explosion of temper. �All the study you�ve done, all the things you�ve seen! Can�t you understand yet that the Makers are guiding us? We weren�t called to this place by accident! It�s not coincidence that one of the few keepers left alive is one of their prisoners. This is Flain�s will, as clearly as if he appeared and told us �Rescue them!�

He tugged the dirty string out of his hair angrily. �And you try and ignore it!�

�Because I never know what you�ll do,� Raffi said despairingly.

Galen laughed, scornful. �Rubbish. You know very well. And that�s what scares you.�

He rubbed a dusty hand through his hair, scattering the remnants of ash. Raffi was silent. He knew it was true. Bitter shame broke out in him. �Perhaps I�m not fit to be a keeper,� he snapped, his face hot.

Galen snorted. �That�s for me to say. I haven�t wasted all this time on you for nothing. You�ll be a keeper if I have to beat it into you. Now pick up that lamp. We need to look at this house.�

Raffi scrambled up and snatched the lamp. He wanted to march out with it boldly, down the stairs, into all the dark corridors, flinging open the doors, as fearless as Carys would have been. But he knew he�d falter at the first corner. In some ways learning the powers of the Order, sensing Maker-life in the land, the energy fields of people�s dreams, of trees and stones and creatures, just made things worse. Carys couldn�t feel all that. Perhaps that was why it was easy for her not to be scared.

Though Galen never was either.

As the keeper walked out onto the dark landing, Raffi followed him close. Together they looked over the banister, seeing the vast stairwell curl down into blackness, its walls stained with slow-growing lichens and the velvety mounds of mold that spread like vivid green stars.

Below, in the emptiness, nothing moved.

They could hear water dripping. Then a shutter banged. The house seemed immense, a labyrinth of rooms and courtyards and sculleries, buried in drifts of dust and memories, its timbers worm-gnawed and decaying. Raffi sent delicate sense-lines into it, infiltrating the whole tilted structure, scaring the slender-legged harvestmen that scuttled from its ceilings. Two floors below, a rat sneaked from a sooty hearth into a hole. The farther down his third eye searched, the uneasier it made him. Just as he was getting dizzy Galen said, �Stay close. Keep the lines out.�

They went down, step after step. The lamp sent vast wobbling shadows up the walls. On each floor, Galen walked stealthily along the corridors, opening doors, gazing into chambers that were empty but for a fireplace and high windows, mostly patched and shuttered. But outside a room on the first floor he paused, his fingers on the handle. Raffi felt it too, the faintest shiver of Maker-power. Galen glanced at him.

Then he went in.

The room was black. In the doorway, Raffi held up the lamp.

To his astonishment a small circle of flowers lay on the bare boards. There was nothing else. No one stood in the shadowed corners, though as he moved the lamp, vast darknesses flickered and jerked.

After a second, Galen went and kneeled over the garland, Raffi close behind, glad to shut the door.

The flowers were yellow; they were the sort known as Flainscrown, as bright and fresh as if they�d just been picked. Raffi stared in amazement. �Where did they come from? It�s winter!�

Galen turned a frail stem in his fingers. �They�ve been put here in the last few minutes.�

Rooms below, something slammed. Raffi froze, listening so intently it hurt. Then he whispered, �What if it gets upstairs?�

�That�s what I want. The awen-beads will draw it to the top room . . . Haven�t I taught you the spiral yet?�

Raffi shook his head.

Oddly stiff, Galen�s voice said, �Shine that light back here.�

The Flainscrown was withering. Even as they watched, the leaves dried up, the petals turned brown and flaked into dust. Galen held nothing but a dry stem. He snapped it thoughtfully.

�What does it mean?�

The keeper gave him a sidelong look. �I don�t know. Yet.� Outside, Galen turned left, but as Raffi closed the door his eyes caught a scuttle of movement on the stair.

�There! Look!�

The lamp shook, sending shadows flying. Galen grabbed his shoulder fiercely. �For God�s sake, keep quiet!�

Around them the house rang with the cry, agitated, like a still pool broken by a stone. All the ends of Raffi�s nerves quivered; he felt cold, instantly cold.

After a moment Galen said, �What was it?�

�A . . . small thing.� Raffi gripped the warm handle of the lamp with both hands to steady it. �It . . . crept.�

�A rat?�

�Bigger.� His heart was thudding like a pain. Galen didn�t move, as if part of him was reaching out, sensing. Then he said, �It�s coming. We�d better get back up there.�

Quietly they ran up the broad wooden staircase, and all the way Raffi felt the stirring in the house, the slow gathering of something far below, its energies twisting up the smooth balustrades, the invisible carved cornices high above his head.

In the top room Galen propped the door open, snatched the lamp, and put it in the center of the beads, its light opening a complex net of seven spirals, jet and green, small emerald sparks glinting in the dark. He pulled Raffi close, inside the pattern, and the raw tension of the Crow scorched, so that Raffi jerked away, breathless.

�Keep still!� Galen hissed.

Far below, something was coming. They couldn�t hear it but they could feel it; a pulsing energy, unformed yet, gathering itself out of cellars and deep courses of brickwork. It rose up along passageways, through halls, all the time knitting together, clotting into a swirling flux that crowded Raffi�s sense-lines so that he could barely breathe, and had to crouch down over the sharp stitch in his side.

Closer. Now the whole house creaked with it, as if it drew itself in filaments of darkness out of all the wooden stairs and warped doors, ran in trickles down the damp walls. And it breathed; he could hear its breathing, and its footsteps as it climbed. Staring in dread at the black rectangle of the open door he clutched his coat in tight fistfuls, feeling Galen draw himself up beside him.

The keeper was intent. A soft, rich scent filled the room, the muskiness of decay.

Then, in the doorway, a shape moved. Raffi saw it through the glow of the awen-spiral, a presence lurking out there in the dark.

�Closer,� Galen said. �Come closer.�

Slow, reluctant, it slid into the room, huge and dark, all the desolation of the house held in a loose human outline, featureless and blurred, as if it might break down at any time, might flood out.

Galen held his hand up. �Enough.�

It stopped.

Shivering, Raffi pulled back, shook off sense-lines. He didn�t want to feel it; the stink of it in his nostrils sickened him.

�Why are you still here?� Galen asked softly.

The outline blurred. A gap like a mouth opened in the smooth face. �This is unfair,� it hissed. Its voice was hoarse and crude; a patchwork of echoes and creaks and overheard whispers. �I wanted to go. He awakened me.�

�Who awakened you?�

�He did.�

�Do you want to be at peace?�

�Let me. Let me go. Into the dark.�

It squirmed, its outline breaking down, the body running and dissolving suddenly into a black pool, trickling and spreading over the floor to the very edge of the spiral. Small black fingers touched the beads and jerked back.

�In the name of Flain,� Galen said quietly, �I dissolve you and absolve you. In the names of Soren and Tamar I release the pain from you . . .�

The pool bubbled. Out of it rose a great mass of tentacles that soared and groped high over their heads. Raffi ducked with a yelp of fear but Galen�s voice went on, relentless. �In the name of Theriss I draw out your dark dreams. In the name of Halen I unfasten you, atom by atom. And in the name of Kest��

The creature screamed. It slithered itself up into manshape and howled, arms overhead, bending and swaying as if in agony. The beads crackled and spat. Galen glanced at them anxiously.

�Not that name!� The voice broke into hisses of static, barely understandable. �Not him! He started it! The terror, the decay!� It squirmed into separate flames of blackness, wordless moans, then hurled itself forward at them, hands out.

Raffi leaped back; Galen lashed out and grabbed him.

�Still!� he snarled.

The awen-beads sparked. Smoke filled the room, blurring the light. The creature impacted on the invisible barrier and spread like a blot. It swarmed around them, hung over their heads, a black mass of despair. Raffi could feel its agony like a weight. He was dizzy, his chest ached.

�Let me finish!� Galen said.

�No! Not that name!�

�The Litany . . .�

�You must do it,� the voice howled. �I know who you are. I know the Crow. Let me go to them through you!�

Astounded, Raffi turned. The voice was everywhere�in his head, filling his veins. Back to back with Galen they were both swallowed in blackness, the lamplight gone as if some great beast had devoured it.

�It�s too dangerous,� Galen muttered.

�Please! Trust me!� It squirmed piteously. �I have been evil, done evil. Let me have peace, keeper.�

Galen cursed bitterly. Then he dropped Raffi�s arm. In the darkness his face was gaunt, eyes black. �Stay in the spiral,� he hissed.

�Galen!�

It was useless. The keeper pushed him aside and stepped over the beads, into blackness.

Without light it could not exist.

Litany of the Makers

Guidance of Executioners

THE QUENTA FOREST was said to stretch for miles, but only after a few minutes the tangle of vast trunks became impassable. Branches knotted together, split and interlaced. There was no way through. Paths led in circles back to the lake.

The fugitives ran till they were breathless, then crouched against the bole of a king-quenta, the man called Marco clutching his shoulder in agony.

�How far have we gone?� Raffi gasped.

�Not far enough.� Galen threw down the crossbow, dragged the black gloves off, and hurled them angrily into the knotted darkness. �We need to speak to the trees. Get them to let us through.�

He turned quickly to Solon. �Will you do that?�

The older man stared back, his face calm, his blue eyes shrewd and deep. �I would be able to, if I were one of the Order.�

�There�s no time for that,� Galen snapped. �I know you are.�

�Do you?�

�So am I. You can feel that, can�t you?�

Solon�s stare was even. Then to Raffi�s horror he said, �No. What I sense about you is strange and utterly dark. Not like any keeper I may ever have met. I�m sorry,� he said, half turning. �I can�t take the risk.�

What he did Raffi barely saw. There was a crack of light. Galen staggered back with a gasp of pain. Then he was down, crumpled against the tree roots. Still.

�Galen?� Raffi whispered.

A rustle made him turn. The bald man, Marco, had the crossbow. Painfully he aimed it at Galen�s head.

�NO!�

Raffi ran forward, right in front of the tense bolt.

�How can you do this?� he yelled, wild with fury. �We got you out of there! We helped you to escape!�

�The ice cracked. And we ran,� Solon said.

�But Galen did that! He cracked the ice!�

�I�m not a fool, my son,� the man said mildly. �No keeper, not even the most learned, could do that on his own. He�s part of some Watchplan. For all I know, so are you.�

�I�m his scholar!�

�I�m sure you are. Keep the other one covered, Marco.� Briskly, almost kindly, he came and tied up Raffi�s hands and feet with the ends of rope, then with a strip torn from his shirt gagged him gently and pushed him over. Raffi sat down hard next to Galen.

Solon crouched. �I�ve been a prisoner of the Watch for a long time,� he said, his voice strangely quiet. �I�m never going back alive. You might be spies�I can�t take the risk. You may also be what you say. If so, I pray to Flain to forgive me. And that they don�t find you.� Turning, he said, �Come on.�

He took the bald man�s arm over his shoulder, sagging a little with the weight. �You should leave the bow.�

Marco grinned. �Good try, Your Holiness. Maybe later.� He clutched it tight, like a crutch.

Then they were gone, lost in the tangle of quenta trees like shadows, the only sound a rustle and a cracked twig.

Raffi kicked and struggled. Furiously he squirmed around onto his side and nudged Galen with his tied feet, then shoved harder, trying to call the keeper�s name. Only stupid muffled sounds came out.

Far off, where the lake must be, a razorhound howled. Another answered it. Galen didn�t move. Raffi tugged his wrists frantically, feeling the tight bonds scorch his skin. Then, deliberately, he lay still and opened his third eye.

He was tired and scared, and it was an effort. But after two minutes� forced concentration he managed to make a small circle of light and let his mind crawl through it, into a room. Dimly he recognized it, the lamp, the bare, dusty floorboards. Galen lay here, crumpled and still, one arm flung out. But now there were flowers scattered on him, over his back and hair and all around him, the fresh strange yellow flowers of Flainscrown. Raffi brushed them off hastily, grabbing the keeper�s shoulder.

�Galen!� he said. �Wake up!�

Galen�s eyes snapped open. He rolled over, looked around at the room and the flowers, picked one up. �These again?� he muttered.

And suddenly they were back in the quenta forest, and in his fingers there was only a shriveled leaf.

�Raffi!� Instantly the keeper was on his feet. He rolled Raffi over, whipped off the gag, and fumbled for a knife. �What happened?�

�Solon. He used the Third Action. Thinks we�re Watch.� Raffi wriggled out of the ropes hurriedly. �They can�t have gone far. Are we going after them?�

�Of course we are!� Galen�s eyes were black with annoyance. �He�s a keeper! We need him!�

�But if he won�t believe us . . .�

�I�ll make him.� Galen hauled him up roughly and grabbed the pack. �Go on! Quickly!�

They hurried, following broken leaves, branches. There was no need for anything more; the trail was only too obvious. Behind them the razorhounds snarled and spat, answering each other across the lake, always closer.

Galen burst through a hanging curtain of leaves, Raffi breathless behind. The keeper stopped dead; peering past him, Raffi saw why.

Solon was kneeling, deep in the leaves. He wasn�t touching the tree, but they could feel his contact with it, his struggle to reach its deep intelligence.

Galen stepped forward. To his left, a crossbow swiveled up.

�My God, you�re persistent!� Marco muttered.

�He needs me to help him. Or none of us will get out of this.� Without moving from where he stood, Galen sent sudden sense-lines of energy flickering between the trees, their power raw and sharp. Instantly Solon glanced back. He looked amazed, then afraid.

�Who are you?� he breathed.

But Galen spoke to the forest. �Let us through,� he said quietly. �Make a way and close it after us. The men behind us are despoilers, burners of trees. We need to escape from them. Will you do this for us?�

Like the stirring of many leaves the forest answered him, its voice rustling and multifold. It has been many years.

�I know that. But you see who we are.�

We see. You are Soren�s Sons.

Raffi was surprised. It was a name for the Order rarely heard now, written only once or twice in very old books, like the Prophecies of Askelon.

Something dragged and slithered next to him, so that he turned in fear. Branches and leaves were drawing back. Beyond them was a dim green darkness.

We make a way for you, the wood whispered. Go through.

The hole led deep into the forest. It was a network of spaces, the knotted boughs easing apart, leaving gaps to scramble through and over; far in front of them Raffi could see it unfurling, a dim tunnel of branches. He went in front, pushing and climbing. Galen came next with Marco, Solon was last, and behind him with scarcely a sound the trees closed their mesh again, the giant branches sprouting and interlocking.

Down here the gloom was so deep nothing else grew, only pale toadstools and ghostly threads of fungus fingering up from the accumulated springy mattresses of a century�s dead leaves. Stumbling, Raffi remembered Galen once telling him that the quenta forest was supposed to be all one tree, a vast, sprawling entity. If that was the case, they were deep inside its body now, miles inside, the smooth green-lichened trunks rising above him into rustling canopies.

After what seemed an age Galen gasped, �All right, Raffi. This is enough.�

It was a small clearing, musty-smelling. When Raffi sat down he sank into leaves to his waist, dry and crumbling.

Galen, limping now, eased Marco down. The bald man still held the crossbow. Leaning over, one hand on a tree bole, Galen dragged in deep breaths. He looked haggard, as if his old leg wound ached, but his eyes were sharp with that reckless triumph Raffi knew only too well. When Solon caught up, they were all silent a while, recovering. Raffi lay on his back and listened to the forest, the cold wind making an endless whistling in the high leaves above him, though down here everything was still, as if it had never moved. Lichen grew thick on trunks and bark; hanging green beards of it, as if snow or wind never penetrated, never disturbed it. Only the slow drip of the rain would reach this place.

Slowly the terror died in him. They were safe here. No one else might ever have come this far in, not since the Makers walked the world.

Solon must have thought so too. He sat down wearily and looked up at Galen, rubbing one hand through his smooth silver hair. �It seems we have much to thank you for.� Then he stood up abruptly and held out his hand.

Galen took it, their fingers tight in the sign of Meeting.

�Another keeper,� Solon breathed. �I hardly believed there were any left!�

�A few.�

�Flainsteeth,� Marco muttered. �More fanatics.�

Solon smiled at him. �Excuse my friend. He is something of an unbeliever. But still I have to say I don�t understand how you could do all this.�

Galen looked at him sidelong. �When we get to Sarres, I�ll explain everything. Not before. We may still be captured.�

�Sarres!� Solon�s eyes went wide with intense curiosity.

�Sarres is a lost place! A place in legend!�

Galen smiled a wolfish smile. �That�s what you think,� he said.

Mardoc�s Ring

CARYS PUT THREE CARDS DOWN carefully. �Crescent,� she muttered.

Sitting cross-legged opposite her on the grass the Sekoi smiled. Its seven fingers plucked out an Emperor and pushed it carelessly into the last gap in the ring.

�Circle,� it said smugly.

Carys swore. �You can�t have!�

�I have.� The creature smirked, its yellow eyes bright. With both hands it gathered the great pile of withered chestnuts toward itself. �So all these are mine. I make that four thousand gold marks exactly that you owe me.�

Disgusted, Carys flung the cards down. �You were cheating. You had to be cheating!�

�Prove it.�

�You deal too fast.�

�Skill,� the creature said, crunching one of the nuts.

�And these.� It waved its fingers at her.

Carys leaned back against the calarna tree, folding her arms. �You know you�ll never see the money.�

�I live in hope. But I would have thought that a Watchspy would have been able to teach me a few tricks in card-sharping. What do you people do in your time off?�

�There isn�t any.� Carys brushed the blown hair from her eyes irritably. She didn�t want to think about the Watch, let alone discuss it. But she said, �And I�m not a Watchspy. Not anymore.�

�Ah.� The Sekoi looked over the smooth lawns of Sarres to the house, and the strange green hill beyond. Geese wandered under the trees, pecking at grass. �My people have a saying. �Darkness is a stain that will not wash away.��

Carys�s eyes went hard. �Meaning?�

Idly it stroked the tribemark on its furred face. When it looked at her again its eyes were sly. �I think you know I�ve never been quite sure of you, Carys,� it said quietly.

She laughed bitterly. �Only too well. What do I have to do to convince you? Isn�t it enough to be on every death-list for miles?�

The Sekoi lounged elegantly on the grass. �Ah, but I know the Watch. Anyone can be on a list. Anyone can seem to be an outlaw, and still be working undercover.�

�Galen trusts me. And Galen��

�Is the Crow. I know. He is also a man wholly possessed by his faith. Sometimes I think that makes him blind to danger. Certain dangers.�

They looked at each other in silence, Carys hot with annoyance. In the stillness the birdsong seemed louder. The endless ripple of the hidden spring, Artelan�s Well itself, bubbled from under the yew trees.

When she spoke again her voice was spiteful. �Time will tell.�

The Sekoi closed its eyes against the sun. �Indeed. I will be watching.�

�So will I, Graycat. Because the Sekoi would sell their only sons for a bent button. That�s an old saying too.�

As it opened one eye and stared at her, surprised, the door of the house flew open and Felnia ran out, racing wildly over the grass, her short hair flying. She flung her arms wide.

�They�re coming! The Guardian says they�re coming!�

Carys scrambled up, the Sekoi tall beside her. �Now?�

�Soon. Any time!� The little girl was breathless with delight, her face somehow smeared with soil from the gardens. Behind her the Guardian, Tallis, came slowly, in her old-woman shape, wiping her hands on her dress. She looked uneasy, her face tense with worry. �They�re not alone,� she said as she came up.

Instantly Carys was wary. �Who�s with them?�

�I don�t know. More than one.�

The Sekoi flicked her a glance. �We should be ready in case . . .�

�I�ll get my bow. You go to the causeway.�

Hurtling into the house and into the small room of sweet-smelling wood that was hers now, she rummaged in the corner chest anxiously. The bow had been in here since she came; there was no need for weapons on Sarres. But her Watchtraining was always sharp in her, so she�d kept it oiled and clean. Grabbing a handful of bolts, she racked the mechanism back and jammed one in.

It might be all right. Galen might have found some more of the Order. But all the time she knew only too well what else could have happened. The Watch had expert interrogators. They used pain relentlessly. There were no secrets left after the rack, after being hung by the wrists, and as much as she loved Raffi, she knew that he would never stand up against that.

Ferociously she pushed the thought away, ran down and out into the spring warmth of Sarres. At the edge of the lawn she raced through the trees and found the others waiting, the Sekoi firmly gripping Felnia�s hand tight in its seven-fingered fist.

Before them stretched what seemed to be unbroken grass, but they knew this was illusion, the Maker-power that protected the sacred island. Beyond it a wicker causeway led through the marsh back to the Finished Lands, receding now each year. As she listened she heard a splash, faint voices.

�Whoever they are, say nothing in front of them about what�s happened,� Tallis said quietly. �We can tell Galen and Raffi later. Understand, Felnia?�

The little girl nodded, impatient, her eyes fixed on the drifting mist.

It swirled open.

A faint smell came through, of woods and stagnant water, and a gust of icy wind that made Carys shiver.

She raised the bow.

Raffi was first. His face was almost hidden under a knotted rag of scarf, but he pulled it away with a whoop of delight and breathed deep, tasting the sweet air of the island. Then he grinned up at them. �Don�t shoot. It�s only us.�

�Not only you.� Carys paced forward warily. �Who else?�

�Friends. A keeper!� He crouched and opened his arms, and Felnia broke the Sekoi�s grip and came running, flinging her arms around him, then punching and pummeling him until he fell over.

�Did you bring me anything from the fair? You said you would.�

�I doubt they had the chance,� Carys said drily.

She was disturbed by the change in him. After only three weeks outside he was tired and filthy and strained. The strain of long fear.

Then she looked behind him.

A man had come out of the mist, a stranger. His smooth hair was silver, matted with dirt. Around his eyes was tied a rag of scarf, so if Raffi had not turned to help him he would have stumbled, but then he straightened and stood still, stock-still, and she knew by the alert lift of his head he was using the things Raffi called sense-lines, feeling the warm grass, the fresh leaves on the trees.

�Incredible,� he breathed.

�Where�s Galen?� Carys asked.

�Here.� The keeper shouldered out of the fog, dark and hook-nosed. With both hands he supported another man, bald, also blindfolded, clearly on the point of collapse. The Sekoi ran to him instantly, Tallis hurrying behind.

Carys stayed where she was, the bow unwavering.

With a gasp and a moan through gritted teeth, the bald man was gently lowered to the grass. He too had a crossbow, strapped to his back. Watch issue. Tallis kneeled beside him and tugged the blindfold off. He stared up at her in surprise.

Quickly she felt his arms and shoulders. �This man has been beaten.�

Galen straightened, stiff and sore. �That�s how the Watch treat their prisoners, Guardian.� He looked around, his dark eyes moving gratefully over the trees and smooth lawns as if the beauty and order of it healed some deep inner hunger. �It�s been a nightmare journey,� he muttered.

The Sekoi glanced up. �Watch?�

�Everywhere. They know about the Crow.�

Then he saw Carys and smiled his rare grim smile. �Not forgiven me yet?�

�Are you all right?� She lowered the bow and came down slowly.

�We are now. And these are friends.�

�Are you sure?�

His smile faded and for a moment she caught that edge of strangeness that came and went in him, the darkness of the Crow. �As I can be. This is Solon.�

He limped over and undid the blindfold gently, then took it away.

Carys saw how the man stiffened. He had a wise, experienced face under the dirt and bruises, lit up now with a sudden deep joy. He turned slowly, staring at the hill, the gardens, the house. �Dear God,� he kept saying. �Dear God.�

�Welcome to the lost land of Sarres,� Galen said. �Now I think we should get Marco inside.�

But Solon�s hands shook; he clasped them tightly together. �All my life,� he breathed, �I�ve dreamed and prayed for this.�

He looked at Raffi in a kind of daze. �Is it real?�

Raffi grinned back wearily. �It�s real.�

How much of a nightmare the journey had been Carys could only guess. Raffi was too tired to talk; after he�d eaten, he fell asleep at the table, with Felnia leaning up against him. The man called Marco slept too, after the Guardian had given him some cordial. But Solon seemed too excited to be able to rest. He asked for some water, and when he came back later they could see that he had washed from head to toe; the skin on his arms and face was red, as if he had scrubbed and scrubbed. He wore clean clothes Tallis had brought for him. He went out, and from the window Carys watched him as the evening darkened and Agramon rose, wandering and touching and exploring until the lawns and lanes were dim and owls and were-birds called from the woods beyond. Then Galen and Tallis went out to him, taking candles.

They placed them on the grass and made him sit down, around the glow.

Above the trickle of the well she heard the three keepers chant the Night prayer, the strange Maker-syllables murmured under the ring of rising moons.

The Sekoi�s shadow loomed at her shoulder.

�When should we tell him?� she muttered.

The creature made a small mew of unhappiness in its throat. �Tomorrow. Let them have one night in peace.

�I�M THE STRANGER,� Solon said quietly. �So I feel I should speak first.�

They sat around the table in the great wooden room. From the garden the sun streamed in, lighting the tall images of Flain and Soren and Theriss in the colored glass of the windows. One shimmer lit Solon�s hands and bony wrists, showing clearly the long, twisted scars.

�The choice is yours,� Tallis said to him kindly. �No one expects it of you.� Her shape had changed. Now she was a young woman, her long red hair plaited. He smiled at her.

�Yes, but I expect it. It will be a relief, in any case, to be able to speak freely after so long.� Looking around at their faces, he breathed out and said, �My friends, my full name is Solon Karner. I have been a Relic Master of the Order for over thirty years now. My master was Caradan Sheer of Tasceron. When I was very young, even before the Emperor fell, I studied with her at the Shrine of the Shells at Ranor.�

�The shrine!� Galen looked impressed. �Were you there when it was burned?�

Solon�s face went bleak. �I was seventeen.� He paused, fingering a bruise on his face. �I remember the columns of the Watch riding up the hill to us, the running, the panic, books being snatched up, relics hidden. But there were so many relics there, how could we save them all? The beautiful gifts the Makers had left�precious things, never to be made again in all the ages of the world! I saw the Watch sear them with torches, rip down statues and smash them. None of us could believe they were doing this. I saw keepers fixed by crossbow bolts to the walls of their own shrine, heard their screams, saw the Makers� faces and hands hacked out and trampled. I saw such things there, my friends, that I prayed to God all my life for the power to forget them.�

They were silent. Carys flicked a glance at Raffi, but he was looking desolately down at the table, away from her. Galen�s face was set. In the next room, very faintly, they could hear Felnia chattering to Marco.

Solon took a deep breath. �It is so hard to forgive, Galen. Caradan was killed there. I had already made the Deep Journey, and I escaped. Sometimes that too is hard to forgive.�

�The Makers needed you,� Galen said gruffly.

�They did, my son.� He gazed over at the bright glass image of Flain, standing with his hands out in the Field of Gold. �And yet I have sometimes wondered why they let me live. I am not greatly learned, not . . .� He smiled and shook his head. �Well. Enough of that. For years I worked alone, among the people. I gathered relics, prayed the Litany, fought the evils of Kest. I made copies of all the books I could remember, beautiful copies too, brilliantly colored, when I could beg the paper or make my own.�

�What did you do with them?� the Sekoi asked curiously.

�The books? Gave them away, my friend. Many people hunger for knowledge of the Makers, now that the Watch have forbidden it. So much has been lost, so much destroyed.�

The Sekoi nodded, but Carys noticed its baffled glance and almost grinned. �Where did you live?� she asked.

Solon looked at her. �In many places. It wasn�t safe to stay anywhere long. Villages up in the Mara Kush, mostly, where people would hide me. I taught the children, held the feasts, worked with the trees and the land where such energies could still be reached. But relics were few and the Watch stronger every year. Also, Kest�s work is growing. The Unfinished Lands spread; there are many famines and diseases. I helped at outbreaks of these. Once or twice, I was given the privilege of Healing.�

Tallis looked at him closely. �That�s a high gift, keeper. You say you made the Deep Journey. May I ask what branch of learning you reached?�

Solon shrugged. He seemed a little reluctant. After a moment he said, �The twelfth.�

It obviously meant something. Raffi looked awestruck and Galen sat back, gazing at the keeper with dark eyes. �That was a great achievement,� he said, �for a man who is no scholar.�

�My son, the Makers give. The achievement is theirs.� Solon glanced sadly down at his scarred hands. �It was because of the Healing that I met Mardoc.�

Carys jumped. Galen sat upright in excitement, his face edged with the reflected colors. �Mardoc the Eighth? The last Archkeeper!�

�The same.�

�Where?�

�In a village not far from Tasceron, two days after the fall of the city.�

They waited. He seemed unwilling to go on, as if the memory were a devastating one.

�Mardoc was hurt?� Tallis asked gently. �It is said he was carried from the city, after the great explosion.�

�Yes. He was hurt. I thought that was why they sent for me.� Rubbing his face with the edge of his hand he tried to keep his voice even. �It was a terrible night, there was deep snow. The Archkeeper lay in a ruined barn, out on the hills, in great agony. Only two scholars were with him. A villager fetched me, then fled. The Watch were everywhere, searching the farms, the villages, closing all the roads. The smoke of the Wounded City could be seen for miles; the terrible stench, the broken lines of power.� He smiled wanly. �Mardoc knew the Watch would find him within the hour. One leg was shattered; he could go no farther. He ordered me to leave him and to take the two boys with me. He made me swear by the Book that I would take them and not look back.�

He put his scarred fingers together, folding them tight. When he went on his voice was hoarse. �We prayed together. I offered him something for the pain, but he refused it. He wanted his mind clear. We both knew that he would be tortured without mercy.�

�Then you should have killed him,� Carys said.

Solon looked up at her in horror.

�Did he explain,� the Sekoi put in hurriedly, �about what had happened in the city? About what had caused the great Darkness?�

�He said things. Meaningless phrases. Something about the fires, and Kest. He mentioned the Coronet of Flain.�

�What?�

Galen and Tallis said it together, and their eyes met in surprise.

Solon was too absorbed in his memories to notice. �He was such a small man, gray and shrunken and old. But he had no fear, Galen, not even then. And he said to me�he put his hand on my shoulder and sent the boys outside and whispered to me�that the Order must go on, even if there was only one keeper left alive.�

He looked up, eyes wet. �I have never told this to anyone, my friends. But this is Sarres, and now seems the time to make it known. Before I left him, Mardoc made me the next Archkeeper. He gave me the ring and prayed the words of Succession hastily over me while I kneeled in the muck, unworthy as I was. The Watch say the last Archkeeper is dead, but only I have known, all these years, that they are wrong. Because I am here. Solon the First.�

There was utter silence.

Then Galen stood up. He went around the table; Solon rose to meet him. For a second they were still, until Galen kneeled, and Solon, hesitating, put his hands around the keeper�s lifted hands, and said the words of Blessing; strange, meaningless sounds to Carys, but to Raffi syllables of power.

And around the linked hands they saw it form, the Ring of the Archkeeper, one of the Order�s most ancient relics, long thought lost. It was blue, fine as steel, and it rippled and ran as if it were a line of raw energy around the two men�s wrists and fingers; even as they stared at it Solon�s skin absorbed it again and it was gone, as if it had never been.

The Sekoi stood reverently.

Tallis had caught Raffi�s hand and they kneeled too, and Carys stood up awkwardly, because she didn�t know what else to do. She had rarely seen Galen so moved; for a long time he kept his head bowed as if unable to speak, and when he did his voice was raw with emotion.

�You should have told me.� He looked up, his gaunt face keen with joy. �On the way here. You should have told me.�

�I know.� Solon lowered his hands. �Sit down, my friends. Please. Raffi, Tallis, please.�

He seemed embarrassed. And yet the authority he claimed showed through; he was calm and could even smile now. �I can�t say how relieved I am to have told someone. Such a secret is a great weight. But it must go no further, and must make no difference here. I was only chosen because there was no one else.�

�You know the Makers act for a reason.� Galen stood slowly, easing his stiff leg. �You are the rightful leader of the Order.�

�Ah, but who knows how many are left?�

�How did you stay free?� Raffi blurted out. �How did you escape the Watch?� He was fascinated, Carys knew. His eyes shone as if he were hearing an old story come to life; she could feel the excitement in him.

Solon shook his head. �We left Mardoc. I�ll never forget looking back from the hills and seeing the black figures of the Watchguard that surrounded that place. Nor how they dragged him out . . .� He glanced again at Flain�s window, as if for help. �But he had outwitted them even at the end, and though he went to the torture, they say the Watch has never found the House of Trees. One old man defied them. I pray his sufferings were short.�

The House of Trees. Carys wondered what he�d say when he knew they�d been there. That she�d been there.

In the stillness the fire crackled. A leaf-scutter rummaged in the beech tree outside the window. Felnia put her head around the door. �Marco�s thirsty. Can I get him some ale?�

Tallis turned quickly. �Yes. Open a new flask. And Felnia!�

The little girl came back. �What?�

�Stop listening at the door.�

Carys grinned. Felnia stuck her tongue out and vanished.

Solon looked nervous. �Will she tell Marco?�

�No. She�s . . . been trained to keep secrets.�

He nodded absently. �I must finish my story. I�ll be brief. For years after Mardoc�s death I eluded capture somehow. One of my scholars died�my dear Jeros, shot by a Watchpatrol as we fled through a town at night. We had to leave his body lying there in the dirt, without even a blessing. The other . . . he lost faith. He renounced the Makers. That was an even more bitter blow.� He cleared his throat. �Finally, last year, I was caught, digging a relic up from some farmland. The farmer had his house burned and went to the mines. I was . . . interrogated.�

He sat very still. Carys bit her lip and looked at Galen, who stood up and stalked to the window, looking out.

�Where did they take you?� she asked.

�A Watchtower.�

�Number?�

�I�m not sure. Forty-five? At Feas Hill. A black, bitter place. I had no idea there were such places.�

�What was the castellan�s name?

�Timon. I think it was Timon.�

Galen half turned and glared at her. She sat back.

�I don�t know how long it lasted.� Solon�s long fingers rubbed the scars on his wrists; Carys knew he would have more, all over his body. �A stinking cell, endless beatings, torments. They have worms of Kest that devour flesh, burrow into the skin . . .�

His voice broke.

Tallis reached out and took his hand, and he smiled at her. After a moment he struggled on.

�All the brutality you have heard of the Watch, my children, all of it is true. I heard men tortured in other cells around me, screaming to die. And I was no hero. They broke me down soon enough. I would have told them anything they asked, because after a while there is only pain. The agony in your body fills all the world. I forgot the Order, but the Makers did not forget me. In one corner of my cell I scratched an image of Soren. No one else would have recognized it. In all the delirium and fear and darkness I sometimes thought she was there, speaking to me . . .�

Galen swung around. �And the Ring?�

�They never found that. As you know it cannot be seen or felt unless I wish it. I managed never to wish it.�

�You were lucky,� Carys said bluntly.

�I was. I knew so little that was of any use to them. I had seen no other keepers for years, knew no safe houses, no passwords, no networks of hiding places. In the end, I suppose they just grew tired of me. The Watch always have more prisoners to ill-treat. I was left alone for weeks. Then, one day, we were chained up and brought to Telman, to the Frost Fair, eleven of us. One died on the way. Marco and I were shackled together on the journey, the iron cutting into our legs. We became friends�unlikely friends, I admit, but then, we both fully expected to die, and I wanted to convert him. I thought I had accepted death. Until you came running up to me, Raffi, and the ice shattered. I still do not understand how that was done. But I thank Flain for his mercy.� He smiled gently at Tallis, drawing his fingers back. �And you, Guardian, for your peaceful island.�

She nodded, but from the window Galen said bleakly, �How much do you know about this Marco?� He turned, and they saw his face was dark. �Why were they holding him?�

�Ah.� Solon looked awkward. His fingers stroked his neck as if he felt for awen-beads that had been long lost. �Yes. Marco. He�s a good man, Galen. He tried to get free one night and they beat him with chains for it. He may not think quite like us, but . . .�

Galen came closer. He looked grim. �Archkeeper. What had he done?�

The older man smiled unhappily. �You won�t like it.�

�I can see that. Tell me.�

Solon scratched his cheek. Then he said, �It appears Marco went back on a business deal with them. He cheated them. I�m afraid he is�was�a dealer, Galen. He sold relics to the Watch.�

CARYS WINCED.

Galen exploded into rage. �He does what?�

�We must forgive him. He�s a good man.�

�A good man!� The keeper lashed a chair aside in fury. �Do you tell me we�ve brought such a man here! To Sarres! Half carried him for miles through wood and fen! Dear God, Solon, if I�d known, I�d have put the noose around his neck myself!�

�No, you wouldn�t,� the Archkeeper said mildly.

�You don�t know me,� Galen snarled. He strode across the room in wrath. �Men like that are the scum of the world. To steal the gifts of the Makers and sell them for scrap! And you say he�s your friend!�

�He is.� Solon stood up. �Come, Galen. We are here to help the fallen, even those who have sunk so low they believe in nothing. He needs us. He may not know it, but he does.�

Galen folded his arms, fighting for control. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke his voice was still acid with bitterness. �No wonder Mardoc chose you if you have kindness even for a wretch like this. I am not so perfect, Archkeeper.�

�You�ve had a hard struggle. We all have.� Solon came up to him hesitantly. �But he�s here now. And for my sake, Galen, let him stay.�

Galen looked at him in surprise. �You�re the leader here, not me.�

�I still ask you.�

A shrill giggle interrupted them. They looked through the window and saw Marco limp painfully across the lawns, Felnia running in front of him. He sat carefully on a stone seat and gazed around, legs stretched out.

�For your sake,� Galen said harshly. �But I pray he won�t steal all of Sarres before the end.�

�You blindfolded him,� Carys pointed out.

He glared at her. �So I did.�

�And now . . .� Solon sat down quickly, as if anxious to change the subject. �I have told my story, and someone, please, must tell me yours. I am eaten up with curiosity.� He looked around the table at them contentedly. �I mean, how did you all come here? And if this is truly the island of Artelan�s Dream, how is it uncorrupted? Above all��he turned to look at Galen, who was still staring darkly out the window��above all, keeper, how did you break the ice and speak to the trees with such strength? Because I have never seen the like of that in my life.�

Galen did not turn. He seemed too morose to speak. �We came together in Tasceron,� he said at last, heavy with irony.

�Tasceron!� Solon�s eyes lit. �You�ve been there? There was a strange rumor going around the cells, that the Crow had risen over Tasceron. Is it true? Did you see it?�

Raffi and Carys looked at Galen, who turned slowly.

�No,� he said.

The room went quiet. Carys saw at once that he wanted to keep the Crow a secret, and she thought he was wise. But Raffi was trying to hide his astonishment, and even the Sekoi�s yellow eyes widened a slit.

�We brought the girl here,� Galen said.

Solon looked at Carys.

�Not me,� she laughed. �Felnia.�

�The little one? But why?�

�Because she is the Interrex.� Galen came and sat down.

Solon stared. �The one spoken of in the Apocalypse? �Between the kings the Interrex shall come�? But the Emperor is dead . . .�

�She�s the Emperor�s granddaughter,� Raffi said quickly. He looked flurried; Carys wondered whether Galen had given him some mental signal to talk, to keep the conversation off the Crow.

�Are you sure?�

�Yes.� Raffi rubbed his nose distractedly. �It�s a long story. We found her in a Watchhouse.� He explained, while Carys watched Galen. The keeper looked grim, his black hair pushed back. Through the window he watched Marco, sitting, eyes closed in the warm sun. It must hurt, Carys thought. Galen burned to tell Solon, to tell the world, that the Crow had returned, and yet it still wasn�t safe. Though if it hadn�t been for that man outside, Solon would know, she was sure.

Raffi finished his story and Solon stared in solemn astonishment. Finally he said, �So that little minx out there is the ruler of Anara! But yes . . .� Excitedly he turned to Galen. �That must be right! In the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse, Tamar implies that the Crow and the Interrex are somehow linked! They come together. I remember reading various commentaries on it for my studies�the Apocalypse is one of the more enigmatic books, as you know.� He looked around. �My friends, this is a wonderful time we live in. Our next step is obvious. We have to find the Crow!�

Galen fingered the jet and green beads at his neck. He looked almost sick. He was about to speak when Tallis said calmly, �That may not be so. We have something to tell you that not even Galen knows.�

Carys glanced at the Sekoi. It was biting its thumbnail, and smiled back at her archly.

Tallis turned to Galen. �While you�ve been away, we�ve made progress with the console.�

�At last!�

�The console?� Solon murmured.

�A relic. Carys . . . brought it. From the Tower of Song.�

Solon�s eyebrows shot up. �How?�

�We�ll explain later.� Galen leaned across to Tallis, impatient. �What does it say? How much have you read?�

For answer she got up and crossed to a small chest of cedarwood that stood next to the hearth, and opened it. The fire had smoldered low; the Sekoi put some logs on, stirring up the blaze. Tallis came back.

Sitting down, she unwrapped a piece of black velvet and laid the console reverently on the smooth wood.

It was a small gray thing, made of Makers� material�not cold or warm, not metal or wood, a fabric unknown. Carys looked down at it, remembering the slimy stench of the worm she had fought off to get it. Small square buttons adorned it, each with a symbol. She had seen those many times in training, on relics studied in the Watchhouse, but not even the Order were sure what they meant anymore. Somewhere in the Tower of Song was the Gallery of Candlesticks, where thousands of clerks spent their lives making and breaking codes, but had never managed to decipher these.

Beside it Tallis laid some pieces of paper. Then she folded her fingers together and looked up.

�Galen and I had been trying to study this before he was called away. It is very ancient. I believe the memories inside it are those of one of the Makers themselves, perhaps Tamar, though he never gives his name. It has been difficult to read, because very little power is left in it. Raffi had to use most of it to escape from the Watchhouse, if you remember.�

She touched the papers lightly. �But last week, on the day of Altimet, which I thought might be a good time, we tried again. Myself, and Carys, and our friend the Sekoi.�

Galen looked surprised. Carys grinned at him.

�I needed stronger sense-lines than my own,� Tallis explained. �Carys has much awen, though undirected, and Sekoi energies are powerful, even though they are strange to me. But we had to work in silence for over an hour before we made the entry.�

�Did you use a Web or a Link?� Galen interrupted, and Solon said, �Do the Sekoi have a third eye, then? I have never heard that.�

Tallis smiled. �Keepers. The details can wait. Let�s just say that we managed to insinuate our minds deep into the cracks and crevices of the device. There was a faint stirring of warmth there still, but so thin a whisper that I had to bring it out word by word, in some places letter by letter. Carys wrote the message down. Often we had to stop. It was exhausting.�

�And very peculiar,� the Sekoi muttered. It scratched its fur. �Small sparks like fleas crawled over my skull. And what a thirst I had afterward!�

�Without you we couldn�t have done it,� Tallis said. She swung the plait of hair over her shoulder and picked up the notes. Raffi could see they were untidy, with words crossed out and altered in Carys�s regular Watchscript.

�Fragments of this you�ve heard before. This is the rest, as far as we could make out. It seems to have been recorded in a time of great crisis for the Makers.�

She pushed an escaped lock of hair behind her ear, and began to read:

�Things are desperate; it may be that we will have to withdraw. There�s been no word from Earth for months and we don�t know how the Factions stand. Worst of all, we�re sure now about Kest. Against all orders, he�s tampered with the genetic material. Somehow he�s made a hybrid. He never told us, but Soren guessed.

�The creature is hideous. Flain fears it has a disturbed nature, certainly a greatly enhanced lifespan. When it was let out of the chamber it destroyed all the lights and most of the test area. It seems to dislike light. Then it stood in the dark and spoke to Flain, taunting him. It is very intelligent.

�We have flung it deep in the Pits of Maar. Kest called it the Margrave. I hope it will die, but in my heart I keep thinking we should have destroyed it. We should have made sure.�

Tallis stopped.

Solon had made a small gasp, an indrawing of breath. When they looked at him, his face was white with terror. Sudden cold tingled down Raffi�s spine.

Galen leaned over. �Archkeeper? Are you ill?�

He shook his head, his fingers vaguely rubbing over each other, as if he were washing his hands. �No. That name.�

�The Margrave. You�ve heard it?�

�I have. In the cells.�

He seemed frozen with dread. Raffi shivered too. A ripple of horror swept across the room like a snowstorm. All the sense-lines swirled, and for a moment Raffi saw again the darkness of his dream-vision; the dark room he had once seen, the edge of a misshapen face, long as a jackal�s, turning toward him in the firelight. Then Galen said, �Raffi!� in an anxious snarl.

He opened his eyes.

Everyone seemed unsettled.

�No. My fault.� Solon rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. �I must be more tired than I thought. Might I also have some ale, Guardian?�

Carys fetched it, thinking grimly that if even a word could unnerve them, it was no wonder the Order had crumbled so fast. Raffi came behind her and drank a deep draft from the cold water jug. His hands were clammy with sweat.

�All right?� she said.

�All right.� He wiped his mouth.

�You remembered about the Margrave, didn�t you? That time you saw it.�

�I didn�t see it. Not properly.�

She nodded. He was taut and unwilling to talk. Together they carried the jug and cups back to the table.

Turning a page, Tallis read on:

�Kest�s creatures swarm everywhere, multiplying and mutating. The geological patterns are uneven and yet the weather-net holds. When we withdraw we�ll have to leave the Coronet active as a stabilizer, even if neural access is not possible. It should hold off the disintegration of the weather-net for decades, maybe centuries. Until we come back. Also, it may provide an emergency portal. Flain says . . . �

She stopped and looked up.

�Flain says?� Galen asked anxiously.

�I�m afraid that�s all, keeper. Nothing else would come.�

In the quiet the Sekoi picked up the jug and poured ale into the small wooden cups. Felnia came and looked around the door.

�I�m getting hungry. Haven�t you finished YET?�

�Soon,� Galen growled. �Keep him out there.�

�Don�t shout at me!� They heard her shooing the geese out of her way.

�They were in trouble,� Carys said. �There were few of them, and Kest�s interference had disrupted their creation of the world. They were in danger. So they left.�

�Leaving us the Margrave,� Raffi muttered.

�And Flain�s Coronet,� Galen said.

They all looked at him. His eyes were dark, his face tense with energy.

�Yes!� Solon nodded. �I had noticed that too.�

�Is it a precious thing, this Coronet?� the Sekoi asked casually.

Tallis shrugged. �It�s rarely mentioned in the sacred books. No one has ever thought it anything important. In images, Flain is sometimes shown as wearing a thin gold crown. As there.�

The Sekoi�s yellow eyes turned with interest to the window. Flain wore his dark robe of stars, and now they noticed on his hair a delicate filament of gold, smooth and without decoration. It was easy to miss, Carys thought.

�But it is important, obviously, and it�s what we need.� Galen stood up and walked across the room. �We must find it. All winter I�ve worried over this; we can�t deal with the Margrave with the world crumbling around us. This may be the thing that will keep the Finished Lands safe . . .�

�But they�re not safe,� Raffi muttered. �They�re shrinking.�

�Exactly!� Galen turned on him, dark hair swinging out of its knot of string. �And this relic might stop that! We have to find out where it is!�

�And the Margrave?� Carys asked.

�Can�t know about that. The Margrave is the secret power behind the Watch. If they knew, then the Watch would be looking for the Coronet. Unless . . .� He sat down suddenly. �Unless this is what the Watch are really seeking, when they confiscate relics.�

They thought for a moment. Then the Sekoi said, �And how do we even know where to look?�

�We ask.� Galen turned to Tallis, the air around him almost crackling with his conviction. �We use Artelan�s Well. One of us drinks the water, and this time��he glared at Raffi��there�ll be no mistakes.�

�Sorry to interrupt,� a voice said wryly from the door, �but have you people finished your service? It�s just that the little one and I could eat skeats.�

Galen straightened and stared at him. �You.�

Marco stared back. Then he looked ruefully at Solon.

�Thanks, Your Holiness. I see you�ve told our hosts all about me.�

Speak no empty phrases.

Litany of the Makers

�HOW LONG, SMALL KEEPER?� the Sekoi asked anxiously.

Raffi yawned. �Ten hours, nearly.�

The room was black, lit only with two guttering candles and the dull ashes of the fire. It was the second night since the Feast, and Galen was deep in the dreamcoma.

The others took turns to come and go, but Raffi had to stay. It was part of his duty as Galen�s scholar�though even without that, he knew he could never have settled to anything else.

The keeper lay on a couch near the fire, to keep him warm. He lay still, without a flicker of movement, the sullen light making strange quivers over his face, his long hair. He was far, far away. Reaching out now, Raffi�s sense-lines could find no trace of him, only a great vacancy like a black pit, so that Raffi had to pull back from its edge, cold fear churning his stomach. It had happened before. In every meditation Galen walked far. But Raffi could never get used to that emptiness.

He was tired, though he�d slept a few hours, curled in the corner while Carys and Tallis kept watch. Now, with the Sekoi here, he felt a bit more wakeful.

�If I drank this well-water,� the creature mused, propping its spindly legs up on a chair, �would this happen to me?�

Raffi shrugged. �It did when I drank it.�

�I remember! What a panic we were in! But you have had some training.�

�Not much. I�m on the fourth branch.�

�And that isn�t high?� the Sekoi asked politely.

�No.� Raffi prowled over and put a log on the fire. �Not really.�

�We�ve been too busy for you to be learning much, maybe. And now��it looked at him slyly out of one eye��now we have to travel again.�

�Yes.� Raffi sat down, staring at the sizzling log. He felt gloom creep over him.

The Sekoi nodded smugly, as if Raffi had confirmed something. �You want to stay,� it said.

Raffi didn�t deny it. He didn�t say anything. All his mind was full of the last two days: the Feast with its tables of food, the warm comfortable rooms, the small, silly presents everyone had made for each other. Felnia dancing with Marco to the small viola that Tallis played, the Sekoi singing one of its endless tuneless songs with a chorus that convulsed Carys into hysterics.

In Sarres everything was clean, warm, ordered; everything was as it should be. There were set times for lessons and reading and work and just playing around. The Litany was said properly; all the feasts and fasts he had half forgotten were remembered. Above all there was no Watch, no fear, no constant staying alert, moving on. But it was a failing of his, this wanting to hide, to be safe. Galen had warned him about it. They were never out of the hands of the Makers if they did the work of the Order. Wherever it led them.

Galen�s hand twitched.

Instantly the Sekoi was bending over him, Raffi hovering anxiously. The keeper�s hand clenched, as if he gripped something invisible. Behind them, Solon came in and said in a quiet voice, �If he doesn�t come out by morning, Tallis and I will go in for him.�

�His breathing�s changed.� The Sekoi spread its long hands over Galen�s chest and looked up. �I think he�s waking.�

The sense-lines were coming back. Raffi could feel them, flooding the dark room with a charge of energy, surging from somewhere incredibly remote.

Solon came quickly, feeling Galen�s pulse. He gave a sidelong look at Raffi and said, �Your master has a strange energy. I can feel it swooping into him like a great darkness. As if something wilder than himself lived in him.� He smiled, puzzled.

Raffi looked down.

�He never did tell me,� the Archkeeper said gently, �how he broke the ice. Will you tell me, Raffi?�

�Ask him yourself,� the Sekoi muttered, to Raffi�s relief. �He�s awake.�

Galen�s eyes opened. For a second he seemed to stare at nothing, but then his gaze focused and he pushed himself up on one hand stiffly.

�How long?� he croaked.

�Ten hours.� Raffi had water ready; he poured a cupful and Galen drank thirstily, all their eyes intent on him.

�Well?� Solon asked eagerly. �Did you learn anything? Did the Makers speak to you?�

The keeper glanced up, his hooked face shadowed with weary hollows. Echoes and taints of strange images flowed from him, a crackle of light around his hands that made Solon stare.

�Oh yes,� he whispered.

The Vortex

RAFFI CROUCHED IN THE BEECH WOOD, looking down. Far below, deep in the valley, the road was invisible, but he could see the bridge.

Galen had the relic-glass open and was looking through it. �Double gates. Dogs. Guard post at each end,� he said grimly.

A Watchman came out of one of the small buildings, paced slowly over the bridge and into the other. Nothing else moved.

Galen snapped up the tube.

�May I look at that?� Marco sounded fascinated.

Galen glared at him. Then, to Raffi�s surprise, he handed the relic over, watching as the man fingered it. Marco whistled in envy. �This would make a thousand, maybe two, on the market.�

Behind them Solon sighed from his seat on the beech roots. �I don�t know which of you is crueler to the other,� he said severely.

Galen said nothing.

Marco gave the relic back; the keeper�s hand closed over it tightly.

A crackle of twigs made them turn, alert, but Raffi had already sensed Carys and the Sekoi coming back, climbing carefully up the slippery, crumbling bank, ankle-deep in fallen leaves.

Carys had cut her hair very short and dyed it red. As she clambered over the top and stood, hands on hips, getting her breath, she looked strange, like someone new. �There�s a place upstream,� she gasped. �Some rocks. It looks shallow enough, but fast.�

The Sekoi sat down, disgusted. �I hate water,� it muttered.

Galen looked at Solon. �I don�t think we have any choice. The bridge will be too difficult. Will you manage?�

Solon gave a gracious smile. �My son, I�ve waded many rivers in my time. With Flain�s help I�ll manage one more.�

�Then lead on, Carys. If you�re sure.�

She didn�t move. �I�m not. You�ll need to tell me what you think.�

�Why?� Marco asked.

�It�s too obviously a good place to cross. They must know about it. I would think there�ll be pits out in the river, or underwater nets.� She frowned. �There must be something.�

Galen looked at her. �Let�s go down,� he said at last. �We may be able to tell.�

The path was rocky, winding between birches and beeches and firethorns, a slippery, treacherous trail they had been following for days through the high woods. It was an outlaw-road, used only by thieves and keepers and, Raffi suspected, the Sekoi, on their mysterious journeys. Now they left it and plunged down the slope. Raffi let his sense-lines ripple out through the empty wood, feeling the dim gathering of winter twilight, the cold, curled hibernation of hedgehogs and small furred rootvoles deep in their hollows under the leaves. Far to the east a rosy glow still lit distant cliffs, but as they descended into the valley, the sun faded out, the short afternoon already darkening. Slithering down the slope Raffi allowed himself one brief memory of the warmth of Sarres.

They had left the island five days ago, Tallis and Felnia standing hand in hand on the lawns watching them go, the Guardian tall and young, her long hair in its thick braid. Felnia had wanted to come, and she�d stormed and scowled at them until they were almost lost in the mist. Then, just as Raffi had stepped onto the wicker causeway, she�d wailed his name and he�d turned.

�This time,� she�d hissed, �get me that present!�

But the fog had closed in and Sarres was gone.

Since then, they had plunged back into winter. At first Raffi had thought he was the only one worried by the cold, but over the last day or so he�d become aware of Galen�s growing unease. The spring was far too late. On the beech trees now, as he slid among their smooth roots, all the black buds were tightly furled. No birds sang. For the last two nights the frost had been bitter. Small bulbs were barely poking through the leaf-drift. And something felt wrong. Like a clock with a tick slightly lagging, a melody that dragged half a note behind.

Galen knew. So, Raffi guessed, did Solon, but none of them had spoken of it yet.

Missing his footing, Raffi slid abruptly and sat down hard, the Sekoi glancing back and laughing at him. They worked their way slowly along the treacherous bank, Solon leaning on the trees and easing himself down.

Near the bottom, Carys was waiting.

When they caught up, she led them along a narrow path cautiously.

�It�s all right,� Raffi said. �There�s no one around.�

She glared back at him. �I�ve never understood how you know that.�

�Sense-lines. It�s easier with three of us.� For a moment he thought of the dark days of Galen�s accident and shivered.

�But what are they?�

�Feelings. Strings of them. Like the ripples in a pool.�

She made a snorting sound. �You�ll have to teach me.�

�I can�t. You�re not in the Order. Besides, only some people can do it.�

She grinned over her shoulder. �I could do it.�

�Yes. I�ll bet you could.�

�Bet?� The Sekoi�s voice was sly in his ear. �How much?�

But Carys had stopped. �This is it, Galen.�

Below, the path sloped to a shingly spit. The river, called the Wyren, ran fast here, its brown water rippling into white foam against the rocks. They had to cross it, but both bridges so far had been well guarded, and the river didn�t seem to be getting any narrower.

Looking over, Raffi saw holly and scrubby low bushes on the far bank. There seemed to be some sort of muddy foreshore there too. In the middle of the stream a few large rocks jutted. A bird was perched on one, a heavy mud-colored creature with a huge horny beak. It flew off with a troubled, mournful cry when it saw them.

Nothing else moved.

Galen�s glance traveled across the brown, rippling water. Raffi knew how difficult this was; his own sense-lines had easily been swirled away by the rapid energies of the river.

At last the keeper said, �There�s nothing of the Watch here.�

�You think.� Marco looked doubtful. He climbed down the bank and crouched on the shingle, fingering long grooves in it. �Something fairly big was dragged up here not long ago.�

�Yes, but Galen is right.� Solon eased himself down and took off his long gray coat with a shiver. �There is nothing unnatural, as there would be if the river was staked or netted. It seems as good a place as any.�

He crouched and began to wash his hands in the stream, rubbing away green lichen from the trees. Galen watched him; Solon glanced up.

�My son? Do you want to try elsewhere?�

�No.� The keeper limped down to join him. �We haven�t time. It will be dark in an hour.�

He was right, but they all felt a little uneasy. The place was too silent, and the roaring of the icy water chilled them. The Sekoi took some rope from its pack and tied one end firmly to a beech trunk. Then it turned, reluctant.

�Who goes first?�

�I do.� Galen and Marco said it together, and their eyes met. �Because,� Marco went on calmly, �I was once a sailor and have swum wilder seas than this. Also, I don�t have a stiff leg that bothers me. Thanks to Sarres I�m as fit as I�ve ever been.�

Galen looked at him coldly but didn�t argue. The Sekoi handed the rope over; Marco tied it around his broad chest and waded in.

�Be careful,� Solon said anxiously.

�Old friend, I fully intend to be.�

It must have been freezing, but he was strong, and at first the water was shallow. About five paces out he staggered slightly, and then was suddenly up to his chest, the roaring current foaming under his lifted arms. The Sekoi let the rope out, so that it dipped in the water and whipped up taut, flinging off drops like tiny crystals.

The river raged. Glints and whirls of it slid through Raffi�s skull. A flash of phosphorescence, green as glass.

Marco struggled on. He was nearly at the rocks now, but the current dragged mercilessly at him, so that he jerked sideways. The Sekoi wound the rope around its thin wrists, heaving back; Galen grabbed on too.

Marco called something, words lost in the water-roar. His hand came up and pointed, dripping.

�What?� Carys shouted.

Another flicker. Raffi felt it shoot toward him, green and evil, saw its speed, its savagery, the gleaming intricate scales of its back.

�Galen!� he breathed.

But the keeper already had the rope tight. �Pull him back!� he yelled at the Sekoi. �Get him back! Now!�

Marco fell. Around him the water churned; he slipped and all at once was gone, his head bobbing up yards downstream, the rope unraveling with whiplash speed. Raffi grabbed it; the heat of the slithering coils burned through his gloves.

�My God!� Solon gasped. �What is that?�

As they hauled desperately at the rope, something was sliding up through the torrent beyond the rocks; a long crooked snout, a spiny crest, three eyes just above the surface, dark and narrow. Marco took one look and turned, kicking furiously for the shore. The current tore at him. Galen heaved on the rope.

�Carys!� he thundered.

�Got it.� She had the bow aimed; almost at once she fired, and the bolt sliced the water just past Marco�s head. He gave a howl of terror. The river roared and chasmed. And out of it rose a creature that made the hairs on Raffi�s arms and neck prickle with pure dread; a nightmare of Kest�s, its body scaled and ridged, mossed with tangled weeds that clung to it, encrusted with growths and hideous scrambling crabs. Carys�s bolt had struck it in the throat; it was gagging and choking, slime and blood hanging in spumes from wide jaws, behind it the whole river thrashing and raging in fury.

The rope was halfway in, wet and icy. Carys jammed another bolt in, swearing savagely.

The creature crashed down.

For a second the world was water, soaking them all. Marco�s face was a screech somewhere, seared with fear. �Pull him!� Galen drove his feet in, the rope taut. They were all heaving now, Raffi�s muscles cracking and aching with the weight.

The river opened huge jaws. Water foamed; there was blood in it. Marco was yelling, and the second bolt thumped into the scaled loops around him with a scream that might have been anyone�s; then in the river�s convulsions he was suddenly crumpled there, on the shingle, gasping, with Solon standing over him.

The Archkeeper kneeled and grabbed Marco�s arm. �Are you alive?�

The bald man managed a nod, and Solon stared up. �Back, creature of evil!� he shouted.

It hung above them, bending over them both like a wave. And then it slithered and streamed back and dissolved; the river gave up one great bubble, and ran smooth.

FOR A LONG TIME THEY SAT SILENT under the trees, cold and utterly dispirited. The sun had gone; now twilight gathered, smelling of damp fungi. Marco still shivered, despite his borrowed layers of dry clothes.

They were all thinking the same thing, but it was Carys who said it. �No wonder they didn�t need to guard the crossing.�

�Was that an avanc?� the Sekoi wondered. �Never have I heard of one so far inland.�

�If it was, the spines are new,� Galen growled. He glanced at Marco. �And the stench.�

They could still smell it, a putrid fishy reek that brought clouds of gnats and hungry bloodflies out of the dark undergrowth. Solon slapped one off his face. �This is not a healthy place to mope, my friends.�

Carys sat up. �Quite right. So here�s what we do.�

�If you think,� Marco said savagely, �that I�m going anywhere near��

�Save your breath. And forget the river. We�re going over the bridge.�

They all stared at her. Then Galen said, �Go on.�

She put her fingers together. �For a start, there�ll be no more than four Watchmen on a crossing this remote. We�ll need to split them up�a diversion. You can do that, Galen. Also, there�ll be dogs . . .�

�We can deal with most dogs,� Galen said briefly.

She nodded. �Right. Say we get them here in the wood. The other two men will stay on the bridge.�

�Which is double-barred,� the Sekoi murmured.

�Which is double-barred. So we get them to open it.�

Solon looked at her as if all this was too fast for him. �How?�

�A traveler wants to cross. Someone on his own. Not a keeper. Not on any wanted list. Someone they don�t know. Unarmed. Harmless.�

There was an uneasy silence.

The Sekoi looked up and saw everyone was looking at it. �Great,� it said acidly. It scratched its tribemark and managed a sour smile. �Kind of you to think of me, Carys.�

�You�ve done worse.�

�Oh? And what do you suggest I say to them when I get through the gate? With a crossbow pointed at each eye?�

Carys smiled sweetly. �I think you should tell them a story.�

THE WEATHER GOT STEADILY WORSE.

For three days it rained without stopping, a bitter sleet that made all the tracks quagmires; and on the fourth Raffi crawled out of exhausted sleep in a broken sheepfold to find the world white, every tiny blade of grass crusted with spines of frost. All that day, trudging over open fields, he felt the stricken shock of the soil, frozen in trampled ridges, all the tiny sprouting seeds seared and dead.

Everything was wrong. There was nothing left to eat. Solon was suffering from his Watch-injuries but walked steadily, uncomplaining. Each of them was soaked to the skin and could not get dry. The sense-lines had to struggle deep to find life; in every bare hedge and frozen stream all the energies had withdrawn, the creatures huddled and hidden, the embryos unborn. There was no spring�it had been shattered. And at night the skies were black, the stars frosty, the moons oddly brilliant in their colors and crescents.

Galen was worried. Late that evening, after the Litany, he looked across the meager fire to Solon, and Raffi knew what he would ask.

�Is this weather Kest�s work?�

�I fear it, my son.� Solon leaned back against the tree, rubbing anxiously at the dirt on his hands. �When Kest tampered with the Makers� creation, he began something that has never stopped. Only the efforts of the Order held the world in balance, but with our hold broken, the Unfinished Lands will soon overwhelm us. In twenty years or less. Perhaps this evil spring is the beginning.�

�Didn�t the console say something about the weather?� Raffi spoke quietly; Marco was a little way off, looking out over the fields beyond the copse.

Galen glanced up. �Yes. �The weather-net holds� were the words. And then �We�ll leave the Coronet active as a stabilizer.� �

He sat in shadow, but as he said the Maker-words, even casually, a rustle of power stirred around him, something so vivid and yet gone so quickly Raffi could only pray Solon had not noticed it.

If he had, the Archkeeper controlled his surprise. After a moment he pushed a branch farther into the flames and said, �Perhaps the weather-net isn�t holding anymore.�

�You mean the Makers could control the weather?� It was a new idea for Raffi.

�They made the world, boy,� Galen growled in disgust. �All of it. If the Coronet is . . .�

Something snagged in Raffi�s head. He hissed with the pain of it. �Sense-lines!�

Instantly, they were listening. Men. A whole group. Riding fast.

�Marco!� Solon warned.

Galen was stamping the fire out. The bald man rustled hurriedly back between the bushes. �What?�

�Watch! Get down!�

All at once the night was an enemy, prickling with danger. Flat under the hazels, praying there were no vesps, Raffi felt the old terror surge up in him. He could hear them coming, galloping hard along the farm track, and under his forehead the thunder of hooves made the ground vibrate and shudder.

It took all his willpower to raise his head a fraction and look out.

A full patrol, maybe more. They were well-armed, the moonlight catching swords and bows, a few helmets swinging from saddles. In the dark it was hard to see much more, but they were riding at speed; even as he watched, they had crunched across the stream and were gone, racing in a long column up the farther fields.

Galen rolled over. He dragged leaves from his hair.

�Something�s going on,� he said. �The Sekoi know. The Watch know.�

�And you don�t?� Marco mocked.

Galen gave him a dark stare. �I know where we can find out.�

Moths to the flame,

The moons will plummet.

Makers. Including Kest. Kest is in us all.

Twelfth Prophecy of the Owl

Cage of Stories

Recorded by Kallebran.

AND THE WOLF LEAPED.

�No!� Carys screamed in fury. �This is just a story!� But the great maw opened and she was inside it, swallowed deep down red tunnels into a raw, pounding heat.

Who lights up the dark?

The Lament for Tasceron

And the stars for a coat.

The Circling

NO ONE SAID ANYTHING.

Strange oily rain cascaded in sheets from the clifftop beyond the overhang. The Sekoi folded its long fingers and waited.

It was Raffi who exploded. �She wouldn�t! She�d never have gone back to them!�

�She�s never left,� the Sekoi said calmly. �The wanted list is an age-old ruse.� It flicked an anxious glance at Galen. �I�m sorry. I know you thought . . .�

�She rescued Galen from the Watch! And Sarres! She loves Sarres! She�d never betray it.� Raffi leaped up. He couldn�t bear this. �And she�s not even here to argue for herself. How could you leave her in some dream? She�ll die!�

�She won�t.� The creature grimaced. �And I left her because I will not risk taking her to the Circling.�

Raffi gave a hiss of disgust. He walked to the edge of the overhang and stared angrily out into the crashing rain.

Still Galen had not spoken. He looked bleak.

Solon said hesitantly, �Of course I did not know her as well as you. She always seemed . . . astute.�

�As sharp as a needle,� Marco muttered. �I always suspected there was no way out of the Watch.� He folded his arms. �Still. At least now you know it wasn�t me.�

Galen ignored him.

�It is Sarres I mourn most.� Solon rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. �The Watch riding in there . . .�

�They won�t.� Galen�s voice was harsh, but Raffi was relieved to hear it. Thunder rumbled over the wood below, a long crumpling roar, startlingly loud.

�But . . .�

�They won�t. Sarres is not a place but a state of belief. No one can find it without faith.�

�I did,� Marco observed, sucking a tattooed knuckle.

Galen didn�t bother to answer. He got up and went over to Raffi and stood behind him, looking out into the storm.

�It�s not true,� Raffi whispered. �We�d have known.�

�Not if the Margrave controlled her,� Galen said bleakly. �She may not even have known herself.�

Raffi turned, horrified. �Some sort of mind-link?�

�It must be. We didn�t know. And the Margrave has the power of Kest in him. Who knows what sort of abilities he has. She left no messages, talked to no one. How else could she have done it, Raffi?�

�It wasn�t her.� Stubborn, Raffi turned back to the rain.

He wouldn�t let himself think that it was.

Recorded by Kallebran.

SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN he wouldn�t be surprised. For a moment he almost smiled at her.

Then he gave the Sekoi a sharp look. �Is it true?�

The creature made a mew of disgust. �Of course it�s not true! I would have told you at the beginning!�

�You might not have known.� Dangerously tense, Galen turned on the Council of Seven. �Tell me the truth,� he said. �I ask you in the name of Flain and all your own secret gods. Do you have the Coronet?�

The seven Karamax exchanged glances. Behind their masks their eyes were sharp and uneasy. Finally one of them shrugged.

�All right. We do.�

The silence in the tent was immense; it was the Sekoi who broke it. It snarled angrily in the Tongue, all the fur on its neck swelling with rage.

The Karamax spoke back, rapidly, three of them, but the Sekoi flung away, disgusted. �Galen,� it snapped, �I swear to you I had no knowledge of this. None!�

�Liar,� Carys said calmly. She folded her arms. �Admit it. You knew the whole time. And this Watchspy business. There is someone else who knew about the Crow. It�s you!�

�Stop it.� Galen�s eyes were black. �We don�t have time. The Coronet is what we�re here for.�

He watched the seven closely. �You must let us use it. I swear we won�t try to take it from you. You say our enemies are yours�then work with us. Help us!�

A Karamax with gray fur and a black and gold mask shook its head. �Unthinkable. We don�t know your reasons.�

�Indeed,� the red-furred female said kindly. �You must plead your case. On the strength of it we will make our decision. And it will be final. Agreed?�

Galen turned. �Well?�

The Sekoi shrugged angrily. �You�ve got no choice.�

�Solon?�

�Yes, my son. And I will speak.�

Galen turned back. �Agreed,� he said heavily.

The sentinels went back to the door. Carys pushed past Marco and sat by Raffi. She poured out blue sherbet water. �Glad to see me?�

�What happened to you?� he whispered.

She drank thirstily. �Tell you later. I want to hear this.� Only Solon was standing now. Around him the red tent rippled and flapped in the rising wind; before him on silk cushions the Karamax sat, eyes bright in the slits of their masks. The gray owl flew soundlessly onto its perch. It preened out one downy feather that drifted to the floor.

Solon seemed uncertain how begin. �Friends,� he said at last. �You�ve heard our story. Our search for this relic has been a strange one, and time is running out. The Makers have told us that the Coronet is a device that will stabilize something they called the weather-net. It will also, we hope, arrest the movement of the moon Agramon.�

The Council eyed one another.

Marco shifted, restless. �Come on, old friend,� he breathed.

Solon licked dry lips. He gave his kindest smile. �Believe me, we understand that gold is precious to you. But this relic is small. It weighs little. And because it was Flain�s, that makes it the property of his successors, that is, the Order. I am Solon, Archkeeper of the Order. I am the last successor of Flain.�

Marco�s eyebrows shot up. He looked at Raffi. Raffi nodded, silent.

�The weather is decaying,� Solon went on, holding his hands out. �Anara is dying. From all sides come reports of hurricanes, floods, destruction. Whole populations of birds and animals swarm and panic. We will all be killed if it worsens, both Sekoi and Starmen. I beg you to listen to us. We are not the Watch, my friends; we want only what is good for us all. Too many have suffered already; we have seen men and women injured and weeping over their children�s bodies. Soon more will be homeless; there will be famine and disease. For Flain�s sake, for all our sakes, let us use the Coronet. It is little enough to ask. You are a gentle race. I know you will help us.�

He sounded so wise and anxious that Raffi felt a great hope. They could never turn him down.

Solon let his hands fall.

The red-furred Karamax stood and looked at the owl. One eye open, the owl looked back. The crimson walls rippled, rain pattering on them.

The Karamax cleared its throat. �Thank you, Archkeeper,� it said softly. �We are saddened at your distress. We see the marks of the pain you have suffered. Because of that, we have decided to tell you things here that few others of your kind will ever have heard.� To their surprise it reached up and took its mask off, and they saw a young female, with a tribemark under one ear. �First, your claim as successor of Flain. We cannot admit this as a factor. The Sekoi own the Coronet now, we have had it for centuries. We have no laws of inheritance or restitution.�

The Sekoi sighed, and shook its head.

�Secondly, the weather. This decay has long been predicted.�

�By whom?� Solon asked, startled.

�You are not the only ones with sacred stories.� It smiled slyly. �My people know the Makers will return. Before they come, many evil portents will occur. It is said that the sky will darken and the moons, one by one, will fall from the sky. The land will shake and the things of Kest, even the Margrave himself, will be destroyed. The planet will be cleansed. This is what has started to happen. We do not wish to interfere.�

�Then you must be alarmed . . .�

�Not at all. For we are ready. The Sekoi will not be touched by this disaster. We have ... places. Secure places, deep underground. Here we will wait until it is safe to emerge. This is the reason for our gathering. Soon every Sekoi will vanish from Anara, and no Starman will know where we have gone.�

Except me, Carys thought idly. But no, the Palace of Theriss would have a fit if it had to accommodate all these. She wondered just how many secrets the Sekoi had. The Watch had underestimated them all these years.

�What about us?� Marco demanded. �The rest of us?�

The red-furred Sekoi looked at him. �We do not know. Maybe your Makers will come in time to save you.�

�I don�t believe in the Makers.�

The Karamax blinked. �Then you are a fool,� it said quietly.

Marco looked so astonished that Raffi almost smiled.

�So you will let the world be ruined?� Solon was appalled. �Allow hundreds of people to be killed?�

�It has been foretold. The Coronet is only a circle of gold. It can do nothing to stop the decay.�

�But it can!� Galen couldn�t keep silent any longer. He leaped up, the shadow of the Crow crackling around him. Side by side with Solon he faced them. �We know it can! Surely your obsessed lust for gold is . . .�

�You do not understand.� The Karamax pointed. �Your friend there. He understands.�

The Sekoi was huddled miserably among the cushions, gnawing at its nails. It gave Galen a bitter look. �It�s no use. They won�t give it up.�

Galen spun back. �Explain. Tell us!�

�It concerns the Great Hoard.�

Immediately the owl made a small chirring noise. The female Karamax went to it and spoke, then stroked its plumage. �For hundreds of years my people have collected gold. Your Order and the Watch have always wondered where it went. Some thieves��its glance flickered to Marco��have even tried to find it. No one ever has. The purpose of the Hoard is a hidden one, but because you are the Crow, Galen Harn, and this is the end of the age, I will tell you what it is.�

It stepped away from the owl, slipped its mask back on, and moved to the center of the Seven, sitting complacently on the silk cushions.

�The purpose of the Hoard is to buy Anara.�

Outside, the wind gave a great roar. The canvas billowed, slapping against its ropes and pegs. Raffi�s sense-lines swung with it, dizzying, a huge aftershock.

�Buy?� Solon whispered.

Galen�s stare was dark and even. �From the Makers!� he said.

�Exactly.� Another of the Karamax was speaking now. �The world was ours once. When the Makers return, it will be cleansed, and we will ransom it with an enormous treasure.�

Solon looked at Galen. He seemed too astonished to speak. Finally he plunged his hands through his silver hair. �You really believe this? That the Makers will . . . sell the world?�

�Yes.�

�But you have no idea . . .�

�And you have never seen the Great Hoard.� Behind its mask the creature�s eyes were bright with greed. �It holds more riches, keeper, than you could ever imagine. It will buy the Sekoi their world back. And every fragment of it, every ring, every coin, every little gold circle, will be needed.� It looked at the other six, who nodded. �The Coronet will not be given up. That is our decision.�

�No!� Solon threw his arms out. �Those who die . . . !�

�Must die.�

The wind screamed. For a moment Raffi thought Solon would fling himself to his knees in complete despair but Galen gripped him gently and turned him, small energies rippling around his hands.

He looked down at Raffi and Carys.

There was nothing left to say.

THEY WERE GIVEN A SMALL TENT but none of them could sleep.

Outside, another squall raged, sleeting in through the entrance, hissing out the fire. It was Solon who seemed most devastated by events; the Archkeeper usually cheered everyone up, made small teasing jokes, but he was drawn and white now, as if some great pain had struck him. And the Sekoi had gone, stalking off into the rain.

Galen took down the lamp, spread the awen-beads carefully around it, and began the Litany. His voice was grave but even, and the familiar Maker-words seemed slowly to take some chill out of their hearts and the damp night. Raffi joined in, and after a while Solon murmured the responses, as if he clutched at them for comfort.

Carys sat in a corner, watching. Marco cleaned and loaded his crossbow.

When the prayer was over, the silence seemed worse, until the curtain was whipped back and the Sekoi ducked in.

They stared at it. It was drenched, its brindled gray fur dark and sopping, water trickling down its neck and sleeves.

�Galen, I�m sorry,� it said, its voice strangled.

�Not your fault.� The Relic Master stood, his dark hair brushing the tent roof. He smiled sourly. �I told you a long time ago I knew the Sekoi had their own ways.�

�I didn�t know we had it! I swear!�

Raffi had never seen the creature look so wretched. It crumpled and sat, arms around knees. All its airy confidence had been knocked right out of it; it even looked thinner, its fur scraggy.

Galen sat beside it, his hooked face half in shadow.

�I believe you,� he said softly. �But do you think too that all Starmen should be left to die?�

The creature dragged in a breath. When it spoke its voice was reluctant. �We�ve always been taught so. Most of us are not interested in the fate of Starmen.� It looked up. �Neither was I, once.�

�And now?�

It gave an exasperated hiss. �Don�t torment me. You know I would help you if I could. But . . .�

�You can. Take us to the Great Hoard.�

Raffi drew his breath in. The Sekoi sat quite still. Small raindrops dripped from its fur. Then it said, �I knew you would ask this.�

�But you still came back.� Galen caught hold of its arm. Blue sparks flickered from his fingers. �If we don�t use the Coronet the weather will overwhelm us all. The Makers will find no one alive. And even if the Sekoi survive, what use is a ruined world?�

The creature pulled away, utterly miserable. �You don�t know what you�re asking. I can�t.�

�We need you,� Solon pleaded. �Please!�

�It�s against all I believe in!� The creature�s voice was agonized, its eyes dark slits. �How can I take outsiders to the Hoard? How can I take a thief and a spy and three keepers to our most holy place? You�re asking too much, Galen!�

The Relic Master sat still, though his shadow swung as the lamp moved. Raffi felt the power of the Crow pent up inside him, the tingle of it on the skin.

�But that�s what we did.� Galen�s voice was harsh. �We took you to Sarres. The spy and the thief and the Sekoi. We trusted you.�

The Sekoi winced. �Don�t ask me.�

�But I do ask you.� Suddenly Galen had both of its wrists tight; the crackle of energy sparked up around all of them. Marco yelped. Raffi sat breathless with tension. �Take us there! We�ll take nothing! But we must hurry. We must go now!�

For a long moment the Sekoi was still. It closed its eyes in something like despair.

Then it pushed him away, stood up, and brushed the water from its fur with both long hands.

�I make myself an outcast by this,� it muttered.

The Great Hoard

THEY WERE UNDER THE WALLS of the ruin. Behind them the shadowchimes still rang; gong-like notes, soft and disturbing.

Raffi put a hand on the wall, feeling through the holes in his gloves how each enormous block of stone had been expertly fitted, though now snarlbines and weeds were sprouting through the cracks.

Snow clung to his hair; strange wet stuff, faintly phosphorescent. He climbed hurriedly after Galen, up steep steps and under a vast drafty archway into a dark interior. The floor was paved here; all around were arches and galleries, the stonework fallen and crumbling, making their footsteps echo and multiply like some invading army.

It was bitterly cold.

As he came through, small shadows slunk behind him; turning, he saw their eyes gleam in the dark. The sense-lines told him they were cats, cats of all sizes and colors, their pointed inquisitive faces alert in holes and on walls.

The Sekoi climbed ahead, a spindly figure. As it emerged into the open again, snow clotted its fur.

�There,� it said proudly. �What no Starman ever beheld until now. The Great Hoard.�

Below them a huge arena descended, a ghostly crater of stone. Thousands of seats and steps and galleries gleamed pale in the snow-light, and out of them sprouted a jungle of weeds and self-seeded plants, in places tangled into tunnels of gloom. A sweet smell of mutated flowers rose up from its depths; they saw white frostblossoms and tiny spring bulbs that had thrust out and flowered already in the drafty shelter of columns and balustrades, and from the split seating bulbous fungi ballooned.

Clouds drifted; a few stars gleamed. Agramon lit a sudden cascade of snow. And everywhere, they saw the gold.

It was scattered freely down the stairs, piled and heaped, barrows and cart-loads and buckets of it; there were boxes and chests and crates that had broken so that the heavy coins had slid and tinkled out. Some had been there so long scarbines had crawled all over them, roots cracking through split wood. Raffi saw plates, dishes, candlesticks, jewelry, goblets, mangled scraps of gilt, broken relics, statues, rings; anything that could be stolen or won or bought was down there, spilling in shining rivers down the stairways into a heap so enormous that it looked from here like a hill of gold.

They were silent, their breath clouding the frosty air.

Then Marco managed a pale grin. �Flainsteeth,� he said. �It must have taken decades.�

�Centuries.� The Sekoi stroked an eyebrow. �Since the Makers left.�

�There must be millions. Billions . . .�

Solon smiled gently. �No wonder your people feel confident of their ransom. But how are we to find the Coronet in all this?�

�I have only been here once before.� The creature brushed snow from its fur. All at once it looked nervous. �I suspect your relic will be in the center, on . . .� It stopped, then turned.

�Galen, listen. Only the Karamax are allowed down there, into the heart of the Hoard. I will take you, and the Archkeeper, for the sake of our friendship and because I believe your quest for the relic is a true one, though if my people find us there, it is likely we will all die.�

Galen nodded, his eyes dark. �You won�t be sorry.�

�I am already sorry. The others�even the small keeper�must remain up here. They have already come too far.�

Its yellow eyes looked at him sharply. Galen nodded. �I agree.�

�Well, I don�t,� Carys muttered.

Galen turned to her urgently. �We must respect their beliefs.� But his mind was saying something else, and to her amazement she could hear it, something that made her clench her fingers on the cold spangles of snow. She nodded, reluctant. �If you say so.�

Marco sat himself down.

�And you,� Solon said to him severely, �will not let your fingers stray to the tiniest edge of the least coin.�

�Holiness! What do you take me for?�

�A thief and a rogue, my son.�

Marco grinned. �And I thought I�d fooled you all along.�

Galen dumped the pack and hauled out his stick. He looked at Raffi. �When they come, keep them out as long as you can. Use the awen-field, use the third and even the fourth Actions. I don�t want anyone killed, but we must have time to find the relic.�

Chilled to the heart, Raffi nodded. �Understood.�

Galen glanced at Carys. �I�m depending on you.�

She smiled wryly. �Good luck.�

Then he and Solon and the Sekoi were gone, ducking under an archway into darkness.

THEY BOTH STARED AT HER.

�Think about it!� Ignoring the knife, Carys turned on Raffi. �Marco was on the next street! I was miles away. So was the Sekoi. The only ones in the cellar with you were Solon and Galen! It has to be one of them!�

�Not Galen!� Raffi snapped.

�And not Solon!� Marco lowered the knife. He looked stunned and winded, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. �They tortured him. I saw them drag him back into the cell. I saw him bleed. They were going to hang us.�

�No, they weren�t!� Carys shook her head, impatient. �It was a setup, all of it. Solon was the bait�they wanted him to be rescued. Work it out!� She looked at his face and her voice softened. �Marco, the Margrave must have heard the rumors about the Crow�they�d be in every intelligence return. So they set up bait�a keeper, someone whose mind is so broken they can control him. Maybe more than one, in different places. Public places, where everyone can see. And when Galen rescued Solon, the Margrave let it happen. We took the Margrave with us, to all our places. To Sarres. To the Great Hoard.� She shook her head desperately. �We were so stupid! It�s the oldest trick in the book. And because Solon was such a harmless, kindly old man . . .�

�No!� Marco twisted away.

She grabbed his sleeve. �Believe it. It�s true. I know how they work.�

�Not Solon.� His voice was an agony. Raffi looked away, feeling sick and miserable, but Carys was relentless. �Solon! And we�ve led him straight to the Coronet.�

�He wouldn�t.�

�He�s down there, isn�t he? And if he puts it on . . .� She whirled on Raffi, her face white in the falling snow. �My God, Raffi! If he puts it on, the Margrave will control the weather-net, the moons, who knows what! We may have given him the greatest weapon in the world.�

IT WAS A CIRCLE OF GOLD and they were all inside it.

For a second Raffi knew the vast arena with its treasure was a huge replica of the Coronet; as the Sekoi argued up to its people in the Tongue, he felt the consciousness of the gathered tribes slowly and reluctantly enter it, the sharp anger of the Karamax like seven stabs of pain.

�What�s happening?� Carys muttered. She still had the bow aimed at Solon, but he sat still, as if listening.

�They�re joining in.� Raffi glanced down at the still form that was Kest. �The power of this will be incredible.�

�Like Tasceron?�

�Better.� It was building already, a hum and murmur of energy that abruptly assaulted all his senses; left him blind and deaf until he knew that he was one and many, that the Coronet and the arena were tiny concentric circles far below him, and that this icy silent nothingness was space. It was black, an emptiness, darker than Maar. It stretched into infinity and all their minds together could never reach to the end of it.

Until, like a miracle, something existed.

It was a globe, pale and smooth, bright with reflected light. The curve of its edge was perfect and breathtaking. It hung from nothing. He turned, looking for the others.

They were all around him; the Coronet of Moons, Agramon a little way out of line; impatiently he gave it the slightest nudge back into place and it drifted like a bubble. Raffi smiled.

�It�s a sophisticated form of neural integrator,� someone was saying, but he ignored that, knowing that the circle was smooth again, that he wore it like a Coronet, that the mingled lights were in proportion.

Now for the weather. But where was Anara?

Then he knew that he was the planet. He was the world. In his body were all the aches and agonies, the vortexes and storms; he searched for them and flexed them out, absorbed.

�Not Solon!� the wind protested, but he hushed it, smoothing the roaring waves on the beach. Someone was bleeding on the gold moons; he wiped them clean and put them back in the sky. Snow stopped falling into his eyes. Carefully he opened his hands and let the small flowers stir, the trees blossom in the cracks of his palms.

�Bring me a present!� a small voice wailed. So he rolled up winter and threw it away, unfolded a field of gold and spread it like an eiderdown over hills and valleys and mountains. �What a joke,� Marco laughed, from underneath.

And a thin, brown-haired man opened a door in a vortex and stepped out, the storm shriveling behind him. �The others will deal with the rest,� he said. �But you I need to warn. Give me your hand.�

Raffi held it out. Kest took it and turned it over. �Look at this.�

They were deep scars. Seven wounds in his own skin, seven deep pits. He stared at them in horror, at the poison seeping from them; then he gasped with pain, his hand still clutching Kest�s.

But the voice that spoke had a reptilian hiss. And it said:

�Raffi.�

His eyes snapped open.

The arena was cold and empty. A faint breeze drifted over the heaps of gold. On one of them the Margrave sprawled, looking at him.

Its long, jackal-snout was a profile of horror, the moons casting bizarre shadows of its sharp-eared head and dark coat.

�What do you want?� Raffi whispered.

It gave a lipless smile. �You know what. And I was so close! Solon even held the device in his hands, and it was your fault that I lost it. But then, I have learned about so many other things! The Crow! Since my dark creature met Galen at Halenden I have known my ancient enemy was back. Sarres, of course. And the Great Hoard. I�ll send a whole Watchforce to collect this. And now, I have you.�

Raffi shook his head. Terror was creeping over him like an eclipse. �No. No you don�t.�

The Margrave laughed, a harsh rattle. �You and I are linked, Raffi. Ever since you came into my room in your vision you have intrigued me. I learned more about you in those few seconds than you think. We are linked. I have rarely talked with a human soul like this since Kest came to plead with me in my prison.�

Its small eyes stared at him, the lids swiveling like a lizard�s. �I�m going to find you, Raffi. Bring you back to my room. I know you have hidden qualities; your master doesn�t value you enough. I�m sure you�ve often thought that.� Its tongue flickered in a sly grin.

�I need a companion and I have chosen you. You will be my apprentice.�

Raffi gazed at it in utter horror.

Beside him suddenly Carys came back, then Galen, stepping moodily out of the dark. On the ramparts the Sekoi tribes blurred out of nothingness and in the sky the moons came on like Maker-lights.

The Sekoi, tall and astonished, reached up for the Coronet and took it off, staring at the gold ring in amazement.

Only Solon sat on the pile of gold.

The Margrave left him. They almost saw it go, saw the absence creep into his eyes, saw him become in an instant a heartbroken, devastated old man, unable to look at Marco, unable to look at any of them, huddled up and sobbing.

Carys turned away. It was Galen who went and crouched before him.

�Leave me!� the old man moaned, hiding his face. �You see what I�ve done!� His eyes caught the knife handle; Galen moved in front of it

�It�s over,� he whispered. �The evil is gone from you.� Solon looked up, his eyes wide. �I couldn�t keep it out! Dear God, I couldn�t!� His cry was an agony of remorse; he looked imploringly around at them all, rocking with pain. �Three years, Galen. That was how long. Every day, every hour they tormented me. Never letting me sleep or think.� He gripped his hands together. �You can�t imagine how it was. On and on, lights and questions. I couldn�t eat. I forgot who I was. I forgot how to pray.�

�I know.� Galen held him firmly. �It�s over now. We�ll get you to Sarres.�

�And then he came! He explained how I could help him. He spoke softly, and I let him into my mind, Galen, I let him! I couldn�t bear it anymore, the filth, the pain, the darkness. I couldn�t even bear the smell of that room. I wanted him. He made me strong. He gave me power. In the end I was begging him to come.�

There was a bitter silence. Then Galen said harshly, �None of us can judge you until we have been through such a hell. But Mardoc�s Ring. All the things you told us. Were they true?�

�True. But he forced me to tell him. He found the ring and wore it, mocking me. I have betrayed everything I loved! And yet I would still do anything rather than go back to that cell!� Solon clutched his head in despair. Galen watched. When he asked the next question Raffi knew it had been an effort.

�And the child? The one you cured?�

�He did it.� The old man looked up, seeing Galen�s eyes close in despair. �He�s clever, much too clever for us. It�s over. He has all of us now.�

�Galen!� Carys�s voice was sharp. �Look at this.�

Above them, in the air, a door was forming. They stared up at it, Raffi gripping the beads at his neck in silent awe.

A narrow door, with a silver staircase that unfolded silently and smoothly like a ripple of light to the Sekoi�s feet, so that the creature jumped back in alarm.

They waited. No one came down. The door stayed shut.

Around the arena the Sekoi tribes watched in fascination. �Are the Makers here?� Carys asked. She felt a sudden panic, as if she wasn�t ready; she stared at the door as if Flain would open it and walk down. It sparked a sudden memory. �I forgot! He told me something else! He said, �Tell the keeper I�ll see him soon.� �

�It�s the portal.� Galen�s gaunt face was shadowed, his eyes dark with joy. �Remember? The console said the Coronet could make an emergency portal. This is it! A door to the world of the Makers!�

He gripped the handrail and for a moment Raffi thought he would race up and fling the door wide, the desire so keen in him that Raffi could feel it.

But he didn�t. He jumped down, hauled Solon to his feet, and put his scarred hands roughly on the rail. �You go,� he said.

�Me?� The Archkeeper was aghast. �I betrayed them! I�ve done evil, welcomed evil. I can�t face them!�

�We all have to face them.� Galen stepped back. �No one is turned away. This is your chance to make up for your weakness, Solon! Do it for Marco, for all of us. Get them to come! Tell them how much we need them, that the Unfinished Lands will still spread, that men�s faith has grown cold.�

Solon glanced at the others.

�No!� Carys crossed to Galen and faced him angrily. �It should be you! He�s weak, you said so yourself.�

�Weakness can hide strength.�

�Don�t give me that rubbish!� She glared up at him, but he wouldn�t look at her. �He betrayed us, Galen! You must hate him for that!�

Then he did look. �Not him. And the Crow has work still to do here.� For a moment the hardness of his eyes softened. �Don�t tempt me, Carys,� he whispered.

Shoving her aside he said to Solon, �Go quickly.�

The Archkeeper wiped his face. He took a small bronze ring off his finger and dropped it into Galen�s hand. �Choose a better Archkeeper,� he whispered, and turned and climbed the stairs as if each one was an effort of will. When he reached the top, the door slid open.

And for a second they glimpsed another world; a pale sky, green fields, a warm breeze that lifted Solon�s hair as he walked fearfully into it, fluttering his coat in a scent of alien leaves, lighting his face so that in the instant before he vanished he seemed young, laughed, held his hands out to someone, and Galen had taken two steps after him before the door closed and the light was gone and the staircase dissolved into moon-shimmer.

It was very quiet in the arena. The snow had stopped. In the black sky the moons hung, each in its appointed place. �I wish Marco could have seen that,� Carys muttered.

She bent and picked up a leaf that lay there and handed it to Galen. It was long and narrow, some sort of willow, Raffi thought. And alien.

�It seems to me,� the Sekoi purred, looking up at Agramon, �that I moved her.�

�It was me.� Carys threw the bow down.

�Me,� Raffi said.

�All of us.� The Sekoi stared at the Coronet. �How can I tell you how it felt? Like the joining of many stories, all at once.� It looked up, yellow eyes sharp. �The Karamax are coming down.�

�Will they let us go?� Carys asked.

It shrugged, laying the Coronet reverently between Kest�s hands. �It may be they will. Things have changed now.� Suddenly remembering, it took off its money belt and emptied a stream of coins onto the heap. They tinkled and rolled. �Though I fear all this must be moved to a more secret place.� It looked at Carys sidelong. �I have to say, Carys, that I have been wrong. I am sorry.�

She nodded. �So you should be. Mind you, at one point I suspected you.� She grinned at Raffi, who was pale and still. The Sekoi turned. �And you, Galen, don�t let the darkness fill your soul. Despite the deaths, we have achieved our aim.�

The Relic Master came forward. He put both hands down and gripped Kest�s coffin, and Raffi felt a sudden sickening jolt of terror.

�Galen!� he muttered.

The keeper�s face was harsh and set. �I swear,� he said, �by Kest and Flain and all the Makers. By all the Moons. By all the Books of the Order . . .�

�Galen, don�t!�

�. . . By all that I�ve ever believed�I swear the Crow will hunt the Margrave down into the deepest pit of hell for this.�

His fists clenched. �And when I find him there, I�ll kill him. Because of what he did to Solon. And for Marco.�

He turned, his hair glossy as a bird�s wing. �I swear it, Raffi. I will never forgive this.�

Raffi felt as if all his nightmares were drowning him. He looked at Carys.

She shrugged and picked up her bow.

�Be careful, Galen,� she said quietly. �I somehow think that may be just what he wants.�