"Yes, Your Eminence."

"Now then, have we discovered how Kylock learnt about the two thousand mercenaries yet?" Tavalisk took a dove and broke its spine. The meat slipped off more easily that way.

"No, Your Eminence. But someone obviously informed him, for he not only knew their numbers, but he also knew the exact route they would be taking to get to Bren."

"That was certainly some ambush. Fifteen hundred men killed! Their horses slaughtered and their equipment flung into the lake. It was an outright disaster!" Tavalisk was so upset that he let the dovemeat slide to the floor. He had lost his taste for fowl. "Kylock is always one step ahead of us. If we mine a tunnel, he knows it. If we send supplies, he steals them. If we change our strategies, then he changes his before we've even made a move. Someone is feeding him information, and I want to know who it is."

"I will look into it, Your Eminence," said Gamil, placing slices of calf on a platter.

The sight of red meat heartened the archbishop. "Have we any news about Annis?"

"Nothing's changed, Your Eminence. It's a very strange situation. The backbone of the Four Kingdoms' army is still camped outside the city. They're engaging in a sort of halfhearted siege: keeping a round-the-clock watch on the walls, whilst never getting close enough to incur any damage."

"It's not strange at all, Gamil. It's brilliant. By laying siege to Annis, Kylock is not only wearing the good people of the city down, but he's also preventing their army from fighting at Bren. No man is going to leave his home to fight someone else's battle when his own country is in danger." Tavalisk took the platter from Gamil. "Kylock is effectively keeping Annis under lock and key. And it's costing him nothing to do so."

Tavalisk speared a chunk of meat with his little silver skewer. "What worries me is that at any point Kylock could give the order for his troops to up stakes and cross the mountains. Now, if that happens, the Highwall army is in serious danger of being outflanked."

Gamil nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Eminence does have a point."

Tavalisk certainly did have a point, and he used it now to spear Gamil's arm. "If I wanted condescension, Gamil, I would go to G.o.d. Not you." Removing the silver skewer from his aide's flesh, Tavalisk said, "Slip of the wrist, Gamil, I had intended to spear the calf."

Gamil did not look pleased.

"Come on now, Gamil. Stop sulking. It was only an accident." Feeling a tiny bit contrite, the archbishop offered his napkin to wipe away the blood, then quickly changed the subject. "So, is Maybor's daughter still under lock and key?"

Gamil got what revenge he could by bleeding profusely onto the silk napkin. "No one has heard anything about her since Lord Maybor left the city, Your Eminence. Baralis and Kylock are both denying knowing anything about the abduction. They're claiming that Maybor is a madman."

"But they do have her, though?"

"Either that or they've already killed her."

"It makes no difference to us if she's alive or dead, Gamil. As long as no one can be sure what has become of her, we can still go on fighting in her name." Tavalisk ran a chubby finger along the rim of the platter. "Has she any support within the city?"

Gamil shook his head. "Anyone who openly supports the Lady Melliandra is seized by Kylock's forces and hanged by the neck. The executions are carried out in public for all the city to see."

"Hmm. And what of those who support the good lady in secret?"

"A fair number of n.o.blemen have gone missing in the past months, Your Eminence. They disappear from their quarters in the middle of the night, leaving friends and family frantic."

"Missing, eh?" Tavalisk's smile was almost wistful. Gamil cleared his throat. "I did take the liberty of having our spies look into the matter, Your Eminence. I've learned that Kylock has secret intelligence sources placed throughout the city Any lord who as much as breathes Melliandra's name over the dinner table is likely to disappear."

Tavalisk sighed. "Too bad. If Kylock wasn't cracking down so hard, I'm sure the city would be liable to turn tail."

"Lord Maybor is causing quite a fuss in the Highwall camp, though, Your Eminence. He's got all sorts of plans to infiltrate the city and bring the siege to an early end."

Tavalisk waved an I told you so. "I always knew the time would come when he would need my help, Gamil. See to it that he gets whatever manpower and resources he requires. Might as well let him have a go. The Highwall generals have been sadly lacking in brilliance so far. A few wall breaches are nothing to get excited about."

"Very well, Your Eminence. If there is nothing further, may I take my leave?"

"By all means." Tavalisk smiled like a concerned pa.s.serby. "I'd pay a visit to the surgeon on the way out, if I were you, Gamil. That cut looks like it might need a st.i.tching."

Melli forced herself to eat the last of the bread. She had no water left, so she swallowed it dry. Next, she turned her attention to the pork joint. It was mostly skin and fat, but she tore away at it as if it were the finest meat. She didn't want to, but she had to. And she would eat a lot worse if it came to it.

The light was beginning to fail. A thin streak of gold caught the edge of the arrow loop, and Melli knew from experience that it would soon fade away. The antic.i.p.ation of darkness was the worst thing of all--much worse than the darkness itself. At this time Melli always felt tense. She would look around the small curved room, memorizing. Then she would make last-minute adjustments, moving her bowl, shifting the straw, chasing the beetles from the bench. Last of all, just as the daylight skimmed softly out of sight, she would glance down at her belly and whisper words of comfort to her child.

True darkness is hard to come by. Melli had spent every night of her life in the dark, but the darkness of a comfortable chamber-with candlelight creeping under the door and embers glowing softly in the hearth-was a world apart from the darkness she knew now. Some nights it was like being in a grave. If you can't see your hand in front of your face, it's easy to believe you don't exist. That was how Melli felt when there was no moon-as if somehow the world had pa.s.sed her by.

So the words of comfort were really for herself, but it suited her to pretend they were for the child.

Melli now kept track of the moon. Tonight she was expecting a full one. Whether or not she would see it depended on the clouds. The great lake often allowed sunlight in the day, only to send the clouds in overnight. Melli hadn't yet come up with a way of predicting the cloud cover, but she always knew when it would rain.

Being pregnant had done it. When her ankles began to ache with a needling fussy pain and her legs swelled slowly like rising dough, then it was a sure sign that the skies were going to open, and icy little droplets would soon come spitting through the loop.

Facing the lake as it did, the arrow loop was an open invitation to the wind and the rain. For the first week or so it was warm. Flies would buzz up from the water and the sun would warm the back of the stone. Now, a month later, the weather was changeable. Suffering from the growing pains of winter, it couldn't really decide what it wanted to do: one minute it would rain and howl, the next the sun would come out and cast a remorseful rainbow across the lake. Yesterday there had even been hailstones.

The nights were always cold. Bren was at the mercy of the mountains after dark. The temperature dropped sharply and the wind stopped blowing and started cutting, instead.

Once, Melli had attempted to block the arrow loop off with her shawl. It hadn't worked. The wind just blew it back against the wall.

Melli tried to keep track of the days as best she could. At first she had made marks against the stone: one line for every day. But after two weeks the lines began to mount up, and what had started out as a record began to take on the look of a last will and testament. She imagined people finding her body and shaking their heads sadly as they counted all the lines.

For the most part, Melli tried to keep macabre thoughts at the back of her mind. She told herself that if they were going to kill her, they would surely have done it by now.

She was brought food and water once a day. Two guards came. One unlocked the door, let his friend with the tray pa.s.s, and then held a halberd in her face until yesterday's tray and chamberpot had been retrieved. Melli had tried asking them for warm clothes, candles, and some wood to block the loop, but they didn't acknowledge her voice. Wouldn't even look her in the eyes. Obviously they were under strict orders from someone. Someone they were so scared of that they hardly dared to breathe in her presence, lest they risk provoking the man's displeasure.

Baralis. It was no other. There was no one to match him when it came to breeding fear. He was certainly doing a good job on her. If he had come to visit her just once--if only to refuse her requests, or gloat over her ever-worsening state--then she would have feared him less. She could hold her own with any man. She knew that if she saw Baralis in person, the myth she had created in his absence would be dispelled.

But he didn't come. And so her mind created a monster and his motives, and she had a nagging little feeling that that had been his intention all along. He wanted her to be afraid. It pleased him: fear was at the heart of his power.

He didn't get it all his own way, though. No, not at all. She was strong. It would take more than solitude and walls of rounded stone to break her back. They fed her slops; she ate them. They refused to bring her blankets; she did without them. They took away the light, and like a fungus she flourished in the dark. She would not give in to Baralis and his henchmen. She and her baby were not merely surviving, they were growing tougher and more vital by the day.

Melli heard a distant banging. She paid it no attentionwith the siege going on the night was full of noises. The banging came again, nearer this time. Mew stood very still.

This was no Highwall siege engine. Light as thin as smoke crept under the door. Someone was coming.

All her earlier bravado drained away faster than water down a grate. No one ever came at night. No one.

The banging turned into distinct footsteps. The light was now a band around the door. Melli steadied herself against the stone wall. She was shaking. There was something hard blocking her throat. She drew her hand down to her belly and lifted her head high as the key turned in the lock.

The door swung open. Melli was dazzled by the light. A figure stood in the doorway. From his shape, she knew it was Baralis. Slowly, he drew the lantern up to his face.

Fifteen.

"So, what did you really feel when you saw the ocean?" Tawl sat hunched close to the fire. The longbow was to his left and the arrows were to his right. He tended the fire, but his eyes looked to the hills.

Nabber was sleeping. He'd grown quickly bored of the archery. Wrapping himself up in all the good blankets, he had extracted solemn promises from both Tawl and Jack to wake him up if anything happened, and then promptly fell asleep. That was about an hour ago now, and Nabber's vibrant snoring could currently be heard above the breeze.

It was very bright on the bluff. The full moon shone on the chalky cliffs and the ash-colored rocks and then bounced the light created down to the hills below. There weren't many nights like this in the year. Nights when there was enough light to teach a man archery by.

Jack was on the opposite side of the fire. He lay on his blanket and looked up at the stars. He didn't answer Tawl's question.

Perhaps he hadn't heard. It was late, he was tired, the wind might have blown the question out to sea. Tawl didn't repeat it. They had both had a long day.

Searching in his pack, Tawl pulled out a small jar of beeswax. He scooped some into a cloth and began to work it into the bow. The best way to stay awake all night was never to let your hands or mind be idle.

"It was like recognizing a long lost friend."

At first Tawl didn't realize what Jack was talking about. The question had drifted from his thoughts.

Jack continued speaking. "I knew it. The smells, the sound, the colors-they were all familiar, and yet"-with his hand, he made a small helpless gesture--"strange. Foreign. Like something I'd dreamt about long ago."

Jack's voice sounded small and lost. Tawl had to remind himself that he was little more than a boy. Not through his twentieth year yet. He'd been given no choice, no guidance. Nothing to prepare him for what was to come. Yet he was here anyway, trying very hard to appear calm on the outside, while he quietly worked through the chaos underneath.

Tawl wiped the wax from his fingers. It was different for him-he'd had years to prepare for this. Bevlin had given him plenty of warning. And at the end of the day, it was always his choice to be a knight, to search for truth and honor, to take risks and "find merit in the eyes of G.o.d." Jack had no creed to follow.

He was on his own.

"Tawl, tell me the prophecy again."

The request took Tawl by surprise. It was the last thing he expected. Glancing quickly over at Jack, he saw that the boy was still looking at the stars.

Tawl began to say the prophecy: "When men of honor lose sight of their cause . . . "

As he spoke the first line, Tawl heard his voice faltering. The words might have been written for him alone: he was the one who had lost sight of his allegiances and his oaths. He was the one who had brought the knighthood into disrepute. Not Tyren, as Nabber had tried to tell him, but he himself.

Tawl swallowed hard. The pain was always there inside him-it never got any smaller, or hurt any less, just shifted gradually into discernible layers: each one a band of steel around his heart. Dropping his gaze to the ground, Tawl took two deep breaths to calm himself before continuing. No matter how hard things got, he had no choice but to carry on.

"When three bloods are savored in one day Two houses will meet in wedlock and wealth And what forms at the join is decay A man will come with neither father nor mother"

As Tawl paused to take a speaking breath, Jack shifted his position on his blanket, moving closer toward the fire. The light from the flames fell upon his hair, brightening it with colors that the moonlight had all but robbed. Colors of chestnut and gold Tawl's mind skimmed over the next line of verse.

But sister as lover In that instant, a small warning sounded in his head. He didn't give it any thought, didn't question it in any way, but when he spoke, he found he'd skipped the line entirely: "And stay the hand of the plague The stones will be sundered, the temple will fall The dark empire's expansion will end at his call And only the fool knows the truth."

Everything was quiet after he finished. Jack didn't move, the wind didn't blow, even the ocean stopped sending waves to the,sh.o.r.e.

Tawl knew he had to break the silence. More for his own good than for Jack's. There was nothing to do in the silence but think. And Tawl did not want to spend a minute speculating about what he'd just done and why.

"Does any of it mean anything to you?" he asked. Jack's reply was slow in coming. "Yes and no," he said at last. "My mother is dead, and I never had a father. And I suppose the two houses that meet are Bren and the kingdoms."

Tawl nodded. He was glad of the opportunity to shift his thoughts onto less treacherous ground. "And the men who have lost their honor are the knights. The temple is Larn and the dark empire is being forged as we speak."

"Kylock."

There was something akin to longing in Jack's voice as he spoke, and Tawl turned his head to look at him. No longer staring at the stars, he was enthralled by the flames.

"You knew him, didn't you?"

Jack nodded. His gaze didn't leave the fire. "I think I'm meant to destroy him."

Tawl felt his spine p.r.i.c.kle as surely as if someone had poured ice down his back. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a thin line of light. It moved upward as he watched.

Already unnerved from what Jack had just said, Tawl was immediately on his guard. Keeping his gaze even, he whispered, "Lie down slowly, Jack. Pretend you're bedding down for the night."

Jack faked a yawn, smoothed out his blanket, and lay down. His face was turned to the hills. His hand was on the shortbow. "Where is he?" he hissed.

"On the hill to the left, a third of the way down. Just above the tree line." Tawl barely moved as he spoke. He kept staring straight ahead. It was the archer. No doubt about it. He was on foot, and as he walked his bow caught the light of the moon. Tawl couldn't see the man's horse, but he guessed it was hidden back in the trees.

Slowly Tawl reached for an arrow. As his hand closed around the shaft, he spoke to Jack: "On my word throw the blanket on the fire."

The shadowy figure in the distance stopped moving. The light slanted upward as he raised his bow.

They would only have a split second once the archer saw the light go out. The opportunity was too good to miss, though. Skaythe was now a standing target.

Tawl s.n.a.t.c.hed his own bow from the ground. He nocked the arrow and drew back the string.

"Now, Jack. Now!" Tawl aimed his arrow. The light went out.

The bend of Skaythe's elbow told of a bow drawn and ready. Tawl kissed the string and then relaxed his hold. The arrow exploded from the plate and shot toward its target.

The instant his fingers were free of the string, Tawl dove toward the fire. He heard the whir of an arrow, felt the head graze past his face. A hot searing pain followed, then the fletchings brushed against his cheek.

He slammed onto the blanket. It was hot and smoking. His momentum sent his body careening into Jack.

Jack had the shortbow up and nocked. Tawl grabbed his ankle and brought him down.

"Did I hit him?" Tawl could barely breathe. His right eye was full of blood. He twisted Jack's ankle, preventing him from standing.

"I don't know. He went down maybe a second after you." Jack kicked against the grip. "If you hadn't pulled me down, I would have got a shot at him. I had him in my sights even after he'd hit the ground."

Behind them, Nabber shifted in his blankets. "What's going on?"

"Stay down." Tawl wiped his eye. The cut was on his right cheekbone and the blood was flowing into the socket "Where is he now?" he asked Jack. He still couldn't see properly.

"He's gone. In between you pulling me down and me looking up again, he got away."

Tawl hissed a curse. Skaythe would have made it below the tree line by now. If he had been hit, it obviously hadn't been fatal. The fact that he fell to the ground meant nothing. They both knew what game they were playing: two archers, two arrows, two shots. It was a duel. Skaythe would have had the same instinct he had-release the string, then get the h.e.l.l away.

Tawl almost admired the man. He had loosed a fine arrow.

"Come on," he said, standing up. "It's about time we upped camp."

"I ain't getting up. No, sir," said Nabber from the ground. "No one's gonna take a free shot at me."