"We'll reach those hills by the end of the day." Andris bent down to buckle the girth. He had long, light brown hair and fine northern features. A jagged scar ran from just below his left eye down to his neck. "This time tomorrow we'll all be stiff with cold."

"I don't mind snow and ice. It's the wind that sets me shivering."

"Aye. I know all about the wind. I'm originally from eastern Halcus, and they have winds there that can blow the sense right from a man's head."

"I know," said Jack. Andris looked up at him, and he continued speaking: "I traveled through eastern Halcus in midwinter, and I might not have lost my senses, but I lost a good layer of skin. The wind was a demon."

"You from the kingdoms?"

"Yes, Harvell. I spent some time in Halcus, though. It's a beautiful place in spring." As he spoke, Jack remembered the morning he and Tarissa had run off to the little pool ringed with daffodils. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

"What was your business there?" Andris began to brush out his filly's mane. Jack noticed the tip of his left index finger was missing.

"I had no business, really. I was running away. I found people in Halcus who were willing to take me in. Good people." Jack took a deep breath. "And some bad ones as well."

Andris stopped what he was doing. "What did you come over here to say to me, Jack? I don't think you really want to stand here and chat about Halcus."

Jack respected the man's directness. It was time to come clean. "I came to tell you about Tawl."

"What about him?"

"He didn't forsake the knighthood, not really. Not in his heart. Even now he's still doing Bevlin's work. We just came from Larn--we destroyed the temple there. No more stones, no more bindings, no more lives served up to G.o.d." Andris shook his head. "Larn is an old wives' tale. There's no such place."

"I've been to the island. I've seen the seers with my own eyes. My mother was born there." Jack's voice was grim. "Don't tell me it doesn't exist. Go ask Crayne or Borlin; they'll know about it." Jack was taking a guess that the two eldest knights in the party would have heard of Larn; their timeworn, deeply lined faces told of countless sights seen and dark tales told around campfires at dusk.

Andris looked around the camp. The fire was dead, the bedrolls were up, most of the knights were already on their horses. His gaze returned to Jack. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you because I know Tawl wouldn't. He'd never speak out for himself. He's too modest for that. You were with him at Valdis-you know what I'm saying is true."

Andris mounted his horse. "So what's your point?"

"My point is this: Tawl's not a liar, he's not a murderer, he's the bravest man I've ever met. The knighthood is part of his soul. I've been with him for months now, and up until twelve days ago he refused to hear a bad word said against Tyren. He loved the man like a father. And now he's learnt the truth he feels betrayed. He's hurting inside. I know how he feels, and I think you do, too. Tyren's betrayed all of you."

A second or two pa.s.sed. Andris looked down at Jack, his gray northern eyes the same color as the sky. Kicking his horse forward, he said, "I'll talk to the others at midday."

They made good time that morning. It was cold enough to harden the mud, and as the temperature dropped so did the wind. The mountains were close now. The party was to the southwest of them, their peaks shrouded in mist.

The farther north they traveled, the more excited Jack became. A subtle pressure had started building in his stomach the moment he landed in Marls. Every day the knot grew a little tighter. He felt as if he was being reeled in, pulled forward to Bren, to Baralis. To Kylock. Things were different now. Learning about his mother's ident.i.ty had made him stronger. It was as if he had claimed her strength along with her true name: Aneska. It was a charm to ward off evil. Whatever happened in the coming weeks, nothing could take that away from him. He knew who he was, where he had come from, and what he was fated to do.

There were still things he didn't know or understand: who his father was, why he had to destroy more than just Larn, and what the link was between Marod's prophecy and his mother. He could live without those answers, though. For the time being at least.

Now, today, and every day until they reached Bren, he had to prepare himself to face Kylock. The king had to die. There was no other alternative. The northern empire would crumble without a leader. Baralis, with all his cunning and special skills, wouldn't be able to hold it together once his figurehead was gone. Kylock had the birthright to rule the kingdoms and the marriage right to rule Bren. If he was a.s.sa.s.sinated, the two powers would spring apart like a severed bowstring. There was no natural connection between them, no history to bind them close: Kylock was the only link. If he was murdered, Bren and the kingdoms would stand alone once more, and the empire they held between them would disintegrate into its separate parts.

Jack had thought long and hard about what he would do when he finally arrived in Bren. There was no need to deal with Baralis, no need to wage a war. Kylock's death was all that counted.

And he, Jack of the Four Kingdoms and Larn, former baker's boy and scribe, was the one man who could bring it about. He and Kylock were connected, and the time was coming close to sever the thread.

Tawl had his own concerns: the knighthood, Melli, and whatever ghosts lay in his past. Jack would help him as far as he could, but there was a limit --a point when only he and Kylock mattered and the nearer they got to Bren, the closer that limit came.

Jack glanced over at Tawl. The knight was riding close to Nabber's mule. He caught Jack's gaze and offered a silent salute. Jack saluted back. They both knew the way things were.

Midday came, cloudy and cold with gentle but bitter winds. Crayne decided to stop along the banks of a slowmoving stream. "When it's as cold as this," he said, in his blunt, soldier's voice, "there's little point looking for tree cover."

All morning they had been traveling through s.n.a.t.c.hes of woodland separated by gra.s.sy hills and valleys. Everywhere Jack looked there was water. streams, pools, scampering brooks. Some of the smaller pools were just starting to frost over, and greasy plates of ice could be seen floating around their edges. For the most part the water was flowing free and the sound of it rushing, tinkling, and dripping filled the midday air.

Jack watched as Andris approached Crayne. The two men exchanged a few words. Crayne then beckoned Borlin over. Although he was some distance from the three men, Jack could see Andris' lips shaping the word Larn. Borlin nodded. More words were exchanged. Two other knights came over to join them.

Jack rode over to Tawl and Nabber.

"What's going on, Jack?" asked Tawl, lifting Nabber down from his mule. "What did you say to Andris earlier?"

"The truth. I told him we destroyed the temple at Larn."

"You destroyed the temple, Jack. Not me."

"No. We both did."

Tawl didn't reply. He turned to Nabber and said, "Open up," and peered down the pocket's throat. Next he felt for lumps under his jawline and then clamped a palm over his brow. He seemed pleased with what he found. "You're getting better."

"How come I don't feel no better, then?"

Tawl smiled. "Because I didn't put any brandy in your holk this morning. Now go and he down for a while. Take my extra blanket and make sure you cover yourself well. I'll be over with some hot food soon."

Nabber looked at Tawl and then Jack. "I know when I'm not wanted. I might be sick, but I'm not stupid." He began to walk toward the water's edge. "Make sure you bring me plenty of cheese."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Tawl said, "Jack, I don't need you to fight my battles for me. I can deal with these men on my own."

"I know you can, Tawl. But we haven't got much time. If they're not going to help us, then we have to escape."

"You think I'm holding you up." It was not a question. "That's not why I spoke to Andris."

Tawl managed half a smile. He brought up his hand and laid it on Jack's shoulder. "I know."

The two men looked over toward Andris. All the knights had gathered around him, and judging from the amount of noise they were making, a heated discussion was taking place.

Tawl took a step forward. "I'll go and talk to them."

"No," said Jack. "Let them come to you." He reached over and took his flask from his pack. "Come on, let's get some water."

Tawl followed him down to the edge of the stream. Nabber was close by. Bundled in a heavy blanket, he was leaning over the water looking for skimmers. "Where does all this water come from, Tawl?" he said, holding a pebble up to the light. "Ain't seen so much wet stuff since we took our leave of Marls."

"It runs down off the Divide," said Tawl, dipping his flask in the stream. "All these little streams eventually run into the Silbur."

"Is the river close by?" asked Jack. Everyone in the Known Lands had heard of the mighty River Silbur.

Tawl shrugged. "About five leagues west of us. It runs along the base of the foothills. It's current is so strong it actually cuts a path through the Divide."

"It runs through the mountains?"

"Yes. A hundred leagues south of Valdis." Tawl put the cap on his flask. "Tomorrow we should pa.s.s close to Lake Ormon. It's the deepest lake in the Known Lands. It's where the River Viralay joins the Silbur. The Viralay flows northward through the mountains until it hits the lake." As he spoke Tawl's voice grew quieter. His eyes focused on a distant point across the stream. "I followed the Viralay's path my first year at Valdis. I had to make it to the mountain shrine to gain my first circle. I'll never forget my first sight of the falls."

"The falls?"

"The Faldara Falls. The Viralay drops down from the mountains and into Lake Ormon. It's the place where Valdis . . . " Tawl's voice trailed away. He was crouching by the water's edge, and he began to rock back and forth on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Abruptly he stood up.

A warning pulse beat in Jack's temple. "What happened at the Faldara Falls?" he cried, suddenly afraid. Something dangerous and unnamable shone in Tawl's eyes.

The knight began to walk back to the campsite. "Valdis earned the faith of his first followers."

Kylock dropped his gaze to Melli's stomach. "How much longer?" He was so close Melli could smell him. A faint sulfurous odor escaped from his lips.

"Five weeks," she lied. It was more like three.

Kylock made a small clicking noise with his tongue and turned his back on her. He had let himself into her chamber only a few minutes earlier. Melli had been almost glad of his arrival. Mistress Greal had failed to make her daily visit, and Melli found she missed the usual clashing of tongues.

Melli moved closer to Kylock. She had her eye on his knife. She was determined to have it in her stash before the visit was through. "Does five weeks fail to meet with your approval, sire?"

The clicking sound came again. Kylock swept around to face her. "Women are such lying wh.o.r.es." He grabbed her by the throat. "Tell me the truth this time. How much longer before you give birth?"

Melli felt the baby kicking. She tried to take a breath, but Kylock's thumb was pressed against her windpipe. Even though she had witnessed Kylock's mood swings many times before, they never failed to frighten her. She knew her best course of action would be to placate him: to beg, to apologize, to admit her guilt. He liked to see her sorry. Her mind was on his knife, though. She could feel it pressing against her side.

Moving her right hand down toward his hip, Melli grasped hold of the hilt. As her fingers closed around the leather binding, she raised her left heel and stamped down hard on Kylock's foot. He jerked back, and Melli pulled the knife from its sheath.

Before she'd had chance to hide the knife behind her back, Kylock's fist smashed into her face. Pain exploded in her jaw. Her vision blurred. Without thinking, she brought the knife forward and slashed at Kylock's arm. The blade cut through linen and flesh. Even as the blood welled from the cut, Melli knew she'd made a terrible mistake.

Kylock looked down at his arm and then up at her. A faint smile was on his lips. He shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that, Melliandra."

Melli was scared now. Everything was happening too fast. She brought her left hand down to protect her stomach, and then dropped her knife hand down to her side. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was doing."

"Oh, I think you did. I think you knew exactly what you were doing." Kylock lunged for the knife. Instinct made Melli raise the blade. The edge cut deep into Kylock's palm. Blood poured from the gash.

"Get away from me!" she cried.

Kylock did as he was told. Very slowly he began to back away.

Melli's heart was beating fast. The knife shook in her hand. She tried to calm herself; she was in charge, she had the knife, Kylock would do what she wanted. Then she looked into his eyes.

They were as blank as stone.

Melli dropped the knife. With both hands she hugged her belly. No, Borc. No, she mouthed. She had seen that look before. The day Jack turned and faced the mercenaries his eyes had looked exactly the same.

A metallic taste reached her lips. A warm breeze touched her cheek. The light went out. And then a band of solid air hit her full in the stomach. It was like being smashed with a metal bar. She was lifted off her feet and slammed against the chamber wall. Her back cracked. Her head hit stone. Something warm gushed down her thigh.

Melli slumped to the floor. The chamber around her was moving. Her face was burning up. Her skirt and legs were wet Kylock stood above her, smiling.

"That should teach you not to lie."

Melli barely heard him. She barely saw him walk away. Deep, heaving contractions gripped her stomach. A terrible, cold fear gripped her soul. The one arm she was capable of moving came up around her belly. And the baby within shifted downward like a dead weight.

Oh, no. Please. NO!

The night was filled with pain. Her own screams filtered down to her through layer upon layer of suffering. Everything was red. She opened her eyes, she closed her eyes, and all she saw was red.

Her body stopped being hers and became an instrument of the child. Violent, sickening contractions tore through her abdomen. Hot blood-flushes plumed up her neck and face.

Her chest was a clawing hollow; it was as if her heart and her lungs didn't exist. The muscles in her stomach were taut with straining, like ropes lashed around her belly. The center of the pain was lower, deeper, nestled between her hips. Flesh, muscle, and ligaments were stretched to the tearing point. Melli felt as if she was being split in two.

And then there were the other pains. Little separate pockets lurking within the whole. Right arm throbbing, dead at the wrist. Head pounding against the stone. A knifing sting in the back, and the skin on her face scalding in the cool air.

At first there was no one. Melli was alone in the redtinged darkness, screaming. Then came men with lights. A cushion was placed beneath her head, a blanket over her belly. Something warm dripped between her lips and she heard the tear of fabric as her dress was slit. Melli looked up. The figures looked like ghosts around a grave. Three of them now-the last one an avenging spirit who banished the other two.

Melli felt a slap upon her cheek.

"Take a grip of yourself, you little s.l.u.t." The figure dumped a cup of cold water over Melli's face. "And stop that infernal screaming."

Melli stopped screaming and started choking. Water splashed down her throat and into her windpipe. She raised her head up from the cushion to clear her lungs. Pain splintered her spine.

"Stay where you are, missy. You're not moving anywhere."

Melli actually laughed. Move? Mistress Greal was being overly optimistic.

If Mistress Greal slapped, kicked, or drenched her again, Melli didn't feel it. A ma.s.sive, muscle-tensing spasm racked her body. Her chest was a vacuum threatening to collapse. Spirals of pain caught her in their snare. She felt as if a sharp-toothed dog was tearing away at her abdomen. Above her the light source bobbed and swayed. Mistress Greal's toothless face glowed like an apparition. Spiny claws fingered Melli's belly, prodding, pushing, scratching.

"Bite on this." Something hard and thumb-sized was thrust into Melli's mouth. Rough and wooden, its needle edges tore at her gums. Melli bit down on it anyway. Bit down hard and fast, puncturing the wood with flinty, salivaglazed teeth.

Another spasm hit. It wrenched the middle of her being, twisting muscles and organs and flesh. Melli tasted blood. She smelled her child. It was on its way.

Melli prayed to Borc. She prayed for her father's luck.

"What did you do to her?" Baralis willed himself to stay calm. He reminded himself he was addressing his king. "What happened, sire?"

Kylock was lounging on a cushioned bench in his chambers. His face was pale, his eyes unnaturally bright. A young girl sat cowering in a chair in the corner. Her pale hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing a linen nightgown. Baralis noticed that both her arms were behind her back.

A jeweled goblet full of wine rested in Kylock's hand. "Nothing happened that you need worry yourself over, Baralis. I merely taught the Lady Melliandra a lesson."

Baralis' glance flickered over to the girl. Kylock noticed the object of his gaze. "Don't worry yourself so, my dear chancellor. Our little friend here will tell no tales."

Kylock favored the girl with a patron's smile. "Not after tonight, eh?"

Baralis walked over to the chest against the wall. Two flagons of wine rested there. He took the caps off both of them and inhaled their fumes deeply.

"Testing for poison, Baralis?"

"Yes, sire. I have a nose for such things," lied Baralis. He was testing for traces of Ivysh. Kylock had drawn power this night, and Baralis needed to know how he had managed it. The almost imperceptible odor of sulfur met his nostrils. Ivysh was present. Kylock was still drinking tainted wine, which meant that once again he had managed to break free from the restraints of the drug. It shouldn't be possible.

Baralis turned back to Kylock. "How are you feeling, sire? Are you weak, tired?"

Kylock raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you become my doctor, Baralis? You will have me urinating in a gla.s.s next." He downed his cup of wine and slammed it onto the table. "I've never felt better."