At that moment, she became aware of a solitary figure moving slowly along the road below her. It halted, suddenly, and turned as if it had felt her breath on its neck, although she stood far beyond any normal range of hearing. Its hand raised, beckoning to her, or gesturing with a curse.

The ground lurched under her feet. Stumbling backward, she pulled the rope in tight as she forged back into the fog. White swam around her, static and empty. Her foot hit a rock, and she reeled sideways, found herself up to her thighs in water. Salt spray stung her lips. Waves soughed on a pebbly sh.o.r.eline, sucking and sighing over the rocks. Gra.s.sy dunes humped up beyond the beach. A gull screamed. Turning, she tugged hard on the rope and reeled herself in, one fist at a time, through the blinding fog.

When she staggered out onto the hillside, the watchtower rose before her and she fell to her knees in relief, gasping hard. Water puddled out from her soaked leggings, absorbed quickly into the parched soil.

"You are a fool, Eldest Uncle," said a woman's harsh voice." You know the stories. They cannot help themselves. Already she has broken the small limits you set upon her. Already she gathers intelligence for her own kind, which they will use against us."

The old sorcerer had a curt laugh. Although he was not a cynic, certainly he was not patient with anything he considered nonsense; this much she had learned about him in their short time together." How can they use the knowledge of the borders against us, White Feather? There is but one human standing here among us. None but she has crossed through the gateways in all this time. Why do you suppose others intend to? Nay, she is alone, as I have told you. She is an outcast from her own kind."

"So she would have you believe."

"You are too suspicious."

"Should I not be suspicious of humankind? You are too trusting, Eldest Uncle. It was those of our people who trusted humankind who laid down the path that brought us here. Had we not taught human magicians our secrets, they would not have gained the power to strike against us as they did."

"Nay." Liath saw them now, standing on her favorite ledge halfway up the ruined watchtower, looking down upon her like n.o.bles pa.s.sing judgment on their followers." It was the shana-ret'i-eri who corrupted humankind, not us."

"They would have overwhelmed us no matter what we had done," agreed the woman. She wore a plain linen cloak, yellowed with age, that draped over her right shoulder and lapped her knees. Underneath, she wore a shift patterned with red lozenges and dots. A strap bound her brow; at the back, where her hair fell freely down her back, the strap had been ornamented with a small shield of white feathers. A heavy jade ring pierced her nose." Humankind breeds offspring like to the mice, and disease in the manner of flies. We cannot trust them. You must bring her along to the council ground. The council will pa.s.s judgment."

With that, she vanished from Liath's view, climbing back down the ruined watchtower. The old sorcerer clambered down as well, appearing at the base of the tower, although White Feather was not with him. Liath rose to shake water out of her soaked leggings.

"She doesn't trust me," Liath said, surprised at the intensity of the woman's emotions." I don't think she liked me either. Is that the kind of judgment the council will pa.s.s? J see no point in standing before them if they're just going to condemn me."

"Not even I, who am eldest here, the only one left who remembers the great cataclysm, knows what judgment the council will pa.s.s."

"How can you remember the great cataclysm? If the calculations of the Seven Sleepers are correct, then that cataclysm took place over two thousand and seven hundred years ago, as humankind measures time. No one can be that old."

"Nor am I that old, as humankind measures years. The measure of days and years moves differently here than there. I know what I lived through. What has pa.s.sed in the world of my birth in the intervening time I have seen only in glimpses. I know only that humankind has overrun all of the land, as we feared they would."

None of this made much sense to Liath." What of the burning stone, then?" She would not make the same mistake she had made with the Seven Sleepers, to wait with resigned patience as they taught her in spirals that never quite got to the heart of what she needed to learn." If it's a gateway between my world and this one, can you call it at will? Might it be better for me to escape back to Earth rather than stand before the council?"

He considered her words gravely before replying." The burning stone is not ours to call. It appears at intervals dictated by those fluxes that disturb the fabric of the universe. It is the remnant of the great spell worked on us by your ancestors, although I do not suppose that they meant it to appear. But a few among us have learned how to manipulate it when it does appear."

"How might I do so?"

"Learn to call the power of the stars, and the power that lies in the heart of every object. The first you have some knowledge of, I think. The second is not a discipline known to humankind." He paused to smile wryly. He had faint scars around his mouth and others on the lobes of his ears, on his hands, and even a few mark ing his heels with old white scar lines." You must not fear the power of blood, which binds all things. You must learn to use it, even when it causes pain. I do not think you should retreat. It is rarely wise to run."

That Anne considered this ancient sorcerer and all his kind the sworn enemy of humankind, and of her own cause, inclined Liath to take their part. But in the end it was his words that swayed her. How different he sounded from Da, who had always found it prudent to run. Who had taught her to run.

"I'll go with you to the council," she said finally.

"Heh." The grunt folded into that curt laugh which seemed to encompa.s.s all he knew of amus.e.m.e.nt." So you will. Do not think I am unaware of the honor you give to me by granting me your trust. It has been a long time since any of your kind have trusted mine."

"Or your kind, mine," she retorted. The tart answer pleased him. He liked a challenge, and didn't mind sharp questions.

"Get what you need, then."

"I've everything I came with."

He waited while she coiled the rope.

"It's well made." The praise warmed her, but she only smiled. He had little enough on his own person for their journey. She had finally gotten used to his clothing, the beaded loincloth, the decorated arm and leg sheaths, and the topknot made of his black hair, ornamented by feathers. He was more wiry than skinny, although he did not look one bit well fed. He took the coiled rope from her and slung it over a shoulder before fishing out an arrow from her quiver. As always, he fondled the iron point for a moment, his expression distant.

"I fear what your kinfolk have become," he said at random, "to make arms such as this arrow, and that sword." But he only offered her the fletched end of the arrow to hold." Grasp this. Do not let go as we walk into the borderlands."

"Shouldn't we tie ourselves to the tree? What if we fall off the edge? You said yourself that this fog marks the edge of your lands."

He chuckled." A worthy idea, and a cautious plan that speaks well of you. But there is no danger in the borderlands. We are prisoners in our own land, because all the borders fold back on themselves."

"Except through the burning stone."

"Even so." He led her into the fog.

"Where are we going?" she called, but the mist deadened all sound. She could not even see him, a step ahead of her, only knew he was there by the pull of the arrow's shaft against her palm.

He knew where he was going. In six steps she stumbled onto a stone step, bruising her shin. She stood on a staircase lined by monsters' heads, each one carved so that it seemed to be emerging from a stone flower that bore twelve petals. The monster was the head of a snake, or that of a big, sleek cat with a toothy yawn, or some melding of the two: she couldn't tell which. Some had been painted red and white while others had golden-brown dapplings and succulent green tongues, lacy black curling ears or gold-petaled flowers rayed out from their circular eyes. On either side of the staircase lay the broad expanse of a vast pyramidal structure, too steep to climb, that had simply been painted a blinding white, as stark as the fog. Here and there, paint had chipped away to reveal gray stone beneath.

She followed the old sorcerer up the steps. Despite everything, this staircase up which they toiled nagged at her. It seemed familiar, like a whispered name calling from her memory.

They walked up out of the fog on a steep incline, surrounded by those ghastly, powerful faces. The stair steps went on, and on, and on, until she had to stop to catch her breath. She unsealed the water jug and sipped, cooling her parched throat, but when she offered the jug to the old sorcerer, he declined. He waited patiently for her to finally get up and go again. At last, they came to the top of the pyramid.

At her back, below and beyond, lay the dense bank of fog. Before her lay another city, somewhat smaller than the magnificent city by the lake but no less impressive for its courtyards and platforms laid out in tidy harmony. An avenue lined by buildings marched out from the plaza that lay at the base of the huge pyramid they now stood on. Every stone surface was painted with bright murals: giant spotted yellow cats, black eagles, golden phoenix, burning arrows clutched in the jaws of red snakes crowned by feathered headdresses. The city lay alive with color and yet was so quiet that she expected ghosts to skirl down its broad avenues, weeping and moaning.

Wind brushed her. Clouds boiled over the hills that marked the distant outskirts of the city, and she saw lightning. Thunder boomed, but no rain fell. She couldn't even smell rain, only dust on the wind and a creeping shiver on her skin. Her hair rose on the nape of her neck.

"It's not safe so high where lightning might strike," remarked the old sorcerer.

He descended at once down stair steps so steep that she only dared follow him by turning around and going down backward. Behind, the fog simply sliced off that portion of the city that lay beyond the great pyramid, a line as abrupt as a knife's cut.

Thunder clapped and rolled. Lightning struck the top of the pyramid, right where they'd been standing. Her tongue buzzed with the sting of its pa.s.sing. Her foot touched earth finally, dry and cool.

She knew where she was.

Long ago, when she was a child, when she and Da had fled from the burning villa, he had brought her through an ancient city. In that city, the wind had muttered through the open sh.e.l.ls of buildings. Vast ruins had lain around them, the skeleton of a city that had once claimed the land. Along the avenues, she had seen the faded remnants of old murals that had once adorned those long walls. Wind and rain and time had worn the paint from those surfaces, leaving only the tired grain of ancient stone blocks and a few sc.r.a.ps of surviving murals, faded and barely visible.

The ruins had ended at the sh.o.r.eline of the sea as abruptly as if a knife had sheared them off.

Da had muttered words, an ancient spell, and for an instant she had seen the shadow form of the old city mingling with the waves, the memory of what once had been, not drowned by the sea but utterly gone. Wonder bloomed in her heart, just as it had on that long-ago day.

"This is that city," she said aloud.

The old sorcerer had begun to walk on, but he paused.

"I've seen the other part of this city," she explained." The part that would have lain there-" She pointed toward the wall of fog.

"But the ruins were so old. Far older than the cities built by the Dariyans. That was the strangest thing."

"That they were old?"

"Nay, nay." Her thoughts had already leaped on." That the ruins ended so abruptly. As if the land was cut away from the Earth."

He smiled sadly." No memory remains among humankind of the events of those days?"

She could only shake her head, perplexed by his words.

"Come," he said.

At the far end of the avenue rose a second monumental structure, linked to the great pyramid by the roadway. Platforms rose at intervals on either side. It was hard to fathom what kind of engineering, or magic, had built this city. The emptiness disturbed her. She could imagine ancient a.s.semblies crowding the avenue, brightly-clothed women and men gathered to watch spectacles staged on the platforms or to pray as their holy caretakers offered praise to their G.o.ds from the perilous height of the great pyramid. Yet such a crowd had left no trace of its pa.s.sage, not even ghosts.

It was a long walk and an increasingly hot one as the storm rolled past and dissolved into the wall of fog. Not one drop of rain fell. She had to stop twice to drink, although the old sorcerer refused a portion both times.

The other temple was also a four-sided pyramid, sloped in stair steps and chopped off short. At the top loomed the visage of a huge stone serpent. An opening gaped where the serpent's mouth ought to have been, framed by two triangular stacks of pale stone.

Flutes and whistles pierced the silence. Had the ghosts of the city come to haunt her? Color flashed in the distance and resolved into a procession of people dressed in feathered cloaks and beaded garments, colors and textures so bright that they would have been gaudy against any background, although the vast backdrop of the city and the fierce blue of the sky almost swallowed them. At the head of the procession bobbed a round standard on a pole, a circular sheet of gold trimmed with iridescent green plumes as broad across as a man's arms outstretched. It spun like a turning wheel. Its brilliance staggered her.

The procession wound its way in through the serpent's mouth, vanishing into the temple.

They came to the stairs, where Eldest Uncle paused while she caught her breath and checked each of her weapons: her knife, her good friend Lucian's sword, and Seeker of Hearts, her bow. A wash of voices issued out through the serpent's mouth like the voices of the dead seeping up from the underworld.

"They will not be friendly," he said." Be warned: speak calmly. In truth, young one, I took you on because I fear that only you and I can spare both our peoples a greater destruction than that which we are already doomed to suffer."

His words-delivered in the same cool matter-of-fact tone he might have used if he were commenting on an interesting architectural feature-chilled her. The long avenue behind her lay wreathed in a heat haze. Wind raised dust. The great pyramid shone in uncanny and'ma.s.sive splendor.

"I faced down Hugh," she said at last." I can face down anyone."

They climbed the steps toward the serpent's head. Coming up before it, Liath found herself face-to-face with those two flanking little pyramids of stone, except they weren't stone at all.

They were stacks of grinning skulls.

"What are those?" she demanded, heart racing in shock as vacant eyes stared back at her.

"The fallen." A half-dozen bows and quivers lay on a flat stone placed in front of the serpent's mouth, and a dozen or more spears rested against the stone. All of the weapons had stone tips. The only metal she saw came from three knives, forged of copper or bronze.

"Set your weapons here on the peace stone."

"And walk in there unarmed?"

"No weapons are allowed on the council grounds. That is the custom. That way no blood may be shed in the heart of the city."

She hesitated, but the sight of so many other weapons made it easier to acquiesce. She did not know their powers, but she knew how to call fire, if necessary. She set down her weapons, yet he stopped her before she pa.s.sed the threshold.

"Water, too, has been forbidden. Even a sip might be used as a bribe. Let us drink deep now. It may be many hours before we emerge from the tomb of the ancient mothers."

The water was brackish by now, warmed by the sun's heat. But it was water and therefore miraculous beyond words to one who is thirsty.

Taking the half-empty jug, he hid it among the skulls. Their dry, grinning faces had lost their horror. They weren't even ghosts, just the memory of folk who had once lived and bled as she did. What fate had led them to this end?

"Come." The old sorcerer gestured toward the serpent's maw.

It seemed very dark inside. Even the whispering of distant voices had stilled, as if in expectation of their arrival.

She had faced down Hugh, she had learned courage, but she still murmured a prayer under her breath." Lord, watch over me now, I pray you. Lady, lend me your strength."

Somewhere, in another place, Sanglant surely wondered what had become of her, and maybe Blessing cried, fretting in unfamiliar arms. It seemed to her, as she stepped into the dark opening as though into a serpent's mouth, that she had a long way to go to get back to them.

NORTH of the Alfar Mountains the ground fell precipitously into a jumble of foothills and river valleys. At this time of year, that place where late summer slumbered into early autumn, the roads were as good as they'd ever be and the weather remained pleasant except for the occasional drenching thunder-shower. They kept up a brisk pace, traveling as many as six leagues in a day. There were just enough day laborers on the road looking for the last bits of harvest work that their little group didn't seem too conspicuous, as long as they didn't draw attention to themselves.

It was a silent journey for the most part.

When they pa.s.sed folk coming from the north, Sanglant asked questions, but the local folk, when he could understand their accent, claimed to have no knowledge of the movements of the king. Nor was there any reason they should have. But he heard one day from a trio of pa.s.sing fraters that the king and his entourage had been expected in Wertburg, so at the crossroads just past the ferry crossing over the eastern arm of the Vierwald Lake, they took the northeast fork that led through the lush fields of upper Wayland toward the Malnin River valley. In such rich countryside, more people were to be found on the roads, going about their business.

Still, it was with some surprise that, about twelve days after the conflagration at Verna and less than seven days' travel past the lake crossing, they met outriders at midday where forest gave way to a well-tended orchard.

"Halt!"

A zealous young fellow seated on a swaybacked mare rode forward to block the road. He held a spear in one hand as he looked them over. No doubt they appeared a strange sight: a tall, broad-shouldered man outfitted like a common man-at-arms and carrying a swaddled baby on his back but riding a n.o.ble gelding whose lines and tackle were fit for a prince, and a woman whose exotic features might make any soldier pause. The pony and the goat, at least, were unremarkable. Luckily, the young man couldn't see Jerna, who had darted away to conceal herself in the boughs of an apple tree.

He stared for a bit, mostly at the woman, then found his voice." Have you wanderers come to pet.i.tion the king?'"

"So we have," said Sanglant, keeping his voice calm although his heart hammered alarmingly." Is the king nearby?"

"The court's in residence at Angenheim, but it's a long wait for pet.i.tioners. Many have come- "Here, now, Matto, what are these two?" The sergeant in charge rode up. His shield bore the sigil of Wendar at its center, Lion, Eagle, and Dragon, marking him as a member of the king's personal retinue. He had the look of a terrier about him: ready to worry any stray rat to pieces.

"They come up the road like any others," protested Matto.

"So might the devil. They might be the Enemy's cousins, by the look of their faces. As foreign as you please, I'll thank you to notice, lad. I'd like to know how they come by that fine n.o.bleman's horse. We're looking for bandits, Matto. You've got to stay alert."

"Trouble, Sergeant?" asked another soldier, riding over.

There were half a dozen men-at-arms in sight, scattered along the road. None were soldiers Sanglant recognized. New recruits, maybe, given sentry duty. They looked bored.

Boredom always spelled trouble, and it wasn't only these men-at-arms who were bored. Sanglant glanced at his mother. Even after twelve days in her company, he still found her disconcerting. She gazed at young Matto with the look of a panther considering its next meal, and she even licked her lips thoughtfully, as though the air brought her a taste of his sweet flesh.

Sanglant knew how to make quick decisions. If he didn't recognize these men, then it was likely they'd come to court after he and Liath had left so precipitously over a year ago and so wouldn't recognize him in their turn. He turned to the sergeant." Take me to Captain Fulk, and I promise you'll be well rewarded."

"Huh!" grunted the sergeant, taken aback." How'd you know Captain Fulk returned to the king's progress just a fortnight ago?"

"We were separated." Sanglant leaned sideways so that the man could see Blessing's sweet little face peeping from the swaddling bound to his back.

"Ah." The sergeant's gaze was drawn to Sanglant's mother, but he looked away as quickly, as though something in her expression unsettled him. As well it might." This is your wife, then?"

Sanglant laughed sharply, not without anger." Nay. This woman is-" He could not bring himself to speak a t.i.tle she had not earned." This woman is a relative to me, a companion on the road. She's a foreigner, as you see. My father is Wendish."

"What happened to your wife, then?"

Grief still chafed him as bitterly as any chains." My wife is gone."

The sergeant softened, looking back at the infant." May the Lord and Lady watch over you, friend. Need you an escort? There's another sentry post some ways up the road, nearer to the palace, and then the palace fortifications to talk your way through. I'll send a soldier to vouch for you."