Small fires crackled all around the glade, and the druid, roaring with anger and ignoring everything else, ran over to the large trunk of Uldrasill which had been scorched by a bolt. Rising into the air he patted out the flame with his hands.

Mark suddenly became aware of the fact that the forest was alive with motion, the trees swaying, yet there was no wind.

Crouching low, he waited for another strike. With the huge crystals she had just taken, Patrice could easily best all of them. But there was no sign of her.

Kochanski suddenly appeared, hovering just below the green canopy. "She's gone, heading southwest like a bat out of hell."

Sighing, Mark flew back to the ground and snapped his shield down. Looking up, he saw Imada kneeling, rocking back and forth and sobbing over the smoldering remains of his lover.

Leti started to go to his side.

"Leave him be for a moment," Mark said quietly. "He has to understand it alone."

Leti stopped and looked at Mark, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. "Sometimes this world is an ugly place," she whispered.

Surely by all the gods this can't be my beloved,Imada thought numbly. The world seemed to have gone out of focus, the enormity of what had happened so vast that all the thoughts, all the realizations could not force their way into his mind at once.

He looked at her face, strangely peaceful, leaned over to kiss her lips, then leaned back.

Something was changing. Lines started to crinkle out from the edges of her eyes, racing across her face like frost lacing a windowpane on a cold winter night. The lines deepened, her face turning brittle, the color of old parchment. Her eyes started to sink into dark hollow sockets, and the fine gossamer hair changed to white.

Numbed with horror and loathing, he watched as the truth of Vena was revealed in death. In that moment Imada lost his youth, his innocence, all that he had ever believed was possible in the dream world he had thought was real.

Still smoldering beside her was the harp case, its side smashed in.

Yes, he had seen Patrice take something out of it. That must have been why Vena had clung to it so. Yet there was something else in there, and reaching in he grabbed a lump of clay, a bit larger than his fist. As he lifted the object a fragment of clay fell away, revealing a dark flash of red underneath.

This would be his, he thought coldly, and slipped the crystal into his tunic.

Mark came to his feet, and smiled wearily as Ikawa and Kochanski landed by his side.

"Good shooting," Mark said, grasping Ikawa's hand.

"It's not often I appreciate being called a woman," Ikawa replied, "but I'll let it pass, and damn good thinking on your part. It scared her half to death."

The druid, who by now had stopped the burning of Uldrasill's trunk, came over to face Mark.

"You mean that other demigod isn't here?"

Mark nodded.

"Good," and he puffed himself up, the nervousness in his eyes gone. "Who released you and gave you weapons?" He waved his staff toward Mark.

"I did," Deidre snapped. "And you can thank me for it right now!"

"Just because that woman did what she did, doesn't change my opinion of you one bit," the druid roared.

Leti came over to stand beside the druid and put her hand on his shoulder. "Do you know who I am?"

"Who woke you up?" the druid cried.

"I did, Grandfather," Deidre said, her patience obviously at an end.

"I'm as strong as Patrice," Leti whispered, forcing a tight smile. "So let's look at it this way. If it was our intent to harm you, I'll kill you right now."

Before the druid could react, Leti grabbed his staff. Mark watched as the two seemed locked in a bitter struggle. The staff started to glow, and the entire forest seemed to be in renewed turmoil, the trees swaying, the reflected light from above snapping back and forth. He could almost sense a nearly audible groan running through the woods.

With a startled cry, the druid fell back, the staff in Leti's hand.

Deidre came protectively to her grandfather's side, raising her shield to cover both of them, and looked at Mark with hate-filled eyes.

A sad smile crossed Leti's features. "We came here as friends and want to keep it that way," she said.

To Mark's surprise, she bowed her head, dropping one knee slightly--an action he had only seen her and Storm do in Jartan's presence.

She held the staff out to the druid.

"Please forgive my impolite actions, but you just didn't seem to want to listen."

Puffing hard, the druid snatched the staff and then looked around, his pride obviously wounded.

"Well, next time just explain yourselves and we won't have all this fuss," the druid snapped.

Exasperated, Deidre dropped her shield.

"Would you mind if we gathered our things?" Leti asked politely. "I'm afraid we are going after Patrice immediately."

"Wait a minute," Kochanski said. "After coming all this way?"

"Did you see what Patrice took from the harp case?"

"Three damn big crystals, two of them a match for the one that was belted at her waist--the third was much darker," Saito said, rubbing his burned wrists and coming to join the group.

"She now has the complete set of the Crystals of Fire," Leti said coldly.

"Crystals of Fire?" Mark asked.

"They were forged by her father, the Creator Bore. Upon his death, the council of gods decided that for the time being she would only inherit one of them. The others were to be put in safekeeping until such time as she had matured and proven herself to be trustworthy. She never has, and has always bitterly complained of that decision."

"Maybe it was the wrong one. Maybe if they had given them to her then, she would have demonstrated her ability to handle such power wisely--for the three together give her more power than anyone on Haven except the gods themselves. Perhaps that is why she has always been so sullen and withdrawn from the rest of us."

"Regardless of that, though," Leti went on, her voice betraying her anxiety, "she's obviously gone through some elaborate plot to obtain them."

She paused, looking at Imada, who was still kneeling by Vena's side.

"And it was done when three of the gods are away fighting Gorgon," Ikawa said quietly.

Startled, Leti looked at him. "I hope not even Patrice would be insane enough to seek such an alliance."

She hesitated, then snarled, "By the gods, that must be it. Why else would she also have stolen Horat's Portal crystal?"

"Say, what the hell is going on around here?"

Mark looked over to see Walker, who had been knocked unconscious by the druid, starting to stir.

"There's been a fight and we're free," Saito said, going over to cut him loose.

"Damn. I missall the fun," Walker complained, his voice still groggy.

"Maybe not for long," Leti said bitterly. "Anyone with burns, let me take care of them. Get our gear together--we're flying for home within the hour."

"Are you going after her?" the druid asked.

"That's the plan, once we find out what she's doing."

"I don't take getting cast aside like that lightly. I'm going with you."

"Grandfather," Deidre said quietly.

"Now don't go grandfathering me, you brat. Uldrasill can take care of herself for now. I haven't been out of these woods for a couple of thousand years. It's time I had a little adventure."

"We'll be flying hard," Leti warned.

"Do you need a couple extra sorcerers, or not?" the druid snapped, his pride obviously still smarting from the treatment he had received.

Leti smiled and nodded.

"Then we'll get some food and be on our way." The druid laughed.

"If we've got an hour, can I at least ask one favor?" Kochanski said nervously.

"What is it?"

"The Stonehenge, the great circle."

Startled, the Druid looked over at Kochanski.

"Now I know you," he shouted. "You're the one who tried to sneak up on me, you, you..."

"Grandfather!"

"It's right over there, just on the other side of Uldrasill," the druid said, looking at Deidre.

"Should have strangled her at birth," he whispered as she took Kochanski's hand and guided him away.

"If you'll excuse me," Ikawa said, and he left the group and cautiously approached Imada. His heart tightened at the sight of the corpse.

The boy had been in love with a sorceress perhaps fifty times his own age. Realization of the horrible treachery that had been played upon his innocence made Ikawa want to scream with rage.

What could he ever say to comfort him now? If the girl had truly been his lover, it would be one thing.

But not this--the treachery of betrayal compounded by the obscenity of a cruel seduction of youth.

Ikawa scooped up a blanket laying beside the pile of baggage and, kneeling by Imada's side, he covered the corpse.

"Come on, son," Ikawa whispered, taking Imada by the shoulders and helping him to stand.

The boy turned to him, and there was a cold bitterness in his eyes.

"There's nothing to be said, so don't even try." Imada's voice was flat and distant.

Pulling away, he turned and walked into the woods.

Slipping through the streets of Portus, Patrice ducked into a narrow doorway and slid the bolt shut behind her.

Three men stood, poised to strike, but as she threw back her cape they bowed low.

"Everyone in position?"

"As you commanded, my lady."

"I was successful," she whispered, and the three sorcerers grinned with delight.

"Are the communications crystals in place here?"

"We smuggled them in. We haven't tested them yet, as you ordered."

"Good. One never knows who's listening."

One of the men nodded to the back corner of the room, and she walked over to open a plain wooden chest. As she put her hand into it, a faint glow filled the room.

She quickly spoke a string of code words, waited for a response, then closed the chest.

The message would be leaped across the middle chain of floating islands, from agent to agent. Once it reached home, nearly half of her sorcerers would bend their strength to jamming all means of communication, cutting off those left in Asmara from news of the events here. Within minutes, her battle team would be taking off from a boat anchored north of the middle chain of floating islands. She visualized the charts of the region, calculating the distance to be covered and the times of arrival.

In an hour it would be time to leave. For now, she had a few moments to relax.

She had flown for hours, filled with a deep fear that Storm and Leti would be in close pursuit. Yet the sky had remained empty, and the fear had gradually dropped away. The enemy would be hours behind her.

Yet why? Surely they would have had the advantage; they were fools riot to press it. Whoever had reported that Storm had left Haven would pay for it when she returned.

"A messenger flew in from Asmara this evening," one of the sorcerers said, coming up to offer Patrice a goblet of wine.

"Who?"