Some weeks after their arrival, Faelamor suddenly rose from her bower.

"Tomorrow we make the gate!"

All that night she sat beside the fire, thinking, occasionally scratching marks in the earth with a stick. Several times Maigraith woke and saw her sitting erect, wide awake but unmoving. Then suddenly it was morning, mist rising all along the river, and Faelamor had gone upstream.

Maigraith followed her to a place where the river narrowed between two hillocks. It was only ten or twelve paces wide here, but deep and very fast. The forest was dense; ancient trees framed the river on either side. Over that narrow place they built a hanging platform from vines hung between two trees, a structure based on three large hammocks slung across each other. This they stabilized with vine ropes tied around the trunks and woven together. Above they made another platform in the same way, fixed the two together with slender upright poles and wove a canopy of reeds over the top. All was tied together, guyed and re-guyed, then the stays loosened to allow for the motion of the trunks in the wind.

Faelamor climbed down, frowning at the structure, a basketwork pavilion suspended above the water.

"It will do," she said finally, "though it is too like the thing that Tensor made for my liking. Yet on the other hand, like calls to like. It will be the easier to open the gate for all that. Had there been more time I might have given it beauty and a better shape but, after all, we are not trying to break into the Nightland. We're taking a little journey to save time. And because there is no other way in."

Maigraith remained where she was. "I didn't realize I had to go too," she said haltingly.

"What's the matter? Are you afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid," snapped Maigraith. "You taught me that such devices were forbidden."

"Only to Faellem."

"I'm still frightened. I saw how tortured Yggur was when he went through one."

"Bah! You're far greater than he is. Get up here!"

They took their places on the platform and Faelamor brought forth from her pouch a piece of pale stone. One side had been shaped and polished smooth, while the other had a curved, glassy fracture.

"I brought it from Katazza," she said. "It was part of Tensor's gate, broken off when Yggur appeared unexpectedly-or was it Rulke? I can't remember."

"Rulke!" said Maigraith, her stomach churning.

Faelamor mistook her. "It doesn't matter who-all that matters is that it was part of a gate. Like calls to like-I hope it will be enough."

She moistened the fragment with her tongue and put it down carefully on the platform, resting her bare foot on it. Sending forth her strength, she drew a link between her and Maigraith.

"First we have to see where we're going."

"Where are we going?" asked Maigraith, dreading the gate.

Faelamor did not answer. She gestured and the world faded. Fog swirled all around them, then Maigraith saw a stronghold on a barren ridge, just a glimpse through clouds, and a ruined city in the valley below.

"Tar Gaarn!" said Faelamor. The city faded, the fog too, and they were looking into a dark chamber. There were soft lights on brackets on the wall, but it was as if they peered through fog-the mists of time, perhaps. The lights had haloes around them, and rainbow colors. The floor was stone with a silk carpet, and at the further end of the room was a table with a small mirror on it.

The Mirror! Maigraith thought with a shivery thrill. She could never forget how it had felt when first she'd held it in her hands in Fiz Gorgo. How it had seemed to call to her. She ached to hold the Mirror again, to look into it.

"Havissard, in the time of Yalkara!" said Faelamor with an involuntary shudder. "We're looking into Yalkara's salon. At least, that's how I remember it. Hope and pray that my memory of three hundred years ago is enough to find it now, for this is a perilous way to direct a gate."

Her voice broke. She staggered, snatching at Maigraith's hand to steady herself. "Help me, Maigraith! We Faellem can use simple devices, though it costs us dear. Hold the image while I seek out for the way. Take it across the link and keep it firmly in your mind. Observe carefully. You may have to do it on the return."

Maigraith held the image of Yalkara's salon true while Faelamor did something that her mind could not encompass. Faelamor grunted, apparently satisfied, and did another thing equally incomprehensible. Suddenly a portal blasted open between them. The mist about the platform was buffeted by outrushing air that had a stale, dry smell.

"Keep it true!" Faelamor whispered. "Keep it anchored, else we will never get back. Oh, this is hurting!" She would have fallen had not Maigraith held her up.

Suddenly Maigraith felt dizzy and weak. Faelamor was taking her strength across the link, but it might have been flowing straight down a sink for all the good it did her.

"Stop!" cried Maigraith, clinging to one of the guy ropes. "You'll kill us both."

The draining sensation ceased. Faelamor hauled herself upright. Her shirt was dripping with sweat and her face was ghastly. "We'll have to try another way." She examined Maigraith. "You've changed. You are not what you were before." She looked uneasy, perhaps realizing that her control was slipping away.

Maigraith laughed. A tiny fire had begun to flicker inside her; she was burning up with joy. "In Thurkad I was forced to become a leader-to command and see people obey instantly. It broke the mold that you made me in. That experience has changed me forever. Remember that, the next time you try to control me. Your time is ending but mine has barely begun."

"You haven't seen a fraction of my weapons!" Faelamor snapped, then decided not to press it. "Let's get on. Here, put your foot on the stone."

Maigraith slid her foot underneath Faelamor's smaller one, feeling the smooth fracture against the ball of her foot. Faelamor's foot was trembling. Maigraith had not seen her under such strain since they had recovered from the Conclave.

"Are you all right?"

"Forbidden deed!" Faelamor whispered. "I will pay for this." She made a working with her hands. "I'll have to practice a few times, to get used to the gate and sense the place out."

"Sense what?"

"The defenses of Havissard. We're going to the place where Yalkara defeated me, and where she fled from."

She tried again and again, but it didn't seem to be working. "I can see where I want to be but I can't get to it. Space is all warped there. I'm too weak."

As she tried again, her knees buckled and Maigraith barely stopped her from tumbling into the river.

"No good," Faelamor gasped, clinging to Maigraith as the platform rocked. "Another attempt and I won't have the strength left to use the gate. I'll have to risk it with the image I have."

"Give it to me," said Maigraith, afraid for them both. "Show me how you control the gate."

"You're not ready for it!"

"You're right! I'm not. But I'm more ready than you are, and I don't want to die because you can't do it." Maigraith had recovered quickly, and the more Faelamor struggled, the better she felt. "Show me how you seek the destination out, and exactly where you are trying to get to."

Realizing that there was no option, Faelamor did so. The images pulsed across the link. Maigraith sought out the destination and there it was, Havissard, as steady as the earth. But it was enclosed in a great transparent cyst.

"It's protected!" said Maigraith, puzzled. "But ... I think I can see a way in."

Faelamor shivered at Maigraith's confidence. She would have to be taken down later. But all that mattered now was to get there.

"Ready?"

Though Maigraith still did not want to go through the gate, she reveled in the expectation of Havissard. Her biggest worry was Faelamor's state of mind.

She opened the gate. "Shall I go through?"

"No!" cried Faelamor in alarm. It was almost as if she cared. "I must go first to fix the other end. This is the most dangerous time, particularly for me."

She stepped into the gate and vanished. The platform lurched wildly. Maigraith fell to one knee, almost losing contact with the stone. She could feel that it was a hazardous crossing, and briefly contemplated breaking the anchor while Faelamor was in transit. That would resolve all her troubles. No, that was a coward's way. Then Faelamor was across. Maigraith held the path focused, restrained the wavering and the pinching out, then at last it firmed from the other end and Faelamor's voice, distorted to a whispery croak by the link, called her through.

Maigraith resisted the call for a long moment. After what had happened to Yggur she was afraid of the gate. But Havissard was insistent. She stepped into the portal, hesitated, half-in and half-out, feeling pulled in two different directions. One pull became stronger than the other-it dragged her in. Her entrails twisted themselves in knots, then she emerged head first in a black room, banging her head.

She lay there, her head throbbing. There was dust in her mouth; she could smell it in every breath. A globe glimmered, the swirling motes slowly settled and she saw that they were in the room that Faelamor had visualized. It looked exactly the same, save for the dust, but there was no Mirror of Aachan on the table.

"Havissard!" said Faelamor again, this time in a gasping breath. All the rose had gone out of her face. She looked old and pallid. "That was harder than I thought. The gate came up against Yalkara's defenses; I almost lost it. Almost lost us both." Her eyes showed dismay at the danger unrecognized. "No one has been here since the time of Yalkara. Her defenses have never faltered, though what they defend is beyond guessing." She sat down on the floor and sank her head on her knees.

I thought it was me, Maigraith thought, reminded of her impulse to break the anchor while Faelamor was in transit.

For a long time after their arrival, reality shivered like ripples on a pond. Faelamor was as blanched as the white of an egg, here in the stronghold of her ancient enemy, but Maigraith was exhilarated.

"Havissard must have been locked on Yalkara's departure," said Faelamor. "Even as the Mirror was, protected against all. Maybe the protection has decayed enough to let the gate open here."

Another burst of unreality shook the walls-for a moment they were in no-time, no-place. There was no Havissard at all, or else they were in a time where it had long fallen into ruin. Waves of transparency passed through the structure, showing them other ages of Havissard: a time when the workers swarmed out of the silver mines; a time when Tar Gaarn was being built. Once, eons ago, when there was nothing here but hillsides clothed in forest, and rock faces over which waterfalls roared, and panthers stalking goats across the slopes of the mountain. Then all around broke a wild, uncontrolled reality that frightened them both, shook them in their ordered, orderly minds. Time and space quivered, they saw what mad ones saw, it quivered again and Havissard was restored.

The place was old, dusty, plain: stone floors, black or steel-blue; bare save for small carpets. Stone walls, gray or the blue of ice. Here an exquisite small tapestry, there an engraving on the stone. Lower, an artwork done in metal threads, a galloping horse, just gray and blue and white.

Maigraith reached up to a lightstrip on the wall. To her surprise it lit up all the way along the corridor. Down this corridor they went, then descended a long flight of stairs. Neither spoke. Maigraith felt disoriented, as if the gate had twisted her brain around in its case. The long bones of her legs and arms ached.

Halfway down, reality shivered again, but this time differently. An urgent, alarming wrench passed through the four dimensions. Maigraith felt violated. She lost her balance and fell the last three steps onto the floor, holding her middle. All the lights went out. Faelamor abruptly sat down on the step to avoid falling. She lifted the globe high and stared at Maigraith. The golden motes swam in her eyes.

"What was that?" she whispered, wide-eyed.

Back in Elludore, the platform was flung upwards and sideways by the violence and imbalance of Maigraith's departure, warped by her straining to maintain the gate against the strangeness of Havissard. Then it settled back into its former place, but the piece of stone that Faelamor had carried all the way from Katazza, the anchor for the gate, was gone, falling slowly through the humid air into the current.

AEOLIOR.

It felt like someone trying to get in," Maigraith said. She did not know how she knew that, or why she said it, but she did.

Faelamor reached up to the lightstrip again but it was dead. She shivered.

Maigraith knew what was the matter. Here in the citadel of her enemy, Faelamor was afraid. Though Yalkara was hundreds of years gone, Faelamor still feared her! Maigraith took a secret pleasure from that. She was not afraid, not in the least. She had no idea why, but she felt very comfortable with this place.

"I'm worn out," said Faelamor. "The passage has drained me dry." The gate had wracked her, forbidden device that it was.

They could not get the lights to work again. Maigraith brought out another of her lightglasses, one made of marble which emitted a pale green light. It suited her complexion, but Faelamor looked ghastly. They ate fruit and bread from Maigraith's pack.

"I can't suffer this now," Faelamor said. Gritting her teeth, she struck herself with one clenched fist. Her eyes rolled sideways in her head. A thread of saliva dribbled out her open mouth, down her chin.

She spent a minute in that state, while Maigraith stared in consternation, then Faelamor's eyes rolled back and she gasped a breath. She wiped her chin, looking better.

"You have overcome aftersickness?" Maigraith wondered, intrigued.

"I forced it back down like vomit. But like vomit, when it comes up again it will be twice as bad. Come on. We have to find something hidden here. I don't know where. We'll start with her workrooms, her library and her ..." she struggled to think of the word " ... personal chamber."

"You mean her bedroom?"

"Accursed tongue-yes, her bedroom," she said furiously.

Maigraith decided to pressure Faelamor a little more. "How did it go, your last battle with Yalkara?"

"I have no wish to relive it," said Faelamor in a sulky voice, though she had thought about little else since they arrived. She meant that she could not bear to have her failure so exposed. Especially not here. But after a long pause she spoke.

"I don't know how it began, only that it was a long time ago, not long after Yalkara came to Santhenar. So long!" She rubbed a dusty hand across her brow. "As soon as we met, it was as if we each saw in the other a lifelong enemy. I was afraid, something I never felt from the other Charon, not even Rulke. They were but opportunistic enemies, opposing me as I opposed their ends. But Yalkara had come here with a purpose, and a great part of that purpose was me. She came to oppose me; to hinder and delay me; to frustrate my ambitions and hopes. Why? Why was she appointed my nemesis?" Faelamor shuddered and broke off abruptly. "Let's get on!"

They continued down the passage, Maigraith leading, walking wherever her intuition led her, enjoying the reversal of roles for as long as it would last. For the moment Faelamor was content to follow, although occasionally she suggested another way.

"What have we come for?" Maigraith wondered that afternoon, beginning to understand how Karan must have felt when they broke into Fiz Gorgo last autumn, after being kept in the dark for so long.

"I learned something in my travels, a dangerous secret. My guess it that it is hidden here somewhere."

"Learned what?"

Faelamor's green eyes flashed red in the light. "I don't know what! I just know that Yalkara hid something here-a precious, deadly thing. She must have left it for some future need, otherwise why would the place require such strong protections? I hope that I'll recognize it when I find it"

So be it, Maigraith thought. I'll play your game. The longer we spend here the happier I'll be. She wandered off by herself, curious to see what Yalkara's domain had been like, fascinated by everything she saw.

"And that bears on another matter," Faelamor said when they were together again. "This is a lesson for you, and a test; perhaps your greatest before the final one. The one that will free you."

She said this with no particular emphasis, only a fleeting glance at Maigraith, but Maigraith felt a sudden chill, a clawing of pain and terror, a feeling that she stood alone at the entrance of a funnel-shaped well of light, guarding it against a horde that flooded up, snapping and slashing at her. She was very alone and there was no hope. But that feeling passed as quickly as it came, then Faelamor led the way down another corridor.

It was the following morning before they found the first of the places Faelamor was looking for. This was a broad, high room with simple ornamentation on frieze and cornice and architrave, once Yalkara's bedchamber. There was a bed of black steel and brass, very broad and long, with a high head and foot. On either side of the bedhead stood an ebony cupboard; small silken tapestries decorated the mostly bare walls, alien worldscapes in muted colors. A dusty carpet covered the central part of the floor. A door at one end led to a dressing room, and beyond was a bathing room with a square tub as big as the bed. Everything was beautifully made but austere.

Havissard must have been sealed at the moment of Yalkara's departure, for precious things sat everywhere, untouched. And abandoned without haste, for all was orderly, left in readiness for the next owner.

Faelamor's face was forbidding. She gave the room one hostile glance and went into the dressing room. What personal things would the great Yalkara have kept beside her? Maigraith wondered. She opened the door of the cupboard on the righthand side of the bed. There was a drawer below, compartments of varying sizes above, but all were empty. The other cupboard was the same. She found a writing tablet in the drawer, a stylus lying neatly on top and a loosely rolled scroll.

She took out the scroll. It was a small one, and on it were several columns of writing in indigo ink, but she knew neither the language nor the script. She put it back. The tablet was thick paper, the kind for drawing on, and neither brittle nor yellowed, even after all these years. The stylus was made of ebony with gold bands. It had a silver tip, soft silver that was sometimes used for writing in ancient times. At the back of the drawer she found all that remained of a piece of fruit-a scatter of small round seeds, withered like peppercorns, a woody piece of stalk, scraps of desiccated rind.

The stylus was a simple, beautiful thing. She weighed it in her hand. It was very heavy. If Yalkara wrote with it, Maigraith reasoned, she would have had to press hard, to mark the paper with silver metal. What was the last thing she wrote? Something of importance, or utterly trivial? It seemed important that she know something about Yalkara, most enigmatic of all the Charon. Maigraith held the tablet at a shallow angle to the light and saw slight depressions there. Faelamor was still out of sight.

Sprinkling dust over the page, she tapped the excess away. Falling dust twinkled in the light. Dust on the paper revealed what seemed to be a single word. What was it? Something lior. Aeolior! Just the word, written near the top of the tablet, as if it had been on Yalkara's mind. Perhaps written absently, for it was surrounded with patterns. As though she had sat for a moment, dreaming.

Aeolior! The very sound of it set up a reverberation in Maigraith's mind. But the name-it was a name, surely-meant nothing. A place or a person? Aeolior. It cried out to her. And it was something that Faelamor did not know about. Maigraith did not want her to find out.

A footfall sounded in the bathing room. Maigraith tore the sheet from the tablet, folded it below the name and put it carefully in her pack.

"Here is something," she said, going over to the door to meet Faelamor, showing her the scroll and the tablet.

Faelamor glanced at them absently, unrolled the scroll, frowning, somewhere else, then handed them back.