'Carra, listen,' Jill went on. 'Things will be different once you and Dar get out on the gra.s.slands with his people, very very different. Your life will have a much wider horizon there than any Deverry woman ever has here at home. Your life's likely to become more than pa.s.sing strange, mind, but restricted it will not be. Now, until then, you need to behave like a Devcrry woman. Can you understand that? I have naught but sympathy for you, la.s.s, but there's no help for it. While you remain here in Deverry, you've got to be the lady and the dutiful wife. Can you do that?'

'Of course. Haven't I been trained for it, all my life?'

'Good.' Jill smiled again. 'But remember my promise. I don't know when you and Dar can return safely to his people. It might not even be till after the child is born. That depends on things that - well, on things, and some of them are matters of war. These are not the best of times, Carra.' She stood up. 'Don't worry about Labanna and the other women. I'll tell them that you've been properly scolded.'

Jill left the chamber without another word, leaving Carra utterly confused. Yet, despite Jill's talk of war, she felt strangely cheered, thinking that some new and exciting life lay ahead of her. She rested for a while, then had a wash and changed her clothes. Although she had to summon all her courage to go to the women's hall, the other women made a great fuss over her, as if compensating for the terrible things Jill had said. Carra managed a few proper snivels for the look of the thing, but all in all, the matter was closed.

There remained her husband, of course. She was dreading his homecoming, but much to her surprise his reaction was similar to Jill's - a laugh and a certain sympathy. Once they were alone, he kissed her repeatedly, then sat her down in the single chair in their chamber while he paced back and forth. By then it was night, and in the glow of the candle lanterns his chiselled face seemed leaner than ever, picked out as it was by deep shadows.

'Forgive me, my love,' he said. 'I thought that you'd want me to leave you be, here with the other women. Isn't that what Deverry women expect from their lords?'

'Well, most of them do, I suppose. Dar, your people must be very different than mine.'

'Worlds and worlds different, my love, and I wish to every G.o.d of both our tribes that I could take you there straightaway. Life is cleaner out on the gra.s.slands, clean and free and honest, not like here, all shut up in stone tents like animals in pens with the smell of filth hanging round everything. And everyone's always scheming and plotting and trying to get the gwerbret to like them best of all the lords and suchlike.

Sometimes I want to heave, just sitting at that table with Matyc and Gwinardd and watching the fencing for favour going on between them. Truly I do.'

His vehemence shocked her so much that she found nothing to say. He knelt beside her and caught her hand in both of his.

'Forgive me, I don't mean to insult your people.'

'I'm not insulted, just surprised. I didn't realize how much you hated it.'

'That's why I hunt so much. To get away, out to the wild country.'

'I wish you'd told me! I thought you didn't love me any more.'

He laughed, then kissed her hand, first the back, then the palm.

'The gwerbret's a decent man,' he said. 'But he thinks of me as some kind of savage. He's been telling me how to treat you, you see, since you're a civilized woman with civilized expectations and all that. And of course I've been following his advice. Like a dolt. I thought you'd want me to.'

Carra laughed and threw her arms round his neck to kiss him.

'Well, then,' she said. 'I must be a howling savage myself, because I fell in love with you long before you took the gwerbret's lessons.'

'Good.' He sat back on his heels and looked away, his eyes pools of shadow. 'By the Dark Sun herself I wish we could just get out of here.'

'Why can't we? What's so wrong?'

'A very great deal, my love. The Wise One talked with me when we returned.'

'The who?'

'Jill. My apologies. Wise One is what we call dweomermasters, out on the gra.s.s. She didn't tell me very much, or I should say, she wouldn't tell me any details, wouldn't answer any whys and hows and wherefores, but she said over and over that some great danger's brewing, whether raiders were riding for Cengarn or not.'

'She said somewhat about a war to me, too, but naught that was clear.'

'They deal in omens and strange speaking, the Wise Ones.' Dar sighed profoundly. 'I wanted to take you along the next time we hunt, you see, but she absolutely forbade it.'

'Oh, I wish she hadn't! I used to love to ride to the hunt. Why did she say I couldn't go?'

'Because of the danger. Carra, I don't understand all of this, but someone's trying to kill our baby.'

She clasped both hands hard over her mouth to stifle a scream.

'Jill said I shouldn't tell you, as if you were a child yourself, but you have to know.'

Carra shuddered, turning in her chair to see if the drape over the window had blown back in some cold wind, turning back again, feeling sick and frozen and furious all at once.

'I do have to, truly.' Her voice sounded so thin and high that she was shocked. 'Why? Who?'

'I don't know. An enemy with the dweomer, Jill said, and that's all she'd tell me. But that's why we've got to stay near a dweomermaster. Right now she can't travel with us to the Westlands, because of the danger here to everyone else, and so here we are, stuck where she can watch over us. Eventually, she said, she'll help us get home again and find another Wise One to protect us. But for now, well.'

She nodded her understanding, feeling her heart pounding hard in her chest. All she could think of was weapons and killing. She wanted to find that enemy and rend it, stab it, send it screaming to the Otherlands to freeze in the third h.e.l.l for ever and ever. What happened to her seemed unimportant, but her child - that they would threaten her child!

'What's wrong?' Dar snapped. 'You're dead pale. Do you need to lie down?'

'I don't. Dar, I'm so glad you told me this. I understand a lot of things now, like why I have to be so careful.' Unconsciously she laid her hands on her stomach. 'For both of us.'

'Good.' He kissed her, then a second time. 'Shall we go down to the great hall together? The Gel da'Thae bard is singing again.'

'Let's. I do hate sitting up here in the same old room, and it's going to be worse now, wondering what this enemy's plotting and all of that.'

'Well, as long as we're under Jill's protection, we'll be safe enough, I suspect. She seemed to think so, anyway, and after all, there are soldiers all round you, the gwerbret's men as well as mine.'

'Oh, I know. I wish I knew how to use a sword, though, just in case.'

He laughed, kissing her on the forehead.

'I don't think that's truly necessary, my love. You have me to do the fighting for you.'

For a moment Carra felt like kicking him. There were some ways in which the men of the Westfolk and the men of Dcverry were much alike.

Apparently rumours of her escapade spread into the town, for the very next morning Otho the dwarf came up to the dun to visit, just to see for himself, or so he said, that the princess was safe and sound. He brought along with him a young, dark-haired fellow, as short and stocky as he was but beardless except for some bushy sideburns, whom he introduced as Mic, his nephew, 'Do you remember the letters I sent off weeks ago?' Otho said. 'To my kin, like, telling them I was here in Cengarn? Well, turns out that some of 'em are glad enough to sec rne again. My cousin Jorn was already lodging in Cengarn on business, and now young Mic here shows up with another cousin, Garin.

Looks good, looks good - not that everything's settled yet.'

'That's wonderful,' Carra said, smiling. 'Come upstairs with me. I have a special chamber, you see, for receiving visitors.'

During the visit Mic said little, mostly ate his way through the tray of sweet cakes that Carra's maid brought up, but Otho was full of gossip from town and dun both.

'When are you going to pay Rhodry?' Carra asked him finally. 'He keeps grumbling about it.'

'Oh, I've had the coin for him for a good long time now. It's a jest, like, that's all, me putting him off.

Him and Yraen both, they get so indignant over their wretched hire!'

'Well, maybe so, but you can't blame them. It's all they've got in life.'

'Hah! They could have chosen better. Well, that's unfair to Rhodry, but young Yraen decided that he had to have the dagger, and not one word of sensible advice would stop him from leaving his kin and clan and riding the long road.'

'Really? Here I thought he'd done some awful thing, like all the rest of them. All the rest of the silver daggers, I mean, not his kin.'

'Not Yraen, neither. That's not his real name, of course. No mother names her cub for an ingot of iron, not even among my people. But he was glamoured of the idea of riding the long road, you see, and badgered Rhodry into taking him on. He's from a n.o.ble house, Yraen.' Otho drooped one eyelid and held up a sly finger. 'A very very n.o.ble house, or so I think. Close to the throne, like.'

'By the G.o.ddess herself! How very odd!'

'It is, truly. Why anyone would leave the High King's court to ride the long road is beyond me. He's a strange one, Yraen, though he has his reasons, I suppose, whether he knows them himself or not.' All at once Otho looked away, as if something had pained him.

'Is there a draught from that window?' Carra said, glad to have a change of subject. 'I can get my maid to -'

'No need, no need. I was just remembering somewhat, like, from a long time ago.' Otho seemed profoundly sad. 'I should pay those coins over, my lady. You're right, you're right. The jest's gone on too long.'

'Well, I -' Carra hesitated, blaming herself for the odd turn in the talk. 'Mic, would you like that last cake? Don't be shy. Help yourself.'

The young dwarf blushed scarlet, but with a sidelong glance at his glowering uncle, take it he did. For the rest of the visit Carra kept the conversation firmly on the subject of Otho himself and his kinsfolk in Cengarn. But later that day, as she walked in the ward with the other women and their usual escort, she saw Yraen standing by the stables as they pa.s.sed. He turned to watch her, his face carefully arranged into indifference, all the while that they were walking by. As they turned to go into the walled herb garden and out of sight, she glanced back to see him watching still.

From her tower room Jill happened to see the women pa.s.sing by below, as well, but she never noticed Yraen, not that she would have thought much about him if she had. All that morning she'd been studying the books she'd brought back with her from a recent trip to the Southern Isles, looking for one last clue to a puzzle that had haunted her for years. Rhodry wore a ring given to him by his father a long time past, a simple silver band, graved with roses on the outside and a word written in Elvish characters on the in, although when sounded out the word made no sense whatsoever in any language. She'd determined that it was a name, and a very peculiar kind of name indeed, and that Evandar had graved it there before pa.s.sing it along to Rhodry's father. Apparently Evandar believed that the owner of the name had some crucial role to play in the dark days ahead. Most likely it would act as a guardian to the unborn child.

So far, so good, but why give Rhodry the name and naught more? The name must have had some special significance beyond identifying its owner, but Evandar refused to unravel his own riddle, simply because he was Evandar and for no better reason at all. At times Jill wondered if she hated him, meddling with all their lives this way, but there was no doubt that she needed his help if she were going to keep Carra and the child safe. As she read, turning page after page of obscure lore, Wildfolk gathered to watch her, a gaggle of gnomes upon her table, poking things best left alone, sylphs hovering above her like bubbles in the gla.s.s of air, sprites wandering back and forth at her feet. One particular grey gnome, all long limbs and warty nose, materialized right on top of her book, in fact. With a laugh she moved him to one side.

'This must seem tedious to you,' she remarked. 'It's beginning to be so for me, I'll tell you. I wish I knew someone who's got more lore than I - ye G.o.ds! Meer.'

When she banged the book shut, dust puffed, and the Wildfolk disappeared.

After a lot of asking and searching through the dun, she found Meer round back of the stable, sitting on a wagon bed and taking the sun while nearby young Jahdo curried their white horse. The pair spent a lot of time with their horse and mule, or so she'd noticed, and when she found them Meer was holding one of the stable cats in his lap as well, stroking the animal absent-mindedly while he chatted with the boy.

'Good morrow, Jill,' Jahdo sang out as she approached. 'Meer, it be Jill, come to see us.'

'And a good morrow to you, mazrak,' Meer rumbled. 'I a.s.sume your coming bodes good, at the least.'

'Probably not,' Jill said, smiling. 'It never does these days. I've come with a lore question for you, good bard.'

'Indeed? Well, answer me one and I'll consider answering yours.'

'Fair enough.'

'Jahdo here tells me that Princess Carra is married to a man of a tribe called the Westfolk, and it seems that they're the horseherders who saved the Rhiddaer people when they fled the Slavers, all those long years ago.'

'That's quite true.'

'Ah. And, says Jahdo, these people have the same form as the G.o.ds.'

Puzzled, Jill glanced Jahdo's way. He nodded a vigorous yes.

'Well, then, I suppose they do,' Jilt said. 'I've never seen one of your G.o.ds, so I wouldn't know.'

'Huh. I should have thought of that. Of course you wouldn't. No doubt you have G.o.ds of your own, and why would mine appear to you? Well, then. That tears that. No offence to you, lad, but I was hoping for another view, as it were, of the matter.'

'Oh, I know,' Jahdo said cheerfully. 'But they be just like the blessed lady who did come to us in our cell.'

'Rhodry told me about that, by the way.' Jill hesitated, wondering if she should tell him the truth, then decided that if it comforted the boy to think Dallandra a G.o.d, well and good. Besides, leaving him his belief was a fair bit easier than explaining. 'Meer, I don't know what to think about the resemblance.'

'No doubt these Westfolk were formed in the images of the G.o.ds for some divine purpose.'

'It could well be, for all I know. Or wait, Meer. They're refugees, that's all, from the seven cities. The ones your people hold now.'

Meer tossed his head back, then muttered something in his own tongue that might have been a quick prayer.

'The Children of the G.o.ds, then,' he whispered, awe-struck. 'Are you telling me, mazrak, that immortals lodge in this very dun?'

'I'm not, because they're as mortal as you or I, though they do live a very long time.'

'Ah. Then if they're not immortal, they can't have lived in the Seven Cities of the Far West. The G.o.ds built those cities for their children.'

'Well, these particular elves didn't live there. Their ancestors did. Maybe they're the grandchildren of the G.o.ds.'

Meer growled and showed fangs.

'What's so wrong, good bard?' Jill spoke cautiously. 'I meant no offence.'

'Indeed? Then why do you speak sacrilege?' He hesitated, on the edge of saying more, then merely grunted.

All at once Jill realized that she stood to lose his good will.

'Well,' she said. 'No doubt you're right about their origins. It was all a long time ago now, anyway.'

For a moment he sat silently, his hands tight on his staff, his ma.s.sive head inclining toward her; then he made a sound under his breath that was half a snort, half a laugh.

'And what was your question?'he said. 'If it skirts the edge of impious things, as this other talk's done, then I shan't answer it.'

'Well, then, I'll hope it's not impious. Do you know any lore pertaining to dragons?'

'A fair bit, truly.' Meer relaxed, baring his fangs in a smile, 'It's one of the fifty-two required topics for a bard who would be more than a singer at feasts and funerals.'

'My grandfather did see one once,' Jahdo piped up. 'Flying north of our town. And the day after a farmer did tell how two of his cows did get taken, both at once, like, by the beast.'

Jill started to make some jesting remark, then realized that the boy was dead-serious. Something about his almost offhand sincerity convinced her that he was speaking simple truth, repeating not some tall tale but an actual incident. Her blood ran cold. This thing is real, she told herself. Only then did she see her own disbelief, that in spite of all her searching for lore, in spite of all the long hours she'd scried and pondered, she'd honestly thought, somewhere deep in her mind and until this very moment, that the creature and its name were merely some peculiar prank or jest of Evandar's.

Somewhere round the middle of the afternoon, Rhodry was walking across the ward when he saw Jill hurrying to meet him. He paused, smiling as he waited, but the grim look in her eyes soon wiped the smile away.

'What's so wrong?' he said.

'Naught. Well, except for everything, of course. Rhodry, I need to talk with you, somewhere we can't possibly be overheard. I think we'd best try the rooftop.'

They climbed the spiral staircase to the top chamber of the main broch, a squat and narrow s.p.a.ce stuffed with bundled arrows. In the ceiling a trap door and wooden ladder led out to the flat roof.

Cengarn fell away from them, their view tumbling down the city's hills and spreading out into a pool of green farmland, striped with forest, stretching farther and farther until the mists swallowed their sight at the horizon. Jill walked over to the rim's wall, barely three feet high, and sat, looking down so far and so casually that Rhodry could barely stand to watch her.