But just how had Aryn arranged their unseen escape?

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Grace nudged Shandis alongside the baroness's palThe young woman shrugged. "I only did what you said, Grace."

"What do you mean, what I said?"

"If you have power, use it."

Before Grace could say anything more, Aryn smiled and nudged her horse into a trot.

i1.

The traveling party rode east through the Dominion of Calavan, never straying more than a half league from the southern bank of the Dimduorn as they went.

Grace could not help marveling as they cantered across the gently undulating landscape. In the time she had lived on this world, she had hardly ventured outside the castle walls, and then only for short jaunts into the well-tilled countryside a few furlongs from Calavere. There, nearly always surrounded by crowds of dirty, foul-smelling people, she had been able to believe that Falengarth was a populous land, filled with similar keeps and towns. She was wrong. As far as Grace could tell from her vantage atop Shandis's back, this world was just about empty.

It was not so noticeable in the beginning. On that first day out they came upon villages with predictable regularity--one every two miles.

Foxfair, where they stayed that first night, was typical of the others: a stone manor house about as big as the average subdivision tract home on Earth--although built to stand for centuries rather than decades--with a stable, a common green supporting a few sorry-looking cows, a well, a shrine to the lord's favored mystery cult, and about two dozen hovels of thatch, wood, mud, and 207.

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each about a quarter acre in size, and a third of which were lying fallow.

It was hard to believe this was the basis for the economic system thatsupported the entire Dominion. Then, as they rode on, Grace' realized there wasn't that much Dominion to support.

They set out from Foxfair at dawn after saying farewell to Lord Gaddimer and his wife--a kindly and diminutive couple who possessed deeply lined, good- natured faces as well as a trio of large, handsome sons. The oldest of the sons, all of nineteen, was helping his father run the manor, while the others, once they were a year or two older, would head for Calavere or the castle of one of Boreas's barons to become squires and, hopefully in time, knights.

As they rode that second day, the size and frequency of villages decreased rapidly. It was only that evening, when they stopped at the first village they had seen in hours, that Grace understood the reason. Once again they begged the hospitality of the local lord: a younger, unmarried man named Unreth who was more reserved than Gaddimer but no less welcoming. When Unreth's ancient housemaid brought an extra blanket to the damp bedchamber Grace and the other women were to share, the maid begged for news of Calavere.

"Do you know Eithrinde of Orsel?" the old woman asked Grace in a wavering voice. "She is my cousin, you see. She went to Calavere to work in the king's kitchen."

Aryn and Lirith shook their heads. Grace thought, then realized she did in fact know the name. She sighed and laid her hand over the old woman's. Why was it so much easier when she had grim news?

"I did know Eithrinde," she said. "Although not well, I'm afraid. A few months ago her granddaughter everything I could. But I'm afraid Eithrinde was worn- out, and she 213 died."

The old woman considered Grace's words, then nodded. "Was she still beautiful? Eithrinde was so beautiful when she left for the king's castle."

Grace pictured the crone-toothless, arthritic, scarred by scrofula-who had struggled for breath on the flea-infested bed in the town beneath Calavere. "Yes, she was still beautiful. When did you see her last?" The maid blinked in watery surprise. "Why, when she left Orsel, of course. I remember it clearly. It was the year we both reached our sixteenth winter."

After the old woman left, Grace stared at the folded wool blanket. From further discussion she had learned that the maid had never journeyed to Calavere to see her cousin, even though it was a ride of only two days, and a walk of perhaps four. But then, shouldn't she have known this would be the case?

Remember your world history class. Grace. In me dieval times, on Earth, people hardly ever traveled more than ten miles from the place they were born.

She supposed it was the same on Eldh. Only the nobility seemed to travel about with some frequency. It was a hard concept to grasp-at least forsomeone who was used to hopping into a car or a plane and zipping across a continent. Miles might have shrunk on Earth, but here on Eldh the leagues were still vast and forbidding.

They set out at dawn again the next morning, and after Orsel vanished from sight they did not see an other village all that day, and the farms they passed looked practically abandoned.

Grace had hoped she would have a chance to speak with Lirith as they traveled-about Aryn and what had happened when the two left Calavere-but by 209.

214.

As they rode, Aryn was never far from either Grace or Lirith. Nor, in any of the cramped manor houses at which they stayed at night, had there been a place she could talk to Lirith without Aryn overhearing. Grace's questions would have to wait.

By that third day, Grace was already growing weary of traveling. Her riding gown was hot and uncomfortable, bunching up around her as she rode, and it collected dust in every fold of cloth, so that by the end of the day she was covered with grime and had to spend half an hour just shaking herself out. Her muscles hurt constantly, and her jaw felt as if she'd spent the last three days chewing a piece of vulcanized rubber.

Aryn, in contrast, seemed to enjoy the journey immensely. She smiled aback her palfrey as they rode, and when they stopped to rest, while Grace plopped down on a stone and concentrated on simply not moving, the baroness hunted around, gathering herbs, flowers, and leaves. At night she would spread them on a kerchief and discuss their names and properties with Lirith. She laughed often, and the sound was as bright as silver.

It was clear early on that Sir Meridar was enthralled by Aryn. He hardly bothered to hide his grin as he watched her, and the baroness often asked him to do small tasks for her, which he performed eagerly, and when he did she cast smiles at him which Grace thought bordered on cruel. For even were the kindly knight's pockmarked face not too homely for the baroness, his station was without doubt too low.

Lirith seemed to notice this behavior as well, and the witch would frown when Aryn asked Meridar to bring her water or pluck a leaf from a high branch for her. Sir Kalleth frowned as well, but this was the only expression of which he seemed capable. And if Durge noticed, he said nothing about it.

210 mark anthony fact was, the young woman seemed fine, and Grace knew she shouldn't argue with results. It didn't matter how the patient got better, just 215 that she did. Besides, Grace had other matters to worry about, and with each league they consumed her mind more and more. Would she and Durge be able to convince Meridar and Kalleth to ride to the Gray Tower?

If so, would they reach it in time? And once there, how would she helpTravis?

The sun was sinking on the third day of their journey when Grace noticed a line of smoke rising into the sky not far ahead.

"There must be a village on the other side of that down," Kalleth shouted above the horses.

Durge pulled on Blackalock's reins and dropped back. "That would be Tarafel," the Embarran said. "I was hoping we had not passed it by. If I recall correctly, there is not another village for some leagues."

Grace breathed a sigh of relief. She did not often know Durge to be mistaken.

Aryn shaded her eyes. "I do not see the smoke," she said. "Where is it?"

Meridar brought his charger close to Aryn's horse. "There, my lady," he said, leaning toward her and pointing.

The baroness nodded, then turned to smile at the knight.

Grace ground her teeth but said nothing. She didn't need to glance at Lirith to know the witch was looking at her.

"Let's go," she said.

The riders ascended the low ridge. The shrubs covering it were thicker than they had appeared from a distance, and by the time they reached the top the sun was heavy and low behind them, spilling red light across the land. They pushed through the last tangled wall, then came to a halt.

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down was playing tricks on her. Everything was black. Then she understood. The smoke was too dark to be from cookfires. And there was too much of it.

Aryn clapped a hand to her mouth, and Lirith sighed, her eyes deep with sorrow.

"By Vathris," Meridar said. "What happened?"

Durge shook his head. The village was gone.

At least most of it. Grace could make out the square lines of stone foundations, cracked and scorched, and here and there the remnants of a wall or chimney still stood. But that was all. The village of Tarafel had burned to the ground.

"Wildmen." Kalleth spat the word. "They must have ridden down from the mountains and done this."

"I do not think so," Durge said. "There is not a place to cross theDimduorn for many leagues."

Kalleth glared at the Embarran but did not disagree.

"I don't understand," Grace said. "The fires are almost all out. It must have been some time since this happened. Why didn't we hear about it in Orsel?"

But even as she asked the question she knew the answer. In all likelihood they were the first people from outside Tarafel to come to the village in a week. But if invaders had not destroyed the settlement, what had? Grace couldn't believe that fire could sweep through the village so easily--even houses that stood at a distance from others had burned.

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For the first time in days Aryn was not smiling, and her voice sounded like that of a small girl. "But where are we to sleep?"

Grace almost laughed. No doubt this no longer seemed like such a grand adventure.

Durge squinted at the horizon. "There is a farm near that stand of trees, on the farside of the village. It looks as if it is unharmed."

212 * mark anthony choices. The six rode down the slope and in silence skirted around the remains of the village. At one point, lying in their path, was a form that should have been charred beyond recognition but was not. The arms were thrown above the head, as if in a final gesture of supplication. Or terror. Aryn gasped and hung her head. Grace forced herself to look ahead as they rode on.

It was dusk by the time they reached the farm. At first Grace thought it must be deserted. Heavy wood shutters covered the windows, and there was no light beneath the door. Then she noticed the smoke oozing from the daub-and-wattle chimney. She glanced at Durge. He nodded, nudged Blackalock's flanks, and rode up to the farmhouse while the others waited at a distance.

Grace watched as Durge dismounted and knocked on the door. He knocked again, then a third time, and looked ready to knock the rickety plank in when the door opened a crack. She could not see who stood on the other side, but the knight took a step back. Why? Was he startled? She watched Durge speak for a few moments more, then the door shut. He climbed onto his sooty charger and pounded back toward the others. What is it Grace started to ask as he thundered to a halt, but the knight spoke first.

"Plague," he said, his weathered face grim.

The others cast startled looks at the knight. Grace rolled the word over in her mind. Plague. Was that the reason for the destruction of the village? She had heard that, during the time of the Black Death in Europe, entire villages had been torched to prevent the spread of 218 bubonic plague.Grace nudged Shandis forward. "How many in the house are ill?"

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"An old woman answered the door. It's her husband that's sick."

"What are the symptoms?"

"I don't know. All she said was that he's burning up."

That wasn't good enough. Fever was a symptom of countless pathogens, and plague was too generic a word to be helpful. There could be a dozen different pandemic diseases on this world, all as bad as bubonic plague--or worse. There was only one way to find out what she was dealing with.

Before Durge could reach out to grab Shandis's reins, Grace urged the palfrey into a gallop.

"Grace!" She heard the shout behind her, although she didn't know if it was Aryn or Lirith. She caught a dark blur out of the corner of her eye and knew Durge was riding after her. He would be too late. She reined Shandis to a stop in front of the farmhouse and moved to the door.

Durge was faster than she had thought. Clods of dirt struck her as Blackalock skidded to a halt two paces away. Durge leaped from the saddle, chain mail ringing, and laid a hand on her arm.

"My lady, this is madness. You cannot go in there."

A strange sensation welled up in Grace's chest as she gazed at Durge's hand on her arm. It was not anger. It was too icy for that, too distant. The only way she could understand the feeling was to give words to it.

How dare you touch our person 219.

She did not speak them, but her look must have communicated the words all the same. The knight snatched his hand back, his expression one of astonishment. Grace turned and pushed through the door. It was dim inside. The air was sharp with smoke and 214 * mark anthony "My lady," a voice rasped, "you must not enter here."

Grace searched, then picked out the form of the woman outlined by the sputtering light of a fire. She huddled beside a crude cot, barefoot and wearing rags. Something on the bed writhed and moaned.

For the first time, a shard of uncertainty pierced her doctor's confidence. Grace ignored it. This wasn't just duty. It was need. Dimly she was aware of Durge standing in the open doorway, the hem of his cloak pressed over his mouth and nose.

"It's all right." Grace's voice wavered. She cleared her throat andspoke again. "I'm a healer."

The woman pawed at her matted hair. Despite Durge's description she was not much older than Grace, ^ust worn and battered by life on this world.

"You cannot help him," the woman said. "You cannot help any of them now.

It's too late. Too late."

"Let me see," Grace said.

She approached the bed. The moans grew louder, the stench of smoke thicker. The figure coiled and uncoiled beneath a filthy blanket. Grace stared, oddly reminded of a moth wriggling inside its cocoon, undergoing metamorphosis, its body dissolving and reforming. It seemed wondrous, but it had to be agony as well. She reached for the blanket. "No, my lady!" the woman hissed. "Do not touch him!"

Grace hesitated, then glanced at the other. "Why? Is that how it's transmitted?" But it was a stupid question. The woman couldn't 220.

understand the concept of disease vectors.

"It's the Burning Plague, my lady. He'll be like the others soon. He'll join them when the others come again."

"Others? How many others have this plague?"

The woman made a limp gesture toward the door.

u 215 /' if you don't go. I'm the only one left. Me and Yaren. Oh, Yaren!" The woman hugged thin arms around scabby knees and rocked back and forth on the floor, sobbing now as Grace stared. There was something wrong about this. The woman's words didn't make sense. If the plague took the others, how could they come again? She steeled her will, reached for the blanket, and pulled it back.

Grace clasped a hand to her mouth but could not stifle her gasp. The man on the bed was only vaguely human. His skin was blistered and oozed yellow fluid, as if every inch of his body had been severely burned. The gas of decay that rose from him was so thick Grace's head swam for lack of oxygen. In places his burned skin had peeled off his body in strips, and that had exposed not naked muscle but something else: something that looked as hard, smooth, and black as polished obsidian.

"What's happening to him?" Grace whispered, struggling for comprehension.

The man opened his eyes. One was beautiful and blue in the bubbled ruin of his face. The other was completely black-without white, without iris.

A shriek split the air of the hovel. The woman leaped to her feet, her face wild with terror. "Kiondiirn!" she screamed. "The Burnt Ones!" She hurtled away from the bed and nearly knocked down Durge as she pushedpast him, through the door, and into gray twilight beyond. The knight 221 gazed at Grace with wide eyes. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was a desert. She forced herself to turn back around.

The man on the bed was still and quiet now. He watched her with his perfect blue eye. Then, impossi bly, his ragged lips moved. Dark fluid dribbled down 216 ' mark anthony hear his words. As she did, she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"Kill me," he whispered.

Grace shuddered. His blue eye flickered toward the fireplace. Grace followed it, then saw the sharp iron poker that leaned against the stones. She glanced back at him and opened her mouth, but she could not speak.

"Please." The words were as dry as ashes. "While you still can. Kill me."

Grace started to shake her head. She couldn't do it. It was against everything she was, everything she stood for as a doctor. She started to rise. Then she saw a wisp of smoke coil up from the blanket that covered his body. It was burning.