It was heavy, terribly heavy. She couldn't do it; the force of the river was far too great, dragging her down. Then two pairs of cool, shining hands reached out alongside hers.

We're here, Grace.

Together they pulled, but still the net she had woven would not budge.

Then Grace understood. They were struggling against the vast, endless flow of the Weirding in the river, and against so great a force they could never win. But what if she was to draw on that force rather than fight it?

With a single thought Grace reshaped the net into a glowing cup, and she let all the threads of the river pour into it.

Now!

Three sets of bodiless hands touched the cup and-- in a simple 332.

motion--tipped it over. Silver poured out, streaming in a new direction.

There was a great rushing noise, followed by a crash and a terrible hissing. Grace's eyes flew open in time to see the kiondlim stumble back as a wave spilled over the banks of the river and onto the land. She scrambled up onto the bridge with Aryn and Lirith, avoiding its flow.

The wave was not large. It came no higher than the knees of the Burnt Ones. All the same, the creatures flung their arms up as it washed around them, the black pits of their mouths open but unable to scream.

The cold water screamed for them, shrieking and bubbling around their legs, sending plumes of steam ^nto the air. The krondrim fell into the water, stiffen- ^g as they did, like molten steel hardened in an instant in a quenching bucket. More steam billowed 326 - mark anthony the river, leaving the stiff, twisted forms of the Burnt Ones to cool upon the shore.

Grace staggered to the foot of the bridge, still clutching Aryn andLirith. Beltan reached them first, followed by Durge. However, Meridar lingered, gazing at the now-extinguished husk that had been his warhorse, his eyes as flat and unreadable as those of the Burnt Ones.

Beltan gripped Grace's shoulders with strong hands. His green eyes were wide with many questions, but the one he asked was, "Are you well, Grace?"

She gave a shallow nod--all the answer she could manage.

Durge stepped forward. "Lady Aryn? Lady Lirith? You are safe as well?"

The two women embraced one another. Lirith opened her mouth to reply.

She was interrupted by a sizzling sound. The steam had hidden it, but now it stepped from one of the roiling clouds, its feet hissing against the damp ground with each step. Grace stared, unable to move.

333 So she had miscounted after all. But it must have followed the rocky line of the shore, where no fires would betray its presence.

Before any of them could react, the Burnt One lurched forward. Grace and Beltan were the nearest. She went rigid, wondering how quickly the flames would take her. The krondrim gazed at her with eyes as flat as death-- --then shambled past her and up onto the bridge.

A thin, piteous scream knifed the air. Grace jerked her head around. On the center of the bridge, twenty feet away, Tira scrabbled at Daynen's tunic, staring as the Burnt One approached. The left side of her face was twisted by terror, while the scarred flesh of the right remained smooth as ever.

327.

"What is it?" the boy cried, tears streaming from his sightless eyes. He clutched Tira's trembling body.

Durge sprang forward onto the bridge, then let out a curse and leaped back. He stamped his feet, and only then did Grace see that his boots were smoking.

She looked back at the bridge and gasped. Pits marked the stone where the Burnt One's feet had sunk into it. A dull red glow spread outward from them, and in moments the entire surface of the bridge between the shore and the krondrim glowed in the thickening dark. ^ust beyond the Burnt One, the children huddled together on as yet cool stone.

"It's hot," Durge said through clenched teeth, still stamping his feet.

The krondrim neared the two children. Tira screamed again. Grace clutched at Beltan, thinking this the end, but instead the Burnt One halted. It seemed to gaze at the children--no, at Tira. Then, in a slow, stiff motion, the krondrim bent forward. What was it doing? Ice replaced fire as Grace understood.

334.

It's bowing to her--showing obeisance.

Tira's scream ended, and the fear drained from her face, so that both halves were tranquil. She gazed at the Burnt One with calm eyes, thenreached a small hand toward its body.

"It's going to burn them!" Aryn cried. "Somebody do something!"

Jump, Grace started to shout, but she was startled into silence by a dull blur that moved past her and dashed onto the bridge. Another scream shattered the air--the deep, horrible scream of a man in agony. Meridar.

The knight stiffened as smoke rose from his boots, and moisture poured down his face. Clenching his Jaw, he ran across the half-molten stone of the bridge, his chain mail glowing in the bloody light. The 328 mark anthony slow. Meridar reached out, then coiled his arms around the Burnt One, hugging it close to his body.

The sizzle of flesh cooking was audible on the air. Another scream ripped itself from his lungs, and only after a second did Grace realize it was a word.

"Aryn!"

Then the momentum of Meridar's dash carried him forward, along with the Burnt One. In a ball of flame they toppled over the si,de of the bridge and plunged into the swift waters of the river below. There was a hiss, quickly extinguished, then silence. After several heartbeats a pair of dark, intertwined forms bobbed to the surface of the water. Then they sank again, and were gone.

Aryn took a staggering step forward. "Sir Meridar ..."

Lirith reached out and caught the young woman, holding her back from the foot of the bridge.

335.

"Vathris keep him," Beltan said in a hoarse voice.

Grace disentangled herself from the blond knight's arms and gazed at the fiery trails snaking on the other side of the river. They had almost reached the west side of the bridge. She licked parched lips, then spoke the words softly, so Daynen and Tira could not hear.

"The others are coming."

Beltan followed her gaze. "We've got to get the children off the bridge."

Durge approached the foot of the bridge, then was driven back by the fierce heat. Half the bridge, between the eastern shore and the children, still glowed dull red. "We must wait for the bridge to cool,"

the knight said.

Beltan shook his head. "We can't wait. In two minutes the other krondrim will reach the west side of the bridge. If Meridar made it across, then so can I."With a powerful hand, Durge gripped Beltan's arm and halted the big knight. "I have never heard it spo- discard his life without purpose. Sir Meridar made it across the stones, yes, but by the time he reached the children he was already dead. Would you join him, then, along with the children?"

The two men locked eyes, then Beltan grunted. Durge released him. "So what do we do?" Beltan said.

The crimson light played across Aryn's pale fea tures. "The river. They can jump in the river."

"No," Durge said. "The Dimduorn is too deep here, and its undercurrents too swift. Surely they will drown."

336.

Beltan started to shrug off his mail shirt. "You're right, Durge. But it's still their only chance. Once they jump, you and I will have to-"

"Daynen! No!"

Grace had never heard Lirith scream before, not even when Garf was attacked by the bear. She looked up, and her heart became ash in the pit of her chest. Daynen had lifted Tira onto his shoulders. Even as Grace watched, the blind boy took another step along the bridge, placing his bare feet on hot, glowing rock.

Sickness strangled Grace's throat. There was noth ing any of them could do but watch. Pain contorted Daynen's face as he moved down the bridge.

He stumbled as his feet became lifeless blocks, but he did not halt.

Tira sat still on his shoulders, her small hands pressed against his cheeks.

It seemed an eternity Grace was forced to watch, but it was only seconds until Beltan was able to reach out with long arms and snatch both Daynen and Tira off of the bridge. Tira coiled her arms around the big knight's neck and gazed down as Lirith fell to her knees beside the boy. Grace knelt beside her, but she already knew what the diagnosis would be.

They made him comfortable on the grass. His face was pale, smeared with sweat and soot, but it was 330 * mark anthony this--there were no more nerve endings in his charred legs to transmit pain.

Daynen gazed up, searching with his unseeing eyes. "Lady Lirith?" "I am here." Tears shone in her eyes, but her voice was low and soothing.

"Is Tira all right?"

"She is well. Do not fear."

337.

"I'm not ... afraid."His words were getting fainter now, and the trembling in his body was easing. Shock was setting in quickly. It wouldn't be long now.

"It was just . . . just like I saw it, Lady Lirith. Only now I know who it was . . . who I was carrying."

The witch smoothed damp hair from his brow. "What do you mean, Daynen?"

"It was Tira. That's who I saw. I carried her over . . . the bright fields ... of the sun." Daynen's lips curved into a smile. "It was ...

it was so . . ."

Grace watched the life flow out of him, and his thin body grew still. A small form slipped from Beltan's arms and padded across the ground.

Tira. She squatted down and touched Daynen's face, running her fingers over his lips, his nose, his staring eyes. Then she turned and clambered into Grace's arms. Grace watched the approaching fires. "We must go," Durge said. The knight had gathered the frightened horses back together.

Beltan knelt and, as if lifting a small bundle of rags, rose with Daynen in his arms. Lirith remained kneeling, Aryn's hands on her shoulders, as Beltan walked to the edge of the river, bent again, and let the small body go into the dark, swirling waters. He returned to Lirith and helped her to her feet.

"Can you ride?" he said.

331.

They mounted their horses. The animals stamped and snorted, anxious to run from the reek of smoke and fire.

From the back of her palfrey, Aryn glanced at the bridge, then spoke in 338 a quiet voice. "In the forest, before we left the camp, Meridar told me that he was ashamed of what he had done in Falanor. He said he had acted without honor, that for revenge he would have harmed the innocent and weak. He said he wanted to redeem himself, and to prove himself good in . . ." She swallowed hard. ". . . in my eyes."

Grace stared at her, then spoke the, only words she could find. "Did he?"

Aryn shook her head, the wetness on her cheeks shining in the cast-off light of flames. "What was there to prove?"

The baroness turned her horse around and started down the road. The others followed. As they galloped, Grace looked down at the red-haired girl wedged before her on the saddle. In her mind she saw the way the krondrim had bowed before Tira. But what had it meant?

Maybe -it was like a greeting. Grace. One burnt one to another . . .

Despite her scorched skin, Grace shivered as she urged Shandis after the other horses, into the east and the night, leaving the fires behind.

Maybe Oragien was right. Maybe he really was a ^nelord. All the same,Travis had the feeling he was far from one of the greatest wizards Eidh had ever known.

Master Larad glared at Travis's wax tablet. "You've frrnv*n^--_j..-_- -1 _ r * it-/j _-- 332 mark anthony on the wrong side. Again. And you've made water look like something a child might scrawl in the dirt with a stick." He tossed the tablet onto a table. "This work would shame an apprentice."

339.

Master Eriaun moved across the small room, gray robe whispering, and picked up the tablet. "Now Master Larad, this is not so ... well it isn't . . ." He sighed. "I do think he's improving."

Travis slumped in his chair. He had warned Oragien he didn't know many runes. Despite this, the All-master had given him to Larad and Eriaun, so that the two might make an assessment of his abilities.

Larad crossed his arms, his black eyes hard. "How can he help us decipher the runestone if he can't even read and write the simplest runes?"

"He is a runelord, Larad."

"So we've been told. But how can we know for certain?"

"He can speak runes, bind them, and break them. One with all three abilities has not been known in Falengarth since the Runelords vanished." Eriaun spread his pudgy hands. "What more on Eidh do you need, Larad?"

By his grunt he needed something else, but what it was he would not say.

Larad turned his cutting gaze on Travis. "Evening chorus begins in an hour. I suggest you rest until then. We will resume our work afterward."

The master turned and left the windowless chamber.

Eriaun gave Travis a sympathetic look. "You must forgive Master Larad.

He is ... that is to say he . . ." However, if there was in fact a reason to forgive Larad, then Eriaun could not seem .to voice it. He smiled weakly, then moved through the door, leaving Travis alone. Travis leaned back in his chair and lifted a finger to 333.

Larad had railed at him, demanding answers, raking his brain for knowledge.

"Once we have made certain you are ready, you will help us read the runestone," Oragien had said the morning of Travis's second day in the 340 tower. "In it you will no doubt see something we have not, some power that will help us work against the krondrim."

Travis had almost laughed--he doubted he would ever be ready for that--but the seriousness in Oragien's blue eyes had made him choke his laughter back down.He pressed his aching eyes shut and thought back to the stories Falken had told him about the rune- stones. Once there had been nine of the stones, forged by the Runelords, containing the keys to all their knowledge and learning. Most of them were lost in the fall of Malachor seven centuries ago. And Travis knew another lay buried--and most likely shattered--beneath the White Tower of the Runebinders. However, at least one of the runestones still remained, here in the Gray Tower. "Much knowledge has been lost over the centuries," Oragien had told him. "For all our studies, we can comprehend only a fraction of what is carved upon the runestone. You, Master Wilder, will help us learn more."

Travis sighed and opened his eyes. He wished Falken and Melia were here.

He was certain they would understand what was happening far better than he did.

Only they're not here, Travis, and you are.

He looked down at his right hand. He had grown used to the tingling beneath his palm, but it was still there--the symbol Jack had somehow branded into his flesh that terrible night beneath the Magician's Attic.

Jakabar of the Gray Stone was a runelord. And so 334 * mark anthony Oragien's words still echoed in his mind. Even now they stunned him. But hadn't he heard them once before?