He sighed and gazed at the hand. "Maybe it would have been better if it had all stayed a secret."

"Tell me, Master Wilder, do you often speak to broken statues?"

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Travis spun around, still clutching the stone hand. A steel ball of dread wedged itself in his throat. "Master Larad, I didn't see you there. I'm sorry. I know I probably shouldn't have been in here, but ..."

Larad stepped into the room, the pale light illuminating the fine net of scars that covered his face. "So, can you put it back together?" Travis gaped. What was Larad talking about?

The dark-haired runespeaker gestured to the stone hand, then to the other pieces. "The broken shards of our lord Olrig. Can you not make them whole again?"

There was a bitterness in Larad's voice that Travis suspected was not reserved for him. All the same, instinct told him this man was dangerous. Travis chose his words one by one.

"I suppose I could try. If I had the right tools."Larad laughed: a short, mocking sound. "Well, that's more than they would say, I will grant you that, Master Wilder. In all these years, they have never even spoken of trying." Larad walked among the shards of the statue, then he looked up, his gaze piercing. "Tell me. Master Wilder, did you know that it is possible to feel greed for knowledge?"

"What do you mean?" Travis spoke before thinking, but the runespeaker's words were both puzzling and intriguing.

"It is true." Larad bent down, brushed a stone arm, then stood, dusting his hands. "Many of the All- masters of the past were selfish of what they knew.

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without passing all their knowledge to their students, clutching it instead to their breasts as they died."

He gestured to the fragments. "There is an enchantment in this statue, 363.

one worth recovering. Five centuries ago a journeyman runespeaker working alone could have put it back together. Now all of the masters in the tower together could not do so. Not that any of them have tried." He met Travis's eyes. "Do you understand what I am saying, Master Wilder?" '

It was strange, but Travis thought he did understand. "The Runespeakers have given up trying. They think everything's impossible."

"Yes! They're like men dying of thirst, trying to keep the last droplets of water they have from running through the fingers of their cupped hands, when beneath them lies a great well of water, if only they would dig for it."

"That's why they called me here, isn't it?" Travis drew in a breath.

"Because they think I can do what they're afraid to try themselves."

Larad's silence was answer enough. Travis gazed down at the hand of Olrig. What Larad had said was important, only he wasn't sure exactly how. With a thumb, he started to trace the rune of runes carved into the hand, then stopped and looked up.

"Why did you come to the Gray Tower, Master Larad?"

The runespeaker's face tightened. At first Travis thought it was anger, then he knew it was something else, something more.

"I was eleven winters old when a runespeaker came to my village."

Larad gave a humorless smile. "In those days, our kind could still walk abroad without being stoned. But nor were they greeted with joy. Still, a few boys went to be tested by the runespeaker. My mother sent me, for she still followed many of the356 mark anthony 364.

"And the runespeaker discovered your talent," Travis said quietly. Larad nodded. "I was the only one in the village with promise. My mother was pleased when I showed her the mark the runespeaker had drawn in ink on my hand. But when my father saw it he flew into a rage. He took up a knife and swore he would cut out my tongue to keep me from speaking runes. But I was of a mind to keep my tongue. I struggled, and so I got these instead." He traced a finger along the white lines marking his face. "That night, after my mother bandaged my wounds, I stole from our house. I could barely see for the blood in my eyes, but all the same I found the campfire of the runespeaker outside the village. He spoke runes of healing over me and brought me back to the tower. And here I have been since."

As Larad spoke, Travis's fingers had curled tighter and tighter around the stone hand. Now he forced them to unclench, then bent to set the hand back on the floor with the other fragments.

"What if you had kept it a secret?" Travis said as he straightened again. "What if you had never told anyone about your power, and had never used it?"

Larad raised a dark eyebrow. "And would that not have slain me more surely than my father's knife?"

The runespeaker did not wait for an answer. He moved to the archway, which was clearly visible on this side.

Travis took a step forward. "Wait," he said, surprised at his own action. "How did you know I was here?"

Larad paused, his eyes unreadable. "I didn't, Master Wilder."

Then the runespeaker was gone, and Travis was alone with the broken remains of a mostly forgotten god.

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himself, then the shards came together in his mind, and he knew what he had to do, although the knowledge terrified him. Oragien had 365.

summoned him so he could help the Runespeakers. And there was only one way Travis could do that. Before he could consider it further, he hurried from the hidden room and down the staircase.

He half hoped he would run into a runespeaker as he went--someone who might grip his arm, ask what he was doing, and order him to stop--but the stairway was empty. The masters were all in their cells. Travis reached the bottom of the staircase, then moved to another hidden archway. It took him only a moment to find it this time. Then it was down another staircase.

The stairs ended. Travis stepped into the roughhewn chamber far beneath the Gray Tower. The sourceless glow fell from above,illuminating the stone that hovered in the center.

With deliberate steps, Travis approached the rune- stone. His mouth had gone dry, and he was trembling beneath his robe, but he did not stop. A thrumming sounded on the air, like the beating of a heart. Travis halted before the stone and ran his eyes over the countless runes incised into its surface. What knowledge, what power, what secrets might they grant him if only he touched them and let them speak in his mind?

No, Travis. It's not you that needs the knowledge. It's the Runespeakers. They have to learn to try for themselves. It's the only way.

He lifted both hands, hesitated, then reached out and touched the runestone. It was so much easier than he ever would have thought. He opened his body and, like a conduit, let the power flow through him as he whispered a single word.

358 ' mark anthony The preternatural hush that hung on the air swallowed the sound of his voice. The faint hum ceased, leaving only silence. Travis took a breath 366 and felt . . . nothing. So he had no power to help after all. He started to move away from the stone.

Crack!

The sound was like a thunderbolt passing through his skull. Travis clutched his hands to his ears, but his flesh might as well have been tissue paper. Before him, the runestone shone blue-silver, then like dark serpents they snaked across the stone's surface: deep, lightless gashes.

"Master Wilder! No!"

The voice was lost in the roar of sound. Travis stumbled back even as the runestone flared, then went dark. Like so much rubble, the shards of the stone fell in a heap to the floor. The noise of thunder receded and was gone. Travis was aware of dim, gray shapes rushing forward. One with a white beard appeared in front of him, blue eyes blazing. "What have you done? By Olrig, what have you done?"

I've just saved you, Travis tried to say. But he could not speak as rough hands grabbed him and dragged him away from the broken remains of the runestone.

Grace stood on the flat knoll beneath which they had made camp the night before and watched as dawn set fire to the sweeping plains of northern Toloria. A wind sprang out of the east, tangling hot fingers through her ash-blond hair. She didn't need to look --^.

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full moon was just setting in the west. One day. They had one more day.Boots sounded against the dry grass behind her, and she turned around.

"Grace, what are you doing up here? I finally convinced Durge to lie 367 down and get some rest last night. If he wakes now and sees you're gone, the man will never sleep again."

She smiled at the tall, fair-haired knight, then turned back to face the north. "I know, Beltan. I should go back. But I was just wondering if I could see it from here. The Gray Tower."

Grace heard him move in behind her.

"And can you?"

A sigh escaped her lips. "No, not yet."

His strong hand cupped her shoulder. "We'll save him, Grace."

"How do you know?"

"Because we have to."

She did not look at him, but she nodded, staring at the sharp, gray shapes that hovered on the north horion like storm clouds.

When they reached the bottom of the knoll, they found that Lirith and Aryn had risen, along with Tira. The women spoke in soft voices as Lirith gathered things for a simple breakfast and Aryn helped Tira dress the girl's stick doll. A lumpy shape still snored beneath a blanket nearby. Grace held a finger to her lips, and the others smiled at her.

Then she tiptoed and knelt beside the huddled form..

"Sir Knight," she said in a gentle voice, "it's time to wake up."

Grace was nearly knocked flat on her back as Durge sat bolt upright, brown eyes wide. He had slept in his armor, and his hand groped for the sheathed greatsword that lay next to him.

"What is it, my lady? Brigands? Wild boar?

lly/n-,^_ _ 1 / / 360 * mark anthony 368.

"Breakfast," she said with a grin.

Durge blinked, then blew a breath through his mustaches. "Oh."

"Come, Sir Knight. This way."

She gripped his hand, leaned back, and pulled him to his feet--although not without effort. The Embarran was dense.

"And you can leave the greatsword. I think it's a bit more than you need for spreading butter on a trencher. Let's let Lirith handle things."

"And I am an old knight indeed if I need a noble lady to butter my morning bread."Now it was Grace's turn to blink. Durge's grumblings had sounded dangerously close to humor. However, the expression on his craggy face was more wounded than wry. It was all too much. Grace clapped a hand to her mouth, but she couldn't keep the laughter from escaping. The others joined in, and even Tira's lips drifted upward in a fleeting smile.

Durge only let out a pained breath.

They made their breakfast in a circle on the ground, and they even risked a fire to brew a pot of maddok. Grace sipped the hot, energizing liquid and thought perhaps she could face the day--and the end of her journey--after all.

They had not stopped in Ar-tolor. The morning after crossing the bridge over the Dimduorn, they had seen seven high towers crowned by bright banners: yellow on green. Durge and Beltan had started toward the castle, but Grace had stayed them with a word.

When she was pressed to tell the others why she did not want to go to Ar-tolor, it was difficult to put the reasons into words. Part of it 369 was urgency. The days were passing quickly, and the moon was waxing to full. But that was only part of it.

"I'd just rather Queen Ivalaine didn't know where we're traveling," she said finally. "Or why."

woman's dark eyes were on her. After all, it was Lirith who had confirmed what Grace had sus pected-that the Witches feared Travis was the one they called Runebreaker.

Grace licked her lips. "I'm sure if anyone wished to stay in Ar-tolor, the queen would be happy to receive them."

"I am certain she would," Lirith said in a crisp voice, then mounted her palfrey.

Grace breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad the witch was staying with them. She tried not to wonder if she should be worried as well. A league from the castle they came upon one of Ivalaine's household knights, and Grace gave him a message to take to the queen, begging permission to ride through her Dominion. After that, Grace ex pected to be waylaid at any moment by a company of knights who would drag them to Ar-tolor.

However, the only people they saw on the road were peasants, and then no one as the castle vanished in the distance behind them.

They had made good time across Toloria, although not as good as Grace might have wished. Horses were not cars, and they couldn't be driven all day without food or rest. In addition, Durge and Beltan chose their routes carefully, making certain they never found themselves in places where they might be surrounded with no avenue of escape, as they had been at the Tarrasian bridge, and these maneuverings caused some delay.

It had been hard these last days to speak about what had happened at the bridge. Or maybe it was simply that there was no need to speak of it.

They had all witnessed Meridar's horrible death in the molten embrace of the krondnm. And they had all watched, helpless, as Daynen gave himselffor Tira, smiling even as he walked over fire to save her.

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362 * mark anthony small, thin body to her. You saved one. Grace. You know you'll take that over nothing. In the ED you'd call it a stalemate and move on. But this wasn't the hospital. At night she would lie on her back, staring at the red star pulsing low in the sky, and would try to weep for Daynen. But her eyes were a desert, and she had already forgotten what he looked like.

Although they remained always watchful, they saw no more krondrim as they rode. They were cutting deep across Toloria by then, and all Beltan's reports had indicated that the Burnt Ones were staying close to the river and the mountains.

"Or close to borders," Beltan said one night as they camped beside a stream.

Durge grunted. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. Not completely, anyway. It's like they're looking for something. Or someone. Only it's not in one place. It's on the move."

"Of course," Aryn said, looking up from the rent in her riding, gown she was mending with thread and needle. "It's simple tactics. If you want to find something that could be anywhere, and that's most likely moving, then you should keep watch at the borders that lead from one Dominion to the next."

Grace regarded the baroness, jaw open. "How did you know that, Aryn?"

The young woman shrugged. "I'm the ward of a king, Grace. I pay attention now and then."

"This explains their movement," Lirith said, gazing into the flames of the campfire. "Yet it still doesn't tell us what it is they hope to find."

Her words met only silence. None of them had a theory to explain that.

As they journeyed. Grace kept a close watch on Aryn. The months since 371 Midwinter's Eve had been a dark time for the young woman. First she had used M}.

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Garf, who had clearly loved her, had died in front of her eyes.

Finally Meridar, who had loved her as well, had shouted her name even as he walked into the arms of death. Grace had seen catatonic patients in the ED who had been through less.

However, much as Grace searched for signs of distress, the baroness seemed better than she had in many months. At times Aryn was sad and thoughtful, at others quietly happy. There was an air about her that was calm, even assured, but in no way prideful or smug. The coy and secretive girl who had begun this journey had not crossed the Dimduorn with them. It was a strong and noble young woman who had made it to the other side.Finally, one evening, Grace dared to approach Aryn and ask her how she felt about Meridar.

Aryn bent her head, then looked up, her sapphire eyes refracting the last light of day. "He died for me, Grace. I didn't ask him to do it, and I didn't want him to. But he did, and I can't change that. So I have to be strong. For him. If I'm not, then what would it all mean?" Grace had tried to speak, but there were no words she could say that would be more true than what the young woman had spoken. Aryn was growing up-- really growing up. However, there was yet a long road ahead of her, and many burdens to carry upon it, of that Grace was certain. With a gasp that might have been joy or sorrow, she reached out and embraced her friend. Yes, her friend, the best she had on any world. Aryn hugged her back, and the gesture was no less fierce for the fact that it was made with only one arm.

"I love you, Grace. I love you so much."