Travis gaped at the bard. "What does she mean? How could you have known Dakarreth?"

Falken was silent so long Travis thought he would never answer. Then thebard lifted his black-gloved hand. "It was Dakarreth who did this to me."

All gazed at the bard, unable to speak. Falken's voice was as bitter as poison.

"It was as a reward, you see, that he took my hand. And as a reminder.

For the part I played unwittingly at his bidding--the hand I had in the death of a kingdom."

"Of what kingdom do you speak, Falken?" Durge said in a soft voice. The bard clenched his gloved hand into a fist and spoke a single, shattered word. "Malachor."

Melia laid her hand over his fist, her eyes shining with sorrow. "You mustn't blame yourself, dear."

Falken lowered his hand. "No, that's for others to do."

A Mr-*-* *.^*T,/,4-Q,-1 *-'k,=> f/iKyn- rf l-^r o-mAm infr a T^nol 506 * mark anthony with her left hand. "But this can't be. Malachor fell seven centuries ago."

"Yes," Tome said. "It did."

Travis no longer felt shock. "Of course. Falken of Malachor. That was how you introduced yourself to me in the Winter Wood. Which means you're--"

"Seven-hundred-and-forty-two years old," the bard said with a mirthless laugh. "And does it make you feel better to know the 518.

number?"

"But how?" Grace said simply.

Falken shrugged. "That was part of Dakarreth's reward for me as well.

That I never die, so that I might forever remember what deeds were wrought by the hand I had lost."

Melia circled her arms around the bard, and the two bowed their heads together as Tome watched them, his gold eyes gleaming with tears. A shard of sorrow pierced Tra vis's heart . . . then he discarded it. Who were these people--no, these beings--to use them all like this? They were worse than SHthrisir. Like Duratek, the dragon had not concealed what it was from them. Instead Melia and Falken were like the Seekers, revealing only that which would make others do exactly the things they wanted.

Grace gazed at him with startled eyes. "Travis, what is it?"

He leaped to his feet, glaring at the bard and the amber-eyed lady, his voice a snarl. "So, what other secrets have you hidden from us?" Melia looked up, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Then she bowed her head again, leaning against Falken, and spoke in a voice that was filled, not with sadness or anger, but simply weariness. "Leave us alone, Travis. Please. Just leave us alone."Like water from a broken flask, the anger poured mil- r ^m i?/^tii-/t l^-w* T^rtll/i-r.T /.-. /-1 1~--^^.^1~ TT- ----}r 507.

back to the ground and stared at the pale faces of the others. Then a hand touched his, and he looked up into green-gold eyes.

519.

"It's all right, Travis," Grace said quietly. "It's still Melia and Falken."

I know, he wanted to say to her. But is it still mef Instead he lay down, rested his head in her lap, and wept.

From Shandis's back, Grace surveyed the castle that thrust upward from the misty waters of the lake below.

Well, I guess I made it here after all, Boreas. She reached inside her cloak and fingered the still- crisp parchment folded inside a pocket. It seemed an age since Boreas had given her the letter of endorsement. On the journey, she had seen things and done things that she had never--could never have--imagined. And she had all but forgotten the mission given to her by King Boreas that summer morning in Calavcre, to act as his spy in Castle Spardis. Yet, in the end, their travels had brought her here, right where she was supposed to be, and right on time.

Minus two knights and one boy. Grace. Her heart stumbled in mid-beat.

Had it been worth it? Had this mission been worth the deaths of Kalleth and Meridar? And that of Daynen?

But Grace knew that none of it--their journey, savng Travis, the task Boreas had given her--would be worth anything if they did not find a way to stop Dakarreth from gaining the key to the Stone of Fire. Yet Grace hardly even believed in gods. How was she supposed to fight one? and not Travis. Falken and Melia are traveling to , and they're going to face Dakarreth. Alone.

While Falken and Melia had been adamant about this point when they discussed it that morning, Beltan had spoken with a vehemence Grace had never witnessed before, his voice hard and unmalleable as the sword at his hip.

"You're not going into the Barrens, Grace. And nei ther is Travis. Do you understand?"

520.

Both stared at the blond knight, too stunned to speak.

Beltan crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest. "The dragonsaid both of you would die if you went to . So you're not going. Instead you're staying in Spardis where I can keep watch over you."

Grace knew she shouldn't speak the words, but they escaped her all the same. "And what of Lady Melia?"

Beltan's green eyes hardened, but Melia stepped forward, laying a slender hand on his arm.

"I have released Sir Beltan from his duties as my Knight Protector."

The expression on the knight's face gave way to shock as he looked at Melia.

"For the moment," she said crisply, meeting his eyes. Then she regarded Grace again. "It is best that Falken and I make this journey ourselves, dear. We will be traveling to places where . . . mortals cannot tread. All of you can remain safely in Spardis until we return."

If you return. Grace added to herself, but she didn't speak the words.

For if Melia and Falken failed, it didn't matter what any of them did.

The fire would find them all.

Now, from the back of his jet stallion, Falken 509.

Aryn clutched her cloak around her shoulders. "Yes, let's. It will be good to get out of this chill and damp."

Grace huddled inside her own cloak. More than once she had been 521.

tempted to fling the garment from the back of her horse as they rode across the ever- hotter expanses of Perridon. However, that afternoon as they drew near the castle, the temperature plunged, and moisture beaded like fine pearls on every surface. This was Perridon as Grace had imagined it: shrouded in cool fog and mystery.

Durge led the way down the slope, and the others followed. Even were it not for the shifting fog, Grace knew it would be no easy feat to count the towers of Spardis. Great and small, fat and slender, soaring and squat: They crowded on the island in the middle of the dull silver lake.

As they rode. Grace guided Shandis toward Melia's pale mare. There was something she wanted to know.

"Where did he go, Melia? Tome, I mean."

Melia kept her gaze on the castle ahead. "He had other things to attend to, dear. And this is not a task for one such as Tome. He was ever the gentlest of our kind."

Grace shivered, and not only from the mist. Our kind. One of the Nine, she means. She stared at the regal lady, then her eyes moved to the bard who rode nearby. Knowing the truth about Melia and Falken had changedeverything. They were immortal--Grace could never forget that. Yet it changed nothing as Well. Just because Grace knew something about them ^e hadn't before, it didn't mean the two were any different. If the knowledge had changed anyone, it was Grace.

They reached the causeway that spanned the flat surface of the lake, then guided their horses onto it, hooves clopping against stone. The fog closed in, con- CPahnrr l-o flip crrpat- 512 * mark anthony hall in his urgency, Grace wouldn't have known it. This seemed more maze than castle, and the mist didn't help. She quickly lost all sense of direction as they wove among the towers, passed through narrow archways, and crossed slender bridges.

Melia groaned as they walked. "The Perridoners have to make everything complicated, don't they?"

Falken shrugged. "I think it's something in the water."At last the guard pushed open a set of double doors, and they entered a space that looked much like the great hall of Calavere. Rushes covered the floor, and high, tapestry-draped walls rose to smoke-blackened beams. At the far end of the hall was a dais, atop which was an ornately carved chair, empty at the moment. However, another chair had been set on the lowest step of the dais, and this was occupied by a small, sunken-chested man whose eyes--small and darting in his pockmarked face--reminded Grace of the pet ferret a medical student had once brought to the hospital only to lose it in the ventilation system.

The guard presented them, and at first the chamberlain--whose name was Lord Siferd--was enraged that they had been allowed into the castle.

However, after a brief conversation with Melia, Siferd's attitude improved remarkably.

"You must forgive me," he said, quivering before Melia. "I had no idea 525 I had been brought such exalted guests. Be assured those responsible will be punished. Severely." Siferd cast a withering glance at the guard, whose eyes bulged.

"Not too severely," Melia said, laying a gentle hand on the chamberlain's arm.

His head bobbed. "Of course, my lady."

Melia's smile was more than a little smug.

Grace approached the chamberlain. She might as well not waste any time getting started. "Lord Siferd, u^F* ure^rf^ l-r1n l-h r^rr^r%t- i c- .mr/tir // 513.

"Yes, my lady, it's true. I doubt you are aware, but there have been rumors of plague in some of the more remote regions of the Dominion. The regent has ridden forth to see what he might do for the people."

He clasped a hand to his concave chest. "Such a brave and kindly man he is."

"I'm sure," Grace said. "But in the meantime, might we see Queen Inara?"

Siferd sighed. "Alas, no. The queen is in seclusion while she mourns the loss of her husband, King Persard."

Grace chewed her lip. That was bad news. She had wanted to speak to the queen. Young though she was, Grace knew Inara might have insights into the political situation here.

"What of Duke Falderan or Lord Sul?" she said. "Might I see one of them?"

"Once more, I fear I must disappoint you, my lady. After the king's 526 death, Lord Sul departed for his home in the north of Perridon. And while Duke Falderan is in residence here at Spardis, he fell gravely ill this spring and is receiving no visitors."

Grace couldn't suppress a frown. Why was everyone she wanted to talkwith unavailable? But then, she should have known Inara would still be in mourning. It had been less than two months since her husband's death.

And it was logical that Lord Sul had returned to his home; no doubt the new regent had counselors of his own. As for Falderan falling ill-- Grace of all people knew the high likelihood of catch- "ig a disease on this world. There was the Burning Plague, after all.

Except, from what she had seen--and from the guard's words at the gate--it was clear that the Burng Plague had not yet reached Spardis.

But that was Strange, for all the evidence had pointed to Spardis as Ae epicenter of the pandemic.