The peaks to the east lit as if painted with fire. The mists of Baenn-iolair bled down her flanks and hung over Baenn-an-ratha in gaudy tatters. Still. It was too still on the mountainside, as if all things held their breath.

On the battlements Catahn Hageswode watched as a strange mist rose from down-slope and crept toward them-mist that didn't behave like mist. It billowed in the breezeless air, curled and fanned and obscured whatever might lie beyond it. Cover, Catahn realized. Cover for an attack. He summoned his lieutenants silently to preparation. A scent reached him, spicy, woody.

Smoke, yes, but unnatural. Vaguely, he could feel the force behind it-a tickling on his skin, a p.r.i.c.kling at the back of his neck.

Ready, ready, he thought to his men. Be ready.

He glanced over his shoulder at the face of the fortress rising from the court, at the window of the Great Hall high in the facade. Taminy was there. He could see her only as a shadow against the thick gla.s.s. He could sense her as a flame, warm at his back. Reason enough to fight. Reason enough to die.

He turned back to the creeping smoke. It was below them now, had obscured the gate of Airdnasheen, rendered her empty houses and streets invisible. It rolled across the sloping access to Hrofceaster, spread east and west, blotting out the grove of Catahn's Crask-an-duine, the spring-fed mountain stream, the lonely stands of trees around and between. Concealing the ground, the sky . . . the enemy. It surrounded them and began to climb the walls. As the false mist flowed over Hrofceaster's battlements and into her forecourt, Catahn fought the tightness in his throat and took up his bow.

The a.s.sault came with lightning speed on the tips of flaming arrows and crossbow bolts. Pinned below the lip of her battlements, Hrofceaster's defenders could only await a cessation in the rain of weaponry.

There was none. Wave after wave of artillery rolled over them, preventing all but the most limited response. Catahn knelt in a narrow niche and brought his bow up, arrow notched. There was yet nothing to fire at, and now he heard someone cry out from the forecourt that a fire had sprung up there.

Chill clutched at his heart. If the arrows continued to fall, extinguishing the fires they caused could be impossible.

Above and behind him from within Hrofceaster's Great Hall, Taminy saw Feich's shield of smoke as the aislinn-molded thing it was.

"Feel it?" she asked. "Feel the aidan behind it-within it?"

Arrayed around her, eyes on the lead-crystal windows of the big room, the waljan did indeed feel the presence behind the heavy billows that pressed against the panes.

"How?" Wyth Arundel asked, shaking his head. "How can a man like Feich have such a powerful Gift? I never sensed this in him before Cyne Colfre's death. Did you?"

Taminy shook her head. "I felt . . . something from him, but nothing like this."

"Yet he Weaves as one fully versed in the Art. He Weaves with the power of someone like Osraed Bevol."

Skeet, flanking him at the window, murmured, "He has Aiffe and he has allies."

Wyth shook his head. "A crystal is merely a focus. If he had no aidan . . ."

"He could do nothing," finished Taminy, her eyes never leaving the window.

"Then how has been able to train such a strong Gift in such a short time?"

Taminy shook her head. "I wish I knew."

"The Deasach Cwen has the Sight," observed Desary. "Father says while you were talking with Feich, he felt her watching us. Watching you. But with Feich, he can sense nothing. It's as if-"

A m.u.f.fled shriek pulled them from their murmured conversation. Eyslk had pulled back from the windows, one hand covering her mouth, the other pointing into the teeming mist.

"Demons!" she cried, voice breaking. "They send demons in the mist!"

Taminy brought her eyes back to the gla.s.s. Black phantoms with flaming eyes a.s.sailed them. Spreading wings the color of midnight, carrying swords of flame, they hurled themselves against the windows of the Great Hall, rattling the iron frames.

"Oh, Mistress, they can fly!" whimpered Eyslk.

"No. They can't. They can only make us believe they can. There are only arrows set afire. Help me, all of you. Help me disperse the smoke. Catahn's men can't see what they're firing at."

The room fell silent as they Wove a wind-a cold, relentless wind that rolled down from the crown of Hrofceaster and blew Daimhin Feich's wind back into his face. The hail of arrows did not stop, and now they could see that there were fires in the courtyard. But the enemy no longer had a place to hide. Caught on the shelf of rocky ground beyond Hrofceaster's gates, they were forced to flee or die as the Hillwild and their Claeg reserves at last found targets. The arrow-storm lessened as the enemy was forced to fire from concealment. Less than an hour later, the fires in the court were out, but not without a loss of livestock and fodder.

The battle continued on and off for the rest of the day. By late afternoon, Taminy knew there were casualties on both sides. The knowledge made her weep. Her only comfort was the promise that birth must be accompanied by pain even in the Eibhilin realms. So, she wielded the waljan and their talents like a shield and wondered what darkness would bring.

"They come." Lilias Saba's huge, luminous eyes opened, light dancing across them-phantoms of fire and crystal.

Feich nodded, his own eyes on hers. "Yes, I see them."

He could see them, slipping through the darkness below Airdnasheen, imagining that they were concealed from him-he smiled-imagining that their Mistress would be the one to greet them.

"They'll try to hide themselves from us in some way, but we will be more clever. We will make hiding impossible."

He rose, left his tent and the two women who Wove there, and summoned a group of black-clad men to him to issue them their orders. They moved swiftly away toward the empty village.

In a narrow canyon mere miles below Airdasheen, the four travelers were forced to abandon their horses and continue on foot. The night was dark and still and already they could see the telltale glint of enemy fires above them and to the north.

Upward they moved, and southeast toward Airdasheen. Saefren figured on several hours of slow, tedious travel-perhaps a bit less if they were able to slip into the village rather than having to skirt it. He a.s.sumed, as did Aine, that Catahn would have brought the villagers into his stronghold for safety's sake, leaving the place empty. The question was, had Feich taken advantage of that and stationed troops within the village itself?

In a little less than two hours the scarp upon which Airdnasheen sat rose above them, close enough to blot out a good part of the sky. Only by the enemy campfires could they see the lowering mist; Airdnasheen itself was dark and still.

"I'll go up and take a closer look," Saefren told his companions. "Wait here; I'll signal."

"I'll go with you." That was Aine, of course. "Then you won't have to signal."

"Aine, there could be troops up there, hiding."

"You think you'd have some advantage over them, alone? How well can you Weave a Cloaking inyx, Saefren?" she asked, when his mouth opened to reply.

He grimaced. "Not very well at all. Fine. I'll be glad of your company, then, since you've offered to make yourself useful." He turned to Leal and Iseabal. "Wait here until we see if it's clear."

They climbed, pushing through knee-high snow, using rocks and brush for steps and handholds, up the flank of the escarpment until they hunkered among a clump of scrubby pines that grew at the northwest verge of the village. Darkness met them, a darkness so complete they could see nothing of the village buildings save the most ghostly wash of moonlight on the roofs of those closest to them. For some minutes they sat, side by side, listening, watching, waiting. Aine, Saefren was certain, was scanning the place with more than eyes and ears.

He turned to her, leaning his mouth close to her ear. "Well?"

"It's empty. That is, the Hillwild aren't here, but . . . Something's not right. Someone's here."

"Feich?"

"No, not Feich. No one with aidan."

"What do you feel?"

"Fear." She turned to look at him, her face gleaming like a dim moon. "I feel fear."

"Someone hiding out from Feich?"

"I don't know, but here. In Airdnasheen." She made a gesture upslope to where the southern reaches of the village huddled beneath the crags. "Up there."

"Do we dare travel through the village, then?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"We can move along the face of the scarp, but we'd be exposed, hampered by the snow and the slope, and too d.a.m.n close to Feich's camps."

"Well, then," Aine said and glanced back over her shoulder, though she could surely see nothing.

Saefren a.s.sumed she had just summoned the others. "My feet and hands are like ice," he told her. "Have you no Weaves for warmth?"

She chuckled. "Oh, aye," she said and took his gloved hands between her own gloveless ones.

In a moment, he felt warmth flood his fingertips, flow up his arms, invade his body, rush down his legs to his feet. It was an eerie sensation, for it felt like no fire he had ever sat before, no hot bath he had ever taken. This warmth moved from the inside out, from the red-haired girl to him. It was as if his bones had suddenly learned to conduct heat.

He wished, for a moment, that he was not wearing gloves and could know if her hands were as hot as it seemed they must be.

That thought led to one of a slightly more intimate nature. One Saefren dashed away with a charge of purely personal heat, only barely avoiding the guilty gesture of pulling his hands away. It was little more than a flash of feeling, not even a full-fledged thought, but it shamed him and he feared she may have caught it. Only when she didn't pull her own hands away, did he relax.

He was thoroughly warmed by the time the others reached them. They paused only long enough for Leal and Iseabal to taste of Airdnasheen's strange quiet, then they slipped silently down from the rocks and into the empty village. Within moments, Aine and Iseabal had oriented themselves and led the others toward the eastern perimeter and the trail to Hrofceaster.

In the river of mist, shops and houses loomed like shrouded islands. They kept to the shadows, eyes open for any other presence than their own. They were skirting the town circle when sudden light exploded across the snow-carpeted way, resolving into a billow of flame that exposed them utterly. In seconds, the roofs of three houses opposite them were afire. The flames leapt up in sheets, illuminating the rocky mountainside, washing across the circle along with a blast of heat. In a matter of seconds, they were spreading, racing to cut off the narrow lane that ran up to Hrofceaster.

Aine froze, staring at the inferno. She did not need to see the dark figures scurrying before the flames to know that they were being herded like sheep. The question was, where were they expected to go? She glanced over her shoulder, past the fire-washed startled faces of her companions. Back the way they'd come? She made a decision, praying it was the right one.

"Come on! This way!" She slipped into a dark cut between two buildings, the others moving swiftly behind her.

Saefren moved to her shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"Out of the village."

"Are you sure-?"

"No, I'm not."

He followed without comment down the rough alley to the back of the row of buildings. They crossed a narrow strip of bare, rocky ground, stumbling over obstacles they couldn't see beneath the snow, Aine concentrating on the path, Saefren on Aine, Leal and Iseabal on a Cloakweave that would allow them to see themselves while shielding them from the eyes of others. Through the hemming rocks, they clambered, coming at last to the place where the escarpment fell away toward the canyon in a snowy roil of rock and frozen brush.

At the bottom of the track, Aine turned them eastward and upward again, toward the fortress. Their only trail led between the burning village above and the enemy encampments below. She could only pray that the Cloakweave Leal and Isha supported would be enough to conceal them. She almost dared to stretch out her aidan to Taminy, but fear of discovery forestalled her.

The blaze of Airdnasheen lit up the snow and mist, bathing the mountainside in glory. Aine tried to accept its light and ignore its dangers, her attention ahead, her eyes on the narrow, rocky defile. They rounded a large outcropping and she saw them-the ramparts of Hrofceaster, gleaming in the fire-fed mist, tiny figures swarming along the top of its battlements. Her heart surged with relief so strong she nearly cried out. A second later a slim figure swaddled in red blocked their trail.

Aine stopped, weltering in confusion. Surely, this person couldn't see them. As she watched, quivering, others appeared, Caraidin soldiers, Deasach corsairs.

The figure lifted an arm in a sweeping gesture and the soldiers deployed themselves. When they were surrounded, a man in Feich colors came to stand beside the red-robed figure-a man Aine had come to hate. He lifted a red crystal before him, balancing it on the palm of one hand. It glowed evilly in the orange wash of flame from the burning village. More evil still, was the man behind the crystal, a man whose crimson face wore a smile of triumphant delight.

He had the Osmaer crystal, well she knew. He had Airleas Malcuim. And now he had Iseabal, Aine, Leal and Saefren Claeg. She was ready when he called her out, arrogantly demanding that she meet him before the gates of Hrofceaster to negotiate her surrender.

Catahn would not let her go, begged her to let the siege continue, to let the Hillwild at his command attempt to turn the tide. They had watched their homes burn, their village utterly destroyed, they were determined, they would prevail. But they could not prevail. Another day, another night, and Hrofceaster would crumble physically. Feich's forces were superior. With the capture of the Osmaer, there was a decision to be made and it was Taminy's, alone, to make.

She withdrew to her private chamber, leaving even Catahn behind in the Great Hall. On her knees before the fire, she sought the Touch of the Meri. She took herself to a place of light, a place beyond the room her body inhabited.

"What must I do?" she asked, and knew the answer in a breath.

"You wanted to strike him down."

Taminy raised her head, turning her eyes to the hazy shadows. Skeet stepped from them, seeming a hot, dancing flame in this Eibhilin chamber. Through the radiance that surrounded them, he seemed to wear two aspects, one overlapping the other like a translucent garment; a young boy, an old man with a beard of fire and snow and eyes like a summer sky.

"I thought of it," she admitted.

"Will you?"

"You know the answer to that. You were my example. Did you struggle against those who came for you at Mertuile? When Feich's men carried you off to die, did you lay them to waste?"

The half-aislinn half-corporeal being shook his head-a twinned movement.

"No more can I. It's part of the Pattern. To represent the Spirit, to lay claim to Its wisdom and wield Its power, I must reflect Its qualities. To do otherwise would destroy what I am consecrated to establish. The Tapestry would unravel. Six hundred years undone in a moment of vengeance and anger."

"So then, what will you do?" The voice was Skeet's, the soul-piercing gaze was Bevol's.

"I will surrender."

"I accede to your demand, Daimhin Feich."

He whirled, all but leaving his skin behind, and peered into the darkness of the hostage tent. She, the Divine Quarry, floated before him in the stygian gloom like a golden rose, watching him with grave, sad eyes. Forgetting the hostages he had been gloating over, he reached out a hand to the image-aislinn, of course-a mirage, but so real, so close. He groped after her.

"You will meet me tomorrow, before the fortress gates?"

"I will."

"A wise choice. For their sake." He gestured at the drugged forms of Airleas, Aine, Iseabal and Leal.

The Claeg, Saefren, was Giftless as a post and so had been spared Coinich Mor's sleeping draught. He huddled in a corner of the tent, eyes glaring sullenly at his captor. Feich enjoyed his wakeful hatred.

"You cannot withstand me, Taminy. Do you understand why?"

She grimaced. "I understand that there is a test in this for me, perhaps I have failed it."

"You fail because you are weak, dear Lady. Oh, I don't mean your powers or your wisdom. You are powerful enough. But your wisdom is based on a fallacy-that good is inherently more powerful than evil. You are wrong, of course." He smiled. "Shall I tell you why you are wrong?"

"I suppose you shall."