The thought that now filled him with dread was that his brother might also have fallen victim to the force that had killed the girl. As he crossed the courtyard, he told himself that if his brother was dead, he would devote the rest of his life to destroying the magician.

What he saw as he entered the room made him feel as if his body had turned to stone. His mother was embracing Veig, her cheek pressed against his. Dona, who was standing by the bed, was crying. Then, as Niall hesitated, crushed and appalled, Veig's hand moved to caress his mother's hair. At the same moment, Dona turned toward him, and he saw that she was smiling. He sighed in an explosion of relief. A moment later, Veig was looking up at him with a puzzled expression, as if failing to recognize him.

Then he smiled. "Hello, brother." The large hairy hand made a vague gesture of greeting, then fell back onto the counterpane.

Niall, suddenly ashamed of his panic, could not trust himself to speak.

Dona said: "He's all right now." Something in her voice made Niall aware that her feelings were also deeper than she was willing to show.

Niall asked: "When did he wake up?"

"A few minutes ago."

Siris asked: "Has the doctor gone?"

"No." It was Simeon who replied as he entered the room. Grel hesitated behind him in the doorway. Simeon placed a hand on Veig's forehead, and took his wrist between his finger and thumb. "That's remarkable. His temperature's back to normal."

Siris said: "It's your medicine."

"Not entirely." His eyes met Niall's.

Dona asked: "Is he going to be all right now?"

"Oh, I think so. The poison seems to have worked its way out of his system." He asked Veig: "How do you feel?"

"Better. Much better."

"Give him some broth. He should be up and about in a few days."

Dona flung an arm impulsively round his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Simeon was obviously pleased. "Don't thank me. Thank him." He gestured toward Grel.

"He found out what was causing it."

Dona stared at Grel with wide eyes. "What was causing it?"

Niall was anxious to avoid explanations. "I'll go and tell the cook to bring soup."

As they crossed the courtyard Grel said: "He is wrong. Your brother is still sick."

"How do you know?"

"His bloodstream is full of life-suckers." The image that accompanied the words was of leeches.

Simeon caught up with them. "Do you understand what's going on?"

"I think so. The stone frog was more dangerous than I thought."

"I realize that." He added somberly: "I also realize it was my fault that the girl died."

"No, mine. The Steegmaster warned me it was alive. I thought it had been neutralized."

Simeon shrugged. "Nothing can bring her back now. But I'd like to know what it was trying to do to your brother. Why didn't it kill him, too?"

Niall shook his head. "Perhaps because you dropped the halves before it had time." He asked Grel: "What do you think?"

Grel hesitated before speaking. "I think, lord, that your brother will die anyway."

Niall was shocked. "But why? He seems to be getting better."

It obviously cost Grel an effort to speak his mind. "He has been poisoned by the enemy. Just as Madig was poisoned. I am afraid that nothing can save him."

"Madig poisoned? But how?"

"Did you not see?" In the sequence of images that followed, Grel somehow caused Niall to identify with Madig, as if seeing through his eyes. He was standing in the cold hall of the magician, listening to the soft swish of garments descending toward him, then to the voice that said: "You will also tell your master that I shall hold your companions as hostages, and that unless his answer is satisfactory, they will also die."

Niall's hand was taken in a hand that was cold and rough. And although he was anticipating what was to happen next, he found it difficult not to scream aloud as the powerful grip threatened to crush his bones. But this time he observed something that he had failed to notice when listening to Qisib the Wise: that something sharp -- like a needle-had pierced his palm close to the base of the index finger. He guessed that the magician was wearing a ring with a spike on it.

The voice came close to his ear. "One more thing. Tell your master that if he ignores my warning, his people will suffer a catastrophe that will make the massacres of Ivar the Cruel seem insignificant." The hand released his. "You have one month -- thirty days."

Simeon was watching his face closely, aware that something strange was happening.

Niall repeated: "Thirty days."

"What?"

"Thirty days. And it happened two days ago. My brother has another twenty-eight days to live."

Simeon said brusquely: "What are you talking about? He's already on the mend."

Niall shook his head. "No. Madig died after thirty days. This magician has the power to kill from a distance. That is why he said: My arm is long and I do not release my grip."

He thought of his mother, and of his sisters and of Dona, and for a moment felt vulnerable and helpless. It seemed unfair that he should have to deal with problems that were so completely beyond his normal experience. At that moment he saw the little kitchen maid descending the stairs with a tray in her hands. It jogged his memory. "Nyra, please take some soup to my brother."

Her face broke into a smile of delight, reminding him that, like Dona, she had a certain personal interest in his brother.

"Yes lord."

As she halted to curtsy, his moment of weakness passed. She had somehow reminded him that, as master of this city, he could not afford weakness. He waited for the kitchen door to close behind her, then said: "I must seek out this magician." Simeon shot an astonished glance from under his bushy eyebrows. "With an army?"

"No. There is no time to take an army. I must travel alone."

"That would be dangerous and foolhardy."

"I agree. But I must find out what he wants."

"You know what he wants. He is a totally ruthless man who would not hesitate to kill you."

"I know that. But I still don't know what he wants. And there is only one way I can find out." He turned to Grel, smiling. "So you see, you were right after all. I am going on a long journey."

"It was not I but the Lord Qisib who foretold it. He is never wrong."

"I believe you. And now I wish I had asked him one more question."

"What question, lord?"

"Whether I shall also make the return journey."

end.