"True. But they die unusually badly, and in my experience the process is profoundly more amusing than the result.

"No," he added, "the child cannot understand me. She does not speak Weston. It is by tone alone that she measures my intent. Or yours."

"Ariel," he told her quietly, speaking in a language that sounded like Weston to Jewel, "the others are coming. They hunt me now, and I must elude them by taking a path that . . . you cannot travel."

The child tightened her grip. He reached up and pried her fingers-with ease-from their perch around his neck. "What did I tell you?" he said, but he spoke so gently Jewel felt herself listening almost as eagerly as the child did.

She sniveled. "No fear."

"More."

"Show no fear."

He nodded.

"She doesn't need to show it," Jewel snapped, angry at the compulsion that he must be employing. "You're demons. You can smell it a mile away."

"And how do you know this?" Soft, soft question. He lifted a hand and touched the side of her cheek before she could react. Or withdraw.

He smiled. "I will give you this information. It will mean nothing to you. But take it to Kiriel and she will understand its import. Tell her that Ishavriel and Etridian have left the North; tell her that a.s.sarak will join them.

"Tell her that when the battle is joined, Ishavriel intends to bring Anya to the field."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Ah, an intelligent question. I fear that I must leave you to puzzle over it. The Lord's Fist has been . . . distracted . . . by events within the Court; they cannot afford to risk the wrath of their Lord by remaining distracted.

"I will send you this child."

"What?"

"I will send her to you." His smile was thin.

"Why?"

"Another question I have no inclination to answer." He rose; his legs seemed frail enough that they would not support his weight. But they did.

He pulled the child from the protection of his chest, cradling her a moment in his arms. And then, after a pause that would-in any other man-have been a hesitation, he bent and pressed his lips gently against her brow.

"Take what you will from this," he said softly. "But . . ."

"But?"

He shook his head. "You are predictable," he said again. "I could tell you that she hosted the body of a demon that could shed her form at any time, and because she is small and obviously weak, you would take that risk; you would suffer her to live where she might, at any time, have access to you." He set the child down.

"I would know her," Jewel replied coldly. "I would trust myself to know when-and if-something changed."

"And if she were still there, beneath Kialli control, Jewel ATerafin, would you allow yourself her kill?" His smile was as cold as her voice had been, but his tone was soft, gentle. Jewel knew this was not for her benefit. "That is what is predictable about you. You have not yet grown bereft of hope. You are not a practical person."

"You . . . know nothing about me."

"No? I know that you sheltered Kiriel. And I know that you know what she is."

"She is one of mine."

"Ah." His eyes, narrowed, were almost entirely black. Jewel did not step back. Would have, but the child was there, and Jewel knew that if she wasn't speaking, she was listening. Not to words; the words wouldn't mean much; they had been speaking in Weston. But tone told enough of a story.

Lord Isladar was aware of this. "She is Jewel ATerafin," he told the girl gently. "She is from the North. But she will know how to speak, and she will defend you."

The child turned to face her. Her skin was darker than most Northern skin, darker than Jewel's; her hair was dark as well-and straight, or it would have been had it not carried the weight of so much debris. She was bird thin, the way young children are, and her chin was a little too pointed; wherever she'd been, food hadn't been abundant.

But it was none of those things that were her weapons. Her eyes, much larger in a child's face than they would have been in an adult's, were wide with fear. With loss.

Above her, Lord Isladar watched, daring Jewel to gainsay him. Daring her to be unpredictable.

Jewel was already kneeling; the dream had shifted her and she had let it, absorbed by what she could-and could not-see.

The child's hair was a thicket; dust and blood and shards of stone were twisted in knotted strands. Her left cheek was swollen, her lip was bleeding, her arms-the forearms that were exposed to light-were sc.r.a.ped and raw. But the blood across the front of her small gown was clearly not her own.

She was crying.

Jewel looked up to meet the eyes of Lord Isladar.

And then she looked beyond his shoulder.

In the ruins, a fire had started to burn; a fire that needed no wood, no oil, no air. She could see it, contained in the eyes of two who now approached the Kialli lord's turned back.

Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbed the girl; she was almost weightless.

Blue light flew out in thin, sharp strands, the edge of a hundred blades; a thousand.

Lord Isladar turned his back upon Jewel and the child. "Go."

It was her dream. Hers.

But she ran.

The first thing she felt was fingers on her shoulders in the darkness. She cried out, wordless, her hand already moving in the shallow depths of the tent.

No one touched her when she slept. No one.

She kicked off silk, rolling, her hands reaching for the dagger that lay by her side.

Jewel.

In two syllables, she gained fifteen years; she was able to force herself to be still. "Avandar."

"I apologize for the intrusion. But-"

Gathering the silks she had thrown off, she sat up, the curve of her knees beneath her chin. "What-what is it? Why are you here?"

"I had to wake you."

"Why?"

The tent's flap opened; light from the clear desert sky filtered in, lending gray, dark and pale, to the interior.

"Wait." The air was cold. She saw her breath as it hung for a moment in the stillness.

He stopped. Turned; she could not see his face, although the moonlight made his outline clear.

"You were there."

He was silent.

"In my dream. You were there."

His nod was minimal. It would have been easy to miss, but she watched him as if he were the only thing in the tent. "I owe you an . . . apology. What you saw was no artifact of dream."

"The armies?"

"The shadows. The armies were simple vision." His chin dropped, the movement slow and deliberate. "We needed that information."

"And you woke me because?"

"Don't play the fool."

"I'm not. I want the information."

"You have it. I was thrown out of the dreaming-and not by you."

Because I don't have the skill. She didn't say it; Avandar was forever lecturing her on her ability to belabor the obvious. "Fair enough." She smiled thinly. "I've been terrified by dreams, but I've never been hurt by them."

"It's not pain that concerns me."

"No, of course not."

She could almost hear Avandar grinding his teeth; it was strangely comforting. "You are vulnerable in the dreaming state," he said quietly, "because you are not used to guarding against intrusion."

"People don't usually invade my dreams."

"I will give you the benefit of the doubt although you haven't earned it. I will a.s.sume that this ignorance is genuine."

Comforting.

He stood. She saw, in the folded loose fist, the magestone that he carried; light, for nightmares. She was not home, but she missed it viscerally. "In the Empire," he told her, "dreams are significant."

"Some dreams."

"Indeed. Some dreams."

"I . . ."

"Yes?"

She nodded.

"Do you think those are accidental, Jewel?"

"I haven't really thought about them much."

"No. You wouldn't. Think now."

It didn't take much time. "No."

"Good. Where do you think they come from?"

"Avandar-I have no idea. If you do, and you want me to know, tell me."

He laughed. It was an unexpected sound; deep and lingering. "In my youth, they were the gift-or the curse-of the G.o.ds, if there is any differentiating between the two; they were wyrds placed upon the unwary."

"And now?"

"Now?" The laughter ceased. "I do not know. The G.o.ds are beyond us; they cannot easily interfere in our affairs."

Neither named the G.o.d who could; they were silent for a moment. It was cold in the tent; the silks, skewed, had been exposed to night air. Jewel envied Avandar his ability to rise above the weather as if it were an Imperial fashion trend.

"With skill, and some knowledge of the dreamer, those who were powerful could visit the dreaming; could touch the edges of those who sleep unguarded.

"What did you see, Jewel?"

"An old . . . acquaintance. Of Kiriel's."

She heard his brief curse, although it was as minimal as his nod had been, and far less deliberate.

"Did you speak with this acquaintance?"

"Some."

"Jewel."

"Yes, I spoke with him."

"Who was he?"

"Lord Isladar. Of the Shining Court."

"The lord who tried to kill you in Averalaan."