She whistled. "And the kin?"

"The kin are present. But not, as we feared they might be, in great number. General Alesso di'Marente is a cautious man; the presence of the kin is well disguised." He glanced at Lord Celleriant. "We feel that they are upon the road, rather than within the main body of the army."

"What about the army?"

"It has moved North."

"Averda or Mancorvo?"

"The standard of the General moved into Averda. I do not feel it safe to a.s.sume that he has taken the whole of the army with him."

"No?"

"I wouldn't. I would send some part of it into the villages and towns closest to the border of Raverra in either Terrean. If I had not yet declared war against Mancorvo, I would not take Mancorvan villages in the Tyr'agar's name-but the presence of his armies would enforce the respect due the t.i.tle he has taken."

"How many men?"

"We were unable to ascertain that without moving farther into Mancorvo, and we did not wish to leave you here for the length of time that would require."

She nodded again. "We have a decision to make. I'll wake the Radann; you wake Yollana."

His brow rose. Yollana of the Havalla Voyani was not pleasant when woken at any hour. She reminded Jewel of her long-dead grandmother that way.

As a council of war, it was a strange one, even to Jewel's admittedly unorthodox eye. The old woman, pipe in the crook of thin lips, had set about making a fire, snapping in colorful Torra at any foolish enough to offer her help, and snapping in equally colorful Torra at any lazy enough not to. Judging from Stavos' reaction-a resignation that seemed almost out of character-this was standard behavior for a Matriarch of any line.

The Serra Teresa was, in the end, granted the dubious honor of a.s.sisting the Matriarch. Jewel watched them, the younger woman astonishingly graceful given the confines of a desert robe, the older querulous and annoyed. They were odd friends, but they were friends. Jewel didn't envy the Serra that burden.

When the fire itself had started to burn, Yollana used some part of its flame to light the packed bowl of her pipe, and sat, legs folded awkwardly before her. The Serra knelt beside her niece, and the Radann Marakas par el'Sol chose to stand.

Ariel, waking alone, had found comfort in Jewel's lap, and sat there in silence, eyes half-closed, stumbling across the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness. Jewel herself sat against the wall of the stag's back, while Avandar stood, arms folded, by their side. He, as the Radann, chose to keep to his feet. Of all gathered, Stavos was the only person who chose to absent himself.

"The business of Havalla," he said quietly, "is not the business of Arkosa." By Yollana's curt nod, she approved-she certainly didn't show it in any other way.

Kallandras knelt by Yollana's side; he was the only man who did not stand.

But he spoke, his words low and measured; he wasted no time. Yollana had made clear how little time the fire would provide them.

When Kallandras had finished, he waited.

Yollana spoke first, the beginning of her sentence colliding with the words of the Radann par el'Sol. It was odd, to see this grave and serious man struggle to give way to the woman who was in every way his opposite; Jewel was surprised when he fell silent, and realized by her surprise that she had come to feel at home in the South, this awkward place where men ruled simply by the expedient of being men. She wondered what he would make of The Terafin.

"The Leonne boy must be in Averda."

The Radann's brow rose. He did not argue with the fact, but the form in which she had chosen to describe the rightful Tyr rankled.

"That would be my guess," Kallandras replied gravely. "And the main body of the army has certainly traveled there."

"The Tyr'agnati?"

"He has Lorenza and Garrardi."

She removed the pipe from her mouth, spit, and returned it. "The Radann?"

"Their disposition is less clear."

Marakas nodded.

Yollana, who appeared to pay little attention to the Radann, swiveled. "With Marente?"

"They travel at the side of the General, yes."

She removed the pipe and spit again, but this time kept its lip from her own. "Why?"

"It is where the strongest of our enemies will gather. What other field would you have them choose?" Curt words. Cold ones.

"The right one. Or have you forgotten your history?"

His head snapped up, pulling the line of his spa.r.s.ely grown beard with it.

"Matriarch," the Serra Diora said softly, "not one of us will forget our history. Not here. But let us not be governed by what has happened; let us be guided by it, instead. What will happen must be our concern."

If possible, the lines around the Havallan Matriarch's mouth deepened. But she held her tongue.

Jewel stared at the Serra Diora di'Marano for a moment. But she had fallen silent; the Radann Marakas par el'Sol began to speak instead.

"The swords granted the servitors of the Lord are our strongest weapons against the servants of the Lord of Night. They warn us of the presence of the enemy, and they are equal to the weapons they summon from the fire's heart. We do not serve the interests of the Lord of Night; we will never serve them again. Offer us another method of detecting the servants of the Lord of Night, Matriarch, and we will gladly dispense with the pretense."

Yollana nodded gruffly; it was as much of a concession as Jewel had seen her offer. Tobacco burned down, acrid, where the smoke of the fire was sweet. She held it in the cupped palms of her hands before she condescended to speak. "We go to Mancorvo."

"I think it wisest," Kallandras said quietly. "The Havallans gather there."

"You know the movement of the Havallans now?" Yollana spoke testily.

"The Voyani call no place home, but in time of war, they gather in the Terreans that are least . . . contested. Havalla has always had ties with Mancorvo. I believe you will find your daughters there."

The old woman snorted. "You offer no comfort, bard."

"No."

She cursed the cold genially, and without much fervor. "We'd best start now."

The Radann par el'Sol had a face smooth as gla.s.s. Jewel read nothing in it, but she knew from the line of his shoulders that he was angry. Angry and mindful of the burden of debt. He turned to the Serra Diora.

"Serra?"

"The kin see as well in darkness as they do in light-but according to Kallandras of Senniel, they are few. If it pleases you, Radann par el'Sol, we will travel now. The moon is bright enough to see by."

Yollana snorted. "Not in the Mancorvan forests, it isn't.

And the plains are too open." She gestured to Teresa. "But there are roads the clansmen don't take. Na'tere, lend me your arm. I'll lead."

Jewel rose. "Matriarch," she said quietly. "If you wish, you may ride."

Yollana gazed at the stag; he lifted his head, bent tines toward earth, and waited.

She shook her head. "Not him," she said softly. "Maybe if you had a decent horse-but I'll owe no debt to the horned King."

She does not trust me, Jewel. Do not press her.

I didn't offer out of kindness, Jewel snapped back in silence. She's too slow.

Maybe. But she is the Matriarch of her line, and she understands the debt she would incur by accepting your offer.

What debt? You serve me.

Ah. He lifted his face, his dark eyes reflecting a light that did not hang in the night sky, did not burn in the heart of heartfire. I serve you, yes, but not as Lord Celleriant does. The Winter Queen no longer binds me.

If that were true, wouldn't you be a man?

I am a man, he replied, just a hint of the arrogance of kings in the tone of unspoken words. And she is wise. You are almost a child.

I am not- Almost. You have already begun to walk a road that will change you, and only your . . . domicis . . . can see clearly where it will lead.

But you carry the child.

Yes. For you. Because if I did not carry her, you would, and although you would find the burden too costly, you would bear it anyway. I have it said before, Jewel ATerafin. You are weak.

Some weaknesses are better than some strengths.

Shall we debate that, here?

She lifted Ariel, struggling to balance bent knees with child's weight, and succeeding. "Ride," she told the child. "I'll be behind you."

We can discuss it.

His chuckle was warmer than his tone. Indeed. We can discuss it until you are old; I fear you will never be wise. But in the end, this war will define all truth, and it will grant victory either to your position or mine. The Lord of Night is waiting in the farthest reaches of the Northern Wastes; he feels his power, and he grows confident.

And if the Lord of Night rules, if in the end the battle decides the course of the war, you will have your answer.

And the end will justify the means?

Only if you win. He rose as slowly, as carefully, as Jewel had, but with infinitely more grace, shouldering the burden he accepted at her behest. Ask the timeless one, if she chooses to visit again. Ask her what she has done in the name of war; ask her what she would not do for the chance of victory.

The chance?

The chance. There is no certainty, Jewel. You fight a G.o.d, and you have no G.o.d behind you.

We have the Cities.

You have one-and it is an empty place; armor without the warrior at its heart, sword without the wielder. Perhaps if you had the other four . . .

Four? There are only three other Matriarchs.

Indeed. I have spoken overmuch.

She mounted almost carelessly; he gained his feet before hers had left the ground.

"We'll ride ahead," Jewel told the Matriarch of Havalla.

Yollana nodded. "Only the gifted will see you. Or the wise. And it cannot be said that the wise travel with the armies of Marente."

I wish you would tell me your name.

Ah. Names have power.

You're not a demon. You've said you're a man-what power does a name have?

He laughed. Wind curled round the crown of antlers, broken and snarled in the multifoliate branches; it was not allowed to pa.s.s, to offer the worst of night's chill. If names have no power, what does it matter whether or not you know mine?

It's a little bit awkward calling you "that big deer."

He said nothing.

The obdurate, condescending silence was familiar. She didn't press him. Instead, she gazed out.

ATerafin. The Havallan Matriarch bids me tell you that you must travel to the West for some miles yet.

She had no way of answering Kallandras, but she pa.s.sed the message on.

The Winter King-for in the end, demeaned in some fashion by his loss to the Winter Queen, he retained that t.i.tle in Jewel's mind-nodded.

Jewel, answer a question.

If I can. Not that he answered many of hers.

What is the Voyanne?

The Voyanne? I don't know. If you asked Yollana, she would say it's what my Oma deserted in order to live in the North, in the Empire.

She would indeed say that, if you were unwise enough to ask. She would also ask your Oma's name, and her lineage, to better determine whose bloodline you follow. But that is not an answer. Again.

It's-I've never had it explained. It seems to be a way of life. Laws, rules, customs-and wandering. Always the wandering.

The Voyanne, he said quietly, is more complicated than that; it is not merely a way of life, although perhaps your Oma did not fully apprehend this when she chose to find a home for her family. This Matriarch-this woman-has strong blood.

What do you mean?

You must ask her. I could tell you, but you are not . . . discreet. And there are secrets that the Voyani will trust with no one. I will not be responsible, indirectly, for your death. He turned, his feet finding purchase in the dark, dark shadows cast by foliage in the moonlight. But I know this road. My feet know it.