Over the next two days and nights they walked five or six hours until feet started to shuffle and tempers snap, then they'd rest three, perhaps four, hours until no-one could stand the cold hard roadway any longer. Nothing about the tunnel changed. It was an eerie feeling, trapped in a small bubble of light in what seemed to be an eternity of darkness. All hungered for open spaces and fresh air so badly they could physically taste their need.

On the morning of the third day the roadway rose gently, and everyone's spirits lifted with it. Even the tired donkeys pricked their ears and brayed as they leaned into the rise.

They emerged, every muscle in their bodies sore and weary after an eight- hour climb into a dark and cold afternoon. They scrambled over rocks and down a steep and treacherous ravine before they stepped onto flat ground, all shivering in the biting wind that blew down from the north. At Talon Spike and in the Avarinheim they had been largely protected from Gorgrael's malicious weather, but here, at the edge of the Fortress Ranges and the WildDog Plains, the northerly wind screamed down on the little group as they huddled among a tumble of boulders.

Rivkah looked at the bleak landscape ahead. "Should we rest the night here, Ogden, before we attempt to move south? These boulders might give us the only degree of shelter we're going to get for a long time."

Ogden shook his head. "No, lovely lady. We will move south some hours before camping for the night. We need to move as soon as we can." He paused.

"I do not like the bite in this wind and I fear that it will sap our energies if we stay in one place too long. Best we keep moving. But, look, see what I have here."

Ogden pulled two cloaks from his donkey's packs and handed them to the women, who wasted no time wrapping themselves as close as they could.

Veremund had similarly unpacked two cloaks from his donkey's packs and the two Sentinels rugged up as well. Then, to the surprise of both Azhure and Rivkah, the Sentinels insisted that they each ride a donkey.

Comfortable and relatively warm atop the donkeys, neither woman complained any further.

The wind had died a little by the time they made camp for the night in the inadequate shelter afforded by a small, dry creek bed. The remains of a few dead skeleton bushes made a tiny, cheerless fire. Ogden produced some hot soup and crusty bread from one of the packs and, after they had eaten, Veremund persuaded the donkeys to lie down close to the fire. Between the donkeys and the fire, the four spent a passable night, the dry creek bed feeling like the finest feather bed to muscles still aching from the tunnel floor.

Thus they travelled for three days, slowly wending their way southwards against whatever protection the sharp clifls of the Fortress Ranges could give them. To the women, spring seemed to have hardly touched this land yet, but to the Sentinels who had survived the siege of Gorkenfort and who knew to what extremes Gorgrael could drive winter, the lack of snow gave them some hope that spring had broken through more strongly in the lands south of the Nordra. Nevertheless, the frigid wind at their backs reminded them all that Gorgrael sat to the north, rallying his forces, waiting to build his army of Ghostmen to invasion force again.

Wrapped in lonely silence atop her donkey, Rivkah wondered what her son could do to counter Gorgrael's powerful enchantments. What could he do against a half-brother who could manipulate the very weather itself?

The AlauntOn the third day after the group left the Fortress Ranges tunnel, fluid white shapes started to nose about the rocks where the women and the Sentinels had briefly sheltered.

Suddenly one halted, and buried his nose in the remains of a scuff mark. An instant later his head lifted into the sky and an eerie howl washed over the rest of his pack. Soon all were baying, low and clear, as the pack shuffled around the remaining traces of scent. Then they moved as one past the boulders and took the faint trail south. Occasionally one or two of them lifted their snouts long enough to send another low bay winding plaintively across the empty plain before them.

The small, yellow native wild dogs after whom the plains were named, and who lived out their lives hunting mice and small birds, huddled deep into their burrows, terrified beyond reason.

They knew the Alaunt ran.

It was late in the afternoon of the fourth day when the Sentinels heard the sound of the pack baying to the north. Neither woman saw the look of deep alarm that passed between Ogden and Veremund as they urged the donkeys on a little bit faster.

Both Sentinels knew they had no hope of outrunning the Alaunt. Yet if they could delay the inevitable confrontation an hour or more they might find a more defensible position.

Azhure was the first to become aware of the tension between the two Sentinels. "What is it?" she asked, raising her voice against the wind. "Why are you worried?"

Ogden glanced atVeremund, and the two came to a swift decision. Azhure and Rivkah would hear the hounds soon enough, anyway. They were closing rapidly.

"We are being followed," Veremund said, his voice strained.

"Followed? Who by?" Azhure reached automatically for the Wolven.

"Skraelings?"

Veremund shook his head. "No. Creatures far older, fardeadlier."

" What?" Azhure hissed. Her blood ran hot with desire for action and her hand gripped an arrow. The Wolven quivered in her hand. " What!"

"Alaunt hounds," Ogden said shortly, casting his eyes about the terrain before them.

Azhure swung her leg over the donkey's wither and slid to the ground.

"What are Alaunt hounds?" It was Rivkah who answered, her eyes wide with fear. "I heard tales of them when I was small. My nurse said the Alaunt were a pack of enchanted hounds who hunted down humans. She said they neither breathed nor ate, but could run for weeks only on the scent of blood. She said," Rivkah's voice quavered, "that once they caught the scent of their prey they would never let go."

"The Alaunt have not run for many thousands of years, not since WolfStar died," Ogden said tightly, hurrying the group along, "and I do not know why they run now."

"Can they die, Veremund? Can they be killed?" Azhure asked.

Veremund shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Well," Azhure said, "either they will die or we will. Ogden, is that a stand of rocks ahead?"

By the time they reached the pitifully inadequate tumble of boulders near the foot of a sheer cliff face they could a ' hear the low, clear cries of the hounds.

As the other scrambled for shelter, Azhure slapped the donkeys' rumps hoping that they would gallop off and perhaps draw the Alaunt away.

Suddenly the cries of the hounds changed, doubling their efforts so that their howls rilled the night.

"We are lost!" Veremund cried. "Hear, they clamour!"

Azhure, an arrow already notched in the Wolven, turned and slapped the Sentinel across the face. "Be quiet, Veremund," she hissed, her eyes hard and angry. "Get as far behind the rocks as you can."

Rivkah huddled with the two Sentinels behind the rocks. She desperately wished that she had not left StarDrifter, that she was huddled in his arms rather than cold and terrified behind these rocks where she would surely die.

StarDrifter's casual infidelities seemed laughably inconsequential in the face of imminent death. How would it feel to die with your throat hanging open?

Azhure knelt against the rocks, the Wolven drawn and ready to cast the first arrow. She peered as closely as she could into the thickening dusk; was that movement ahead of her? To her left? Her right?

"Curses!" she breathed as pale shapes flickered at the edge of her vision.

"They have surrounded us!"

Suddenly one of the shapes ceased its circling and paced stiff-legged towards the rocks. It was the largest dog Azhure had ever seen, almost as big as one of Ogden and Veremund's donkeys. Its lips were drawn back into a snarl, great growls rumbling from its throat. As Azhure s fingers tightened about the Wolven, the hound's eyes, dark gold flecked with silver, fixed into hers, almost daring her to shoot.

Azhure took a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, then loosed the arrow, notching another one almost as soon as the first had left the bow.

In the instant before the arrow struck, the Alaunt twisted and leaped, snatching the arrow out of the air in his teeth. Instantly the clamour of the other hounds stopped.

Azhure's hands suddenly slicked with sweat and the Wolven slipped fractionally in her grasp.

The Alaunt stalked closer, the arrow held between its jaws. Its eyes were still fixed on Azhure, and it growled threateningly.

Azhure's heart thudded painfully in her chest as the Alaunt suddenly reared its forepaws on the rock and stood for a moment. Then, amazingly, it dropped the arrow at Azhure s feet and began to grin happily.

"By the Stars," Rivkah croaked, "it's returning your arrow."

The hound gave a small yip of greeting, then heaved itself entirely over the rock and into the small space occupied by the two women and the Sentinels. It sank down on its stomach in the dirt, its head on its forepaws, its eyes fixed on Azhure.

Ogden and Veremund stared at the hound, stared at Azhure, then turned to stare at each other.

Azhure warily reached out a hand and touched the Alaunt on its massive forehead. It quivered and closed its eyes. She pulled her hand back, clenching her fingers to stop their sudden trembling.

"Arise," she said very quietly.

The hound rose to his feet, towering over Azhure as she squatted on the ground. She reached out again and rubbed her hand along the hound's shoulder.

"Good dog," she said.

Later they all sat, quiet and introspective, about a fire. Azhure, Rivkah, Ogden, Veremund and three of the fifteen Alaunt crowded into the space between the rocks. The rest of the hounds lay curled into tight wedges in a pack outside the rocks. The two donkeys had wandered back to the rocks an hour or so previously, their eyes wide and uncertain, but the hounds had taken no notice of them, and finally the donkeys had let Ogden and Veremund soothe them and divest them of their packs.

Azhure studied the three Alaunt close by her. Their bodies were heavy but sleek and shaped for both speed and endurance. Their heads were square, massive, but finely shaped, their muzzles long and strong. Their coats were short and a uniform pale cream, darkening to gold about their paws and muzzles. The lead hound lay with his head in Azhure's lap.

Azhure raised her eyes to the two Sentinels. "These are WolfStar's hounds?"

she asked.

Ogden paused, then he nodded briefly. "Yes. He bred them for their intelligence as well as their speed and strength, for their loyalty as for their reckless savagery. Their leader's name is Sicarius - the cunning assassin." He paused. "The two were parted only by death."

"WolfStar," Azhure said. "Why does his name keep returning to haunt me?

First his bow, and now his hounds. What else of his will find its way into my possession?"

Ogden and Veremund watched her, wondering exactly the same thing. The bow might have been coincidence, but the hounds as well? No. That was design and plan, not anonymous chance. "Who was WolfStar?" Azhure finally asked. Veremund hesitated, then decided the bare facts would not hurt. "WolfStar SunSoar was the most powerful Enchanter the Icarii have ever known. Perhaps potentially far more powerful than Axis."

"The Icarii do not like to speak of him," Rivkah said from one side. She knew WolfStar's story, but to speak of WolfStar's misdeeds would need the permission of the Icarii.

"I will say only that WolfStar died young," Ogden said. "He was not yet one hundred."

"How?" Azhure asked, noting Ogden's hesitation over the word "died". "Why did he die so young?"

"He was assassinated, Azhure. By another member of the SunSoar family."

"Assassinated?" It was, Azhure thought, a delicate word for what must have been a foul deed.

"He was murdered by his brother," Veremund said blundy, and the three Alaunt about the fire stirred uncomfortably, their dreams disturbed with dark memories. "Murdered in Assembly, before all the Icarii, a knife plunged into his heart and none, none, none of the Icarii moving to assist him. He died, alone and unloved, in a pool of blood in the centre of the speaker's circle of the ancient Assembly Chamber on the Island of Mist and Memory - with the entire Icarii nation looking on impassively."

Azhure's eyes filled with tears. WolfStar had been alone and unloved? She knew how that felt.

OArrival at SigholtThe next morning the Alaunt were still there, Sicarius sleeping curled against Azhure's back. The other fourteen hounds sat in a precise circle about the rocks, facing outwards, their eyes staring into the distance.

"They are keeping guard," Veremund said as Azhure rose and saw them.

"Even the Skraelings would keep away from such as these. You have won yourself some powerful and loyal companions, Azhure."

Azhure patted Sicarius on the head and fingered the Wolven. "Could they have simply come to the bow, Veremund? If the bow once belonged to WolfStar, was made by him, then perhaps they simply come to the person who carries the bow?"

Veremund raised his eyebrows at Ogden. The woman had a point. After all, the Alaunt were hunting hounds and their master had wielded the Wolven. And who knew what magic the bow itself contained?

"We will easily find out, Azhure," said Ogden. "Give the bow to Rivkah - but make sure Sicarius knows you hand it over willingly!"

"Rivkah, will you mind the Wolven for me?" Azhure asked formally, and handed Rivkah the bow.

Sicarius shifted his hindquarters on the ground a little, bored.

"Now, Azhure," Ogden said, "walk beyond the boulders, as if you are leaving us."

Azhure walked briskly away from the rocks. As one, the Alaunt rose from their positions and padded silently after her.

Ogden and Veremund looked at each other. No doubt. They had come to Azhure, not the Wolven.

They travelled south for a further week, then turned southwest, looking for the HoldHard Pass. The Urqhart Hills were still a purple smudge on the western horizon.

The travelling was relatively easy, although it remained bitterly cold and all four shivered within their thick cloaks. The women continued to ride the donkeys, which remained placidly uncomplaining about the extra weight. Neither woman had sturdy enough boots to cope with the rough pebbly surface of the WildDog Plains.

Ogden and Veremund's magical hampers continued to provide food. Each evening as they made camp, the hounds waited patiently in line until Ogden found time to riffle through his packs and toss them joints of meat. But such tame food bored the Alaunt. Sometimes during the day, and often at night, groups of three or four of them would lope off into the distance, returning later with blood-stained muzzles.

In return for the food and the company, the hounds lent their warmth to the group, and the women and Sentinels became used to curling up for the night with a hound at their back. One morning Azhure awakened early enough to see that a group of five or six had even curled around the donkeys. The nights were frosty on the exposed plain.

Two days after they had turned south-west across the WildDog Plains the small group saw a band of horsemen approaching. There were perhaps ten or twelve of them, and they approached cautiously, obviously wary of the Alaunt.

Azhure reached for the Wolven as soon as she saw the horsemen in the distance, and notched an arrow.

"Can you see who they are?" she asked the Sentinels. "Are they Belial's men, or Borneheld's?"

Ogden and Veremund peered towards the horsemen, who had now spaced themselves out into a wide line, directly in front of the setting sun. The Alaunt whined, tensing, ready for a fight.

But as the men rode closer, the group of hounds suddenly relaxed and Sicarius gave a short, gruff bark of greeting. He knew these men.

The horsemen were much closer now, perhaps no more than fifty paces away, but their forms and faces were still in shadow.

"Well, the Alaunt like them," Veremund observed, his hand to his eyes, trying to shade them from the light. "But I'm still not sure that -"

He was cut off by a shout from the leading horseman who had kicked his rangy roan into a canter. "Ogden, Veremund? Old men? Is that you?"

"Why," Ogden beamed happily, "it's Arne!" A knot of nervousness formed in Azhure s belly. Arne was one of the senior commanders from Axis' Axe-Wielders - a man who had been in Smyrton when she cracked Belial over the head in order to help Raum and Shra escape. Would he remember her? And, if so, what would he think? Hurriedly she unnotched the arrow, sliding it into her quiver and slinging the Wolven over her shoulder.

Arne pulled his gelding to a halt beside Veremund and slid down from the saddle, glancing apprehensively towards the hounds. "Ogden, Veremund, it is good to see you again." He shook their hands. "Icarii farflight scouts sent word that you would be travelling across the WildDog Plains." He looked back at the hounds. "Where did you find these hounds, Ogden?"

"Ah, well," Ogden began, "they found us, really, but that is a long story. Um, Arne, you might not remember Azhure. She conies from -"

"I remember Azhure well enough," Arne broke in, his face hardening. "I also remember how many weeks it took before Belial's headaches faded."

Azhure's face flamed and the thought that she still had to confront Belial only made her feel worse. What had she been thinking of to club him so badly?

Arne stared at her, then turned to the other woman.

"The Princess Rivkah," Veremund mumbled at his side.