A voice spoke behind Lykos. 'My lord, burns like that may kill him; at the very least he will not be able to ride on the morrow-'

'You'll be surprised what this man can do,' Lykos said. He took a step closer, the flame no longer a ripple of pain now, just a constant, searing agony. Maquin smelt his own flesh burning. He opened his eyes, saw Lykos' face hovering in front of him, that hateful face, smiling, eyes bitter and full of malice.

Maquin lunged forwards, for a moment taking his guards by surprise, too focused on holding him up to hold him back. His mouth opened, a huge roar escaping his throat, echoing around the room and then he snapped his mouth shut, teeth closing on Lykos' face his nose, part of one cheek.

He bit down hard, ground his teeth into flesh, felt blood burst into his mouth, hot and salty. He shook his head like a wolven with a hare in its jaws.

Lykos screamed, high and piercing.

He was a lot quicker to scream than I.

Then Maquin felt a rush of heat sear his face, flame shooting up between him and Lykos. Maquin's lunge had squashed the torch to them both, ignited Lykos' linen shirt.

Good let's see how you like it!

Lykos screamed again. He was sobbing and trying to pull away.

Something crashed into the back of Maquin's skull and his legs turned to liquid. He sagged to his knees, blood slick upon his lips and chin, saw Lykos fall backwards, dropping the torch and slapping desperately at his burning shirt.

There was another blow across the back of Maquin's head that knocked him to the floor. He rolled over, watching Lykos screeching in pain, saw him ripping off his shirt, standing there, chest heaving, blood sluicing his face from where Maquin had bitten him.

Lykos was blinking and gasping heavily. He gingerly touched the blisters on his chest, felt his torn face and looked at Maquin with undisguised hatred. He drew his sword.

'You . . . are more trouble than you are . . . worth,' he breathed and raised his sword.

Footsteps suddenly echoed in the corridor, the sound of ironshod sandals on stone.

Lykos paused, looked at the door, Maquin following his gaze to see figures there. Men with eagles on their chests.

'Put your weapons down,' a voice ordered, harsh and commanding, but vaguely familiar. Then: 'He is coming with me.'

'No. He is my prisoner mine,' Lykos said, spitting a gob of blood on the floor.

'Not any more. He will stand before Nathair. After that, perhaps he will be yours again, but until then I am taking him into my custody.'

The voices started to blur in Maquin's mind, he was unable to make much sense of them.

'You keep taking prisoners from me; this is becoming a very bad habit,' Lykos growled. 'And I thought we were friends.'

There was no answer, only the pressure upon Maquin's back disappearing and firm hands gripping him. He groaned as he was hoisted from the ground, heard someone swear, then darkness closed in about him.

He woke to pain.

It was still dark, torchlight flickering somewhere. His torso was agony. He groaned.

Someone was bending over him, spreading something cool across his belly. He opened his eyes to see an old face staring back at him, framed with silver hair and beard.

'Alben,' he whispered.

'Hush,' Alben said, smiling, though it didn't clear the worry in his eyes. 'Drink this.' He lifted Maquin's head and gave him sips of something bitter from a cup.

'Will he live?' a voice said behind Alben.

Alben sighed. 'I don't know. He is strong, and the desire to live burns fiercely in him. But this is not a day's healing. A moon, maybe.'

'We must leave on the morrow. The mountain paths are closing.'

'He cannot ride.' There was no possibility of discussion in Alben's tone.

'A wain, then?'

'Perhaps,' Alben shrugged.

Maquin lifted his head. 'Veradis?' he whispered.

Veradis stepped into his vision, his strong face with short hair and close-cropped beard lined with cares, making him seem older than his age.

'I am sorry, for your father.'

Maquin had seen the cairn as they rode out from Ripa, seen Veradis, Krelis and Ektor standing before it with heads bowed.

Grief, raw and powerful swept Veradis' face.

'It was your fault,' Veradis said.

Maquin blinked at him, confused.

'You attacked Lykos in the rowan-meet; pandemonium broke out, shieldmen bursting in, shouting, shoving. My father was knocked, somehow. He fell upon my . . .'

'It was an accident,' Alben said. 'A tragic, terrible accident.'

'I didn't know,' Maquin said. I am a fool. Should have kept my knife in its sheath. 'I am sorry,' he mumbled. 'So sorry.'

Veradis ground a palm into his eyes. 'The past is done,' he said. 'I am sorry, too. I was not aware that Lykos was doing . . . this.' He gestured at Maquin's body.

'I am surprised at the friends you keep,' Maquin whispered. The pain was more bearable now, still there, a constant throbbing, but dulled.

'As am I,' Alben echoed.

'Lykos is not my friend,' Veradis snapped, then took a long, frayed breath. 'But he is my King's ally. I cannot understand the things that have happened here, what he is accused of doing.'

'These are not accusations they are facts,' Maquin said, looking at the tapestry of scars and fresh wounds upon his body. 'He is evil, and must be stopped.'

'That is not for me to decide. Nathair will hear all I promise you that. He will decide. Until then, I will keep him from you, and Alben is the best healer I know.' He shrugged. 'I would do more if I could.'

'It is enough,' Maquin said.

Veradis turned to go, but hovered by the door.

'Part of me hates you,' he said quietly. 'Because of my da. I cannot stop it.'

Maquin said nothing.

'And you should know, I cannot save you, even if I had a mind to. You broke our sacred law when you drew your blade. I should have executed you on the spot, and the only reason you are alive is because someone of influence has begged me to postpone your execution.'

Fidele.

'But you drew a blade in a rowan-meet; there will be no pardon, no way out from that. Once you stand before Nathair the inevitable will be decided. You will die.' He stayed a moment more, then shook his head and left. Maquin heard his voice in the corridor, and then another figure slipped in, a shadow wrapped in a cloak.

A m.u.f.fled sob came, and then Fidele was kissing him, stroking his face, tears dropping onto him, mingling with his own tears.

'Elyon, but it is good to see you,' Maquin breathed.

'What has he done to you?' Fidele snarled, then swore in a very unqueenly way. He lifted a hand to her cheek.

'I tried to get you,' she whispered, 'I took Alben and a few score warriors to take you back from Lykos.'

'The eagle-guard stopped us, thought it would lead to war,' Alben said.

'They were probably right,' Maquin said. 'Veradis?'

'No, one of his captains. Veradis was in mourning, had pa.s.sed over command for a time.'

The grey of dawn was creeping through windows now, and Maquin heard the sound of iron-shod feet, guards changing shifts.

'You cannot linger, my lady,' Alben said. 'If anyone sees you . . .'

'I am a prisoner too,' Fidele said with a twist of her lips. 'To be judged by my son on the charge of adultery.'

'What!' Maquin tried to sit up but a fresh wave of pain convinced him to stop.

'Because of the farce with Lykos,' she said.

'So reports of you kissing an ex-pit-fighter will not help your cause,' Alben said.

'True enough,' Fidele said, a smile twisting her lips.

'Go,' Maquin said. 'This has been enough.'

She brushed her lips against his one more time, cupped his cheek with her hand, then she was slipping away.

'I will be back soon,' Alben said. 'Veradis has placed guards on your door. You are safe, from Lykos at least.' He frowned with worry.

'I will not die,' Maquin growled. Three things to live for.

Alben smiled, leaned down and whispered in Maquin's ear, then left too.

Maquin lay there, watching dawn claim the day, feeling his eyes grow heavy with sleep and the potion Alben had given him. As sleep took him he mused over the words that Alben had whispered in his ear.

Keep the faith.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX.

CYWEN.

Cywen sat at a long table in the great hall of Dra.s.sil. Corban had called a council of war, and many had come. Meical and Gar were sitting with Corban, and beside them Balur and Ethlinn, in chairs built for giants. There was Brina and Coralen, Hamil of the Jehar and Wulf from Gramm's hold, Teca the huntswoman to represent the people of Narvon, Javed and Atilius from the oarsmen, and also the child prince, Haelan, a shieldman standing behind him.

And there's me, Cywen the apprentice healer. Sister to, apparently, one of the most important people in the world. Madness.

And lurking off to one side, not at the table, but close, were Farrell, Dath and Kulla. Farrell had his new sword at his hip, a giant's dagger gifted to him by Corban.

Gar shifted beside Corban and whispered in his ear.

Gar has changed, since his duel with Akar. Six nights had pa.s.sed since the duel, and Gar had lost the stoop to his shoulders, the bitter twist to his mouth. He was a fine leader and already the Jehar were saying how like his da he was. How proud Tukul would have been. While it was obvious that Gar still mourned the loss of his da, he seemed to have accepted it as well.

The first step on a long road. And I know what that feels like.

Corban stood up and the room fell into silence.

'We are finally here, in fabled Dra.s.sil,' Corban said. 'It feels as if we have completed a quest, just getting here. We've encountered our enemy, fought battles, lost friends and family.' He looked at Cywen and Gar as he said that. 'But now we stop running, and we make a stand. The G.o.d-War is happening, now,' Corban continued. 'We have been fighting it. But now that we are here we must decide not only how to fight this war, but how to win it.' He turned to Meical, who sat straight and tall, jet-black hair, silver scars down his face.

'Meical, you are the author behind all of this, the force that has bound us together and guided us here. Now, more than ever, your wisdom would be welcome. How do we win this war?'

Is this really my baby brother? The same brother I kicked Rafe in the stones for, because he'd bloodied Corban's lip? When did he get so eloquent?

'The answer is simple,' Meical said. 'From the outset Calidus' plan has been to use the cauldron to breach the wall between this world of flesh and the Otherworld, the world of spirit, where the Kadoshim and Ben-Elim dwell.'

'Hasn't he already done that?' Dath said. 'Those Kadoshim in Murias seemed pretty real to me.'

'No,' Meical shook his head. 'With the Seven Treasures a doorway can be opened that allows Asroth and the Kadoshim to cross over from the Otherworld in their own forms, and in doing so their forms would become flesh. What happened in Murias was akin to a possession, where some of the Kadoshim's spirits pa.s.sed into host bodies. This was because there were only two of the Treasures present, and so only a crack in the doorway could be created. What happened in Murias, and those Kadoshim, is but a shadow of what Calidus hopes to achieve: Asroth and the host of the Kadoshim made flesh. And for Calidus to do that, he needs the Seven Treasures. He has the cauldron, and will be searching for the rest. But two of the Treasures are here.' He looked to Balur, who had the starstone axe slung across his back.

'The starstone axe and the spear of Skald are here.'

'What of the other Treasures?' Brina asked.