'Then? Then Nerak began to grow distant. He allowed Pikan to recruit young sorcerers. Together we travelled throughout Eldarn, looking for children and young adults who showed promise, like Pikan had when she joined the Senate already grown. We figured if we could detect that level of potential early in life, we could foster a generation of sorcerers nearly as powerful as Nerak himself. Pikan was entrusted with their initial training. Nerak only took over when an especially promising magician came to Sandcliff.'

'What was he doing instead?'

'He was studying, experimenting, pushing ever deeper into the hazy morass of power and knowledge buried in the Larion spell table that was the vehicle through which Larion magicians were able to tap power and in turn introduce certain magics to our world.' Alen thought this over for a moment, then added, 'To your world, too, I suppose.'

'Really?' Hannah tried to control the scepticism in her voice. 'Sorry. It's a little hard to believe we have any any magic in my world.' magic in my world.'

'You have plenty, trust me you need to learn how and where to look. Anyway, Fantus, the third director, and I decided it was time to intervene. Nerak was becoming too removed from his responsibilities, from our values. The Larion Senate was there as a service to Eldarn.'

'He was greedy?'

'He was. He had the potential to bring great things to our land, but after a while, he decided to keep it all for himself.'

'And Pikan?'

Alen pursed his lips. 'I blame myself for that. I should have paid attention. I never noticed how he looked at her. More than anything, that should have tipped me off you know? When you cannot allow a person to leave the room without that last look, that final glimpse that says I will imprint this image on my mind until she comes back I will imprint this image on my mind until she comes back. That's what he was doing. The line of her face or the taper of her legs, he needed those things to bring him back from the brink of whatever nightmares he explored while immersed in the spell table. Yes, I think he loved her very much.'

'What happened?' Hannah's curiosity was aroused. 'I mean, the way you are describing this this triangle it doesn't sound like it had a good ending.'

'It didn't.' Alen poured himself another mug of tecan. He offered Hannah the pot, but she shook her head. She was eager to hear the rest of the drama. 'Nerak said something about her once; it was a shock and I wasn't ready for it. I got angry and attacked him, but he was much more powerful than me, even then. I think he might have killed me if he'd had any idea of what the future held.'

'I don't understand.'

'He lashed out with a spell. Oh, it wasn't much, but it hit me hard and I fell and sprained my ankle. We were on a ship at the time, rounding the Northern Archipelago towards Larion Isle. It was a trip we made every ten Twinmoons or so to do research and try out new magic.' He chuckled; Hannah smiled at the rare sound. 'Like checking out recipes, I suppose. Anyway, I spent the entire journey hobbling about in agony. We told everyone I'd tripped and twisted my ankle. They never knew we'd had a spat. Nerak and I never physically fought again, but we were never as close as we had been either.'

'What did you mean when you said he would have killed you if he had known-'

'Known what the future held.' The old Larion Senator paused, still staring into the fireplace. 'Pikan was pregnant; I think if Nerak had known that, he would have killed me that day and tossed my body overboard.'

'Your baby?'

'Our baby- Yes. That's why she came with me to England.'

Hannah looked confused, so he elaborated, 'I knew it was going to be a long trip. Pikan wasn't showing yet and she hid the early sickness, so no one knew. I only needed Fantus's approval for going to England, and we stayed until the baby was born and then-' Alen stopped to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

'You left the baby there.'

'We did.' He choked back a sob, a disconcerting sound. 'We left her there because we knew Nerak would kill her if he found out about her. We were married, Pikan had the baby and we found a family, a good family, there in Durham. We promised we would always come back to visit, and when she was old enough we would bring her home with us. I even made plans to construct a third portal without anyone knowing. I could have done it. I would have done it ... but I never had the chance.'

Hannah was on tenterhooks now; her arms and legs were numb from sitting so long on the floor, but she dared not move and break the spell. 'So what became of the baby? Did you visit? Did you bring her back?'

'Reia.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Reia. That was her name, Reia. And no, we never made it back. She was very young, just a few Twinmoons old, when we returned to Eldarn, but we had to there was no way I could justify our absence any longer.' Alen cleared his throat, though his voice still shook as he spoke. 'We had to keep up appearances while we planned some way to bring Reia home and find somewhere where she would be safe and where we could be together as a family. But I had to come to Praga, to Middle Fork. Pikan was so distraught she nearly collapsed the day I left, but I promised her just as I promised Reia anyway, I swore to Pikan we would figure out a way, even if it meant challenging Nerak, killing Nerak. I didn't care at that point, but Pikan didn't want it to come to that. At least we knew Reia was in good hands.'

'So you came to Praga.'

'To Middle Fork, and while I was gone, Nerak finally lost his battle for sanity. He destroyed the Larion Senate.' Alen's voice was calm now; he spoke in dead, flat tones. 'He killed Pikan, his team, everyone.'

'Why?'

'My guess is that the magic he sought to control finally took control of him and in doing so, he lost what was left of his already tenuous grip on reality. He killed them all.'

'What happened to Reia?' Hannah whispered, almost hoping Alen might not hear.

But he did, and he broke down again, weeping into his hands. 'The far portals were lost, Sandcliff was all but destroyed and any means I had to get back to Durham was gone for ever.'

'The far portal Steven found in Colorado-'

'Was one of two we used to travel back and forth.'

'Where was the other?'

'In Prince Marek's royal chambers at Welstar Palace in Malakasia the lion's den. I think Nerak placed it there. And I know in my heart that he remains involved to this day. He protects it. He is there. I can feel him, even from here, I can feel him there, laughing at me.'

'Why not confront him? It's been so long. Why not go and tell him of the baby, and ask for demand, or, hell, steal steal the far portal if you have to?' the far portal if you have to?'

'I was not permitted to go. It would have been suicide.'

'Not permitted? What do you mean?'

'Lessek.' Contempt filled his voice.

'You mentioned that name before.' Hannah searched her memory for a moment before finding it. 'That night that first night when Churn carried you in. You said Lessek wouldn't let you die? Why? First he wouldn't let you confront Prince Marek, or Nerak, and now he won't let you commit suicide. Why? What does he care?'

Alen shook his head grimly. 'There must be something left for me to do.'

'But it's been so long what could come up now?'

'You, Hannah Sorenson. You and these men you talk about, Steven Taylor and Mark Jenkins. Obviously you have discovered the far portal; I imagine I am still here, in Middle Fork, after all these Twinmoons, because you were coming.'

Hannah shuddered. That could not be. It was too much for her deal with right now. A little frightened, she changed the subject. 'You must have remarried.'

'I did. I missed Pikan and Reia so badly that I felt as if I would turn to dust, but I had been touched by the gods once and I wanted it again.'

'Love like Pikan's?'

'Oh no, I knew I would never find that again. No, I wanted children, lots of children.' He managed a chuckle and his voice rose, lilting, as he said, 'And I did have children, and they were wonderful.'

'Jer?'

'Jer was the last of my grandchildren, the last of eleven grandchildren.'

'I don't see how that's possible.' Hannah felt her scepticism rise once again.

'I don't care what you believe is possible or impossible, Hannah Sorenson. It has happened, and I am alone, and I will go with all haste to whatever end Lessek has chosen for me.' He placed the empty mug on the floor at his feet. 'I can only hope this is my chance to destroy Nerak, to look into his eyes as his life ebbs and remind him, one last time to echo through all eternity, that she loved me. She loved only me, never him.'

'And then you can die?'

'Killing Nerak will mean my death as well, but that's fine.' As an afterthought, he added, 'If at all possible, I will try to send you home first.'

With that, Alen Jasper of Middle Fork rose, nodded pleasantly and strode from the room.

It took five days to work out how they would move against Malagon, and it was a stroke of exceedingly ironic good luck that brought them the answers they needed to the final nagging questions.

Before nightfall that first day, an elderly fisherman appeared at the next-door shack with a pile of nets. He sat outside on the beach, examining them closely, tugging at tiny knots and deftly stitching torn sections together with a length of thin twine and a wooden needle. After a while, Garec took a chance and went over to ask about the shanty they were using. Coins changed hands. The shack was used by a group of brothers who worked a tempine farm in Rona during the winter; they generally returned when the great schools of migrating fish moved north in the spring. A second coin ensured the fisherman's silence about their presence he appeared happy, almost amused, to keep silent. As night fell, he loaded and paddled a dilapidated rowboat out beyond the relative protection of the pier. He soon shrank to a point on the slate-grey horizon.

'Well, that's a stroke of luck,' Steven said, 'unless of course he tells the Malakasians we're here.'

'I don't think he will,' Mark said. 'Did you get a look at him? He doesn't look like he's doing especially well under Malakasian rule. He probably fishes at night to keep from handing over half his catch to the customs officers.'

'There are people like him throughout the Eastlands,' Garec said. 'The silver I gave him is probably more money than he makes in a Twinmoon. If we have anything to fear, it's that he comes back with a small army of his own to rob and murder us in our sleep.'

'Grand,' Brynne commented dryly. 'So now we have to keep watch for the Malakasian soldiers and and the Falkan fishermen as well.' the Falkan fishermen as well.'

Garec laughed for the first time in two days.

At dawn the following morning, Steven watched the old man return, pulling hard on the oars against the outgoing tide. He moored his skiff in shallow water and began lugging boxes of fish up the beach to one of the smokehouses. Steven left the staff leaning against the wall and went down to help; he was rewarded with a huge fish, large enough to feed the four of them for a couple of days.

'Thank you,' Steven said graciously, wrestling with the slippery corpse. 'What kind of fish is it?' He thought it looked something like a yellowfin tuna.

'Jemma,' the old man answered, 'best you can get. It's good smoked, or you can cut it into steaks and cook it over your fire.'

'Jemma,' Steven echoed. 'Thank you again.'

'You are here to kill the prince, right?' The tanned leathery face looked inquisitively up at Steven. 'You killed those soldiers on the beach, too, right?'

Steven was speechless.

'It's all right,' he waved a wet hand in a gesture of reassurance, 'I'll keep quiet, but you must know the prince cannot be killed here.'

Steven still didn't know how to react, so he just thanked the man again for the fish. 'We are grateful,' he said quietly.

The old man spent most of the day in the smokehouse; the scent filled the air and made Steven nearly insane with hunger. He cut hearty steaks from the thick jemma and cooked them on a flat rock in the fire, the same way Lahp had cooked grettan steaks in the Blackstones.

They revelled in the succulent flavour. 'We need wine and potatoes with this,' Mark said through a mouthful of flaky fish.

'We've got some of Gita's wine left, but I'm afraid we're fresh out of potatoes.'

'We'll have to go into town for those,' Mark said. 'And if we went, we could get some tomatoes, maybe some bananas and a whole gallon of chocolate-chip ice cream.' He lapsed into English for the dessert course.

'Ice cream?' Brynne asked.

'One of the world's most perfect foods,' Mark replied, licking his lips at the memory.

'Let's go then.' Garec stood suddenly.

'What?' the others echoed in unison.

'We can't just walk into town!'

'Actually, we can,' Garec assured them. 'Mark, come on, lose that dreadful red tunic you wear and borrow Brynne's cloak. We've been here too long. We need to get our bearings and move on. Hiding's doing us no good and eventually someone will come along who can't be bought.' He leaned his longbow against the shanty wall. 'I can't take that, and you need to leave your weapons. We're a long way from Estrad Village.'

Mark looked dumbstruck for a moment, then he started pulling his red sweater off. 'Right, let's go. Steven, I need some money. I want to get some more of that fennaroot, if I can find any. That's powerful stuff; it makes caffeine look like baby formula.'

Steven flipped him the pouch of silver pieces they had stolen in Rona.

'Take just one,' Brynne suggested, 'you've enough silver there to buy a corner of the city. Carrying too much will make you a target.'

'Or worse,' Garec agreed, 'it'll bring unwanted company back here.'

Mark donned Brynne's cloak. 'Any special requests?'

'Bread and cheese,' Steven replied. 'And maybe some fresh vegetables, something green. We have been pretty bad about our diet recently, my friend.'

'And bring some- some ice cream,' Brynne added excitedly. 'It is not often one gets to try the world's most perfect food.'

'If they make it in the city and we can find some, I promise we will.' Mark kissed her lightly.

'And see what you can find out,' Steven ordered. 'See if that soldier was telling the truth about Malagon and the old Falkan palace. And be careful!'

'Will do. We'll be back.' Mark followed Garec out into the forest behind the southernmost warehouse.

Over the next few days, they each visited the city, although never all together. Steven finally abandoned his tweed jacket and Mark gave up his red sweater. Sharing the two woollen cloaks, they travelled in pairs, shopping for supplies, eating hot food in warm taverns and even bringing back bottles of wine, freshly baked bread and blocks of cheese. Although there was no sign of Sallax, and Brynne remained concerned for her brother, Mark and Steven revelled in the novelty of an Eldarni city.

Their experience in Estrad had been so limited that they'd had no idea such an array of goods and services would be available: tailors and cobblers, breweries and bakeries, butchers and pastry shops lined the narrow streets and the wider, tree-lined avenues. There were tobacconists, craftspeople, leather-workers ... whatever they had been expecting, it wasn't this.

They made dozens of purchases, mostly food and supplies, paraffin candles and wine. Steven enjoyed walking along the wide plank sidewalks that flanked the broad muddy avenues and narrow side streets. He chatted with artisans and merchants, sampled stews and sweets and even tried his hand at a popular gambling game that involved several smooth stones, a scarf and an empty goblet. He tossed the stones onto the multi-coloured kerchief stretched across a flat tabletop and depending on where they fell, his bet was doubled, tripled or forfeited to a gaunt but friendly old woman with a pockmarked face. Having lost three tosses in rapid succession, Steven moved away, despite the encouragement of the elderly woman and the small crowd that had gathered to watch the game.

Mark handed him a piece of wheat bread. 'How much did you lose?'

'I don't know twenty-five bucks? Twenty-five thousand? I haven't been able to figure out this system of currency yet. All the coins have Malagon's ugly pinched snout on them and I can't tell the difference.'

'Well, from the crowd you drew, I'm guessing you're a high roller.' Mark paused to tear a fruit pastry in half, then said, 'Maybe you can get us a comp room at the Stardust.'

'Monopoly money,' Steven shrugged. 'You know, I thought it would have been more-'

'Depressed?'

'Right.' He gestured along the busy street. 'I mean, these people don't act as though they're living in the shadow of an occupation army.'

'Look closer.' Mark pointed to a group of men unloading lumber from a cart. 'Look at their shoes, their clothing. Notice how few of them are overweight. They don't look terrified because they've been occupied for five generations; they're used to it. But these people are not prospering, despite the diversity of shops, goods and services.' He gnawed thoughtfully on a corner of the pastry. 'I can't imagine what the tax rates are. Seventy, maybe eighty per cent? We rarely see this at home because we live in a place where generally people help the oppressed, and it doesn't take five generations for that help to come. So we never see this.'

'The long-term look of a beaten people?'

'Exactly. And in those cases where it has occurred, the end result has been tragic.'