'Private-' Jacrys was fading. One eye fluttered shut, while the other found Thadrake. 'Carpello's yacht.'

'Very good, sir. I'll take care of that tomorrow and report back when it's arranged.' Thadrake paused. 'Of course, I'll have to check with General Oaklen's healer as to when you can be moved.'

Jacrys managed a half-shake of his head. 'Bring him,' he whispered.

'Bring him, sir?' Thadrake beamed. 'Yes, sir.'

'And send riders.'

Captain Thadrake leaned in close to make out what his patient was saying. 'Riders to Colonel Pace and General Oaklen?' He couldn't just leave; he had to ask. Pace and Oaklen needed to know, and grant their permission. His mind raced. 'Where should I tell them we're headed, sir? They'll want to know where we've gone.'

'Pellia,' Jacrys whispered. 'I have a safe house over the wharf in Pellia. I'll stay there.'

'Pellia.' Thadrake waited for Jacrys to drift off, then gulped the rest of the wine. 'Very well, sir,' he said to the gaunt, sickly form lying asleep in the middle of the chamber, 'I'll tell them you've ordered us back to your home in Pellia. I'll make the arrangements tomorrow, sir.'

Jacrys didn't hear him; he was already lost in the brilliant dreams that followed closely on the heels of querlis leaves and wine. Brexan Carderic and he were on the narrow strip of sand that passed for a beach outside Pellia during the summer Twinmoon. Across the inlet from the city, the beach could be accessed via private ferries, usually little more than floating flotsam manned by entrepreneurial vagrants. Jacrys had paddled across the river in his father's rowboat, dodging genuine barges, Malakasian naval ships and fishing trawlers to reach the ribbon of sand. Even now, two hundred Twinmoons and an almost-mortal wound later, Jacrys still dreamed of the beach, where a hundred million tiny seashells lay upon the sand in a jumbled, glittering mosaic of beige, white and black. It was the most beautiful place that Jacrys Marseth had ever seen, and he was there now, back home with Brexan. She had won his respect, proving herself a talented spy, even if not quite a killer. He dreamed of breathing deeply again, of smelling the salt, the tide and the sea air. Breathing with the lungs of his childhood, he quietly inhaled the very essence of Brexan, touching her, feeling her body respond to his gentle caresses, and then cutting her open and watching as her lovely face twisted itself into a mask of terror.

A CARNIVAL TRICK.

Garec was hungry. Dinner was still half an aven away, but though his stomach growled like distant thunder, he didn't bother complaining: he knew Steven and Gilmour would ignore him. The two sorcerers had been guiding, pushing, pulling, heaving and periodically casting all manner of creative spells to move the Larion spell table north through the forest beside the river. They were three hundred paces off the path, far enough east to hunker down and hide while any Malakasian scouts passed along the riverbank, he hoped. Truth be told, Garec would have been more comfortable if they were another two hundred paces into the forest, but progress would be slower and they would risk having the cart tumble over and having to excavate the granite artefact from yet another shallow grave.

Tuning his ears to the forest, Garec ignored the magicians' banter and listened for riders approaching. Kellin and Brand had been gone since dawn and he was growing anxious. He was especially hoping to hear Kellin galloping back to find them.

His stomach growled again.

'Are you keeping something from us, Garec?' Steven guided the carthorses around a crowded patch of saplings. His own horse was tethered to the rear slats.

'Me?' Garec's face reddened. He was too hungry to be teased about his attraction to Kellin and decided not to take it gracefully. 'Why?'

'Your stomach,' Steven said. 'Has some woodland creature snack disagreed with you? Or are you just hungry?'

Garec smiled, relieved. 'I could eat a woodland creature, if that's what you're wondering. I swear I'll kill the first edible thing I see.'

'We'll take a break soon,' Gilmour said. 'This has been much more difficult than I'd guessed. I for one could use a cup of tecan.'

'Beer for me,' Garec said.

'Oh, sure,' Steven joked, 'I'll just pop into the nearest pub.'

Garec said, 'I'll get a fire going.'

'In the lee of that boulder over there, please,' Gilmour warned, 'and a small one at that. Mark has had plenty of time to get to Wellham Ridge and begin making his way back here.'

Garec looped his reins around a low branch. 'How do you know he's gone to Wellham Ridge?'

'I think we would have seen him by now if he hadn't. He has the key; he'll want the table. My guess is that he's marshalling some local ruffians, mercenaries perhaps, interested in a few pieces of silver. He'll bring them along either to kill us, to distract us while he kills everyone them included or to help him excavate and transport the table if we have failed to do so already.'

'That's a grim list of options,' Garec said.

'He's not coming alone,' Steven said. 'He knows us too well. He knows what we can do. Together, Gilmour and I would be too formidable. While one of us locked horns with him, the other might blast the spell table into rubble; Mark's too smart to risk that.' He considered the wooden cart. 'My bet is that he's coming with a huge force, enough to overwhelm us all, even you and me, Gilmour.'

'Because he knows you won't engage in wholesale slaughter,' Garec finished.

'Right,' Steven said.

Gilmour dismounted and rummaged through his pack for the tecan leaves. 'Let's hope we don't have to face him then.'

Garec looked hopeful at that, an option he had forgotten existed. 'I'll get the fire going.'

'A small one, Garec,' Gilmour repeated, 'just enough to heat the water, and no smoke.'

'We don't need a fire; I'll heat the water,' Steven said. 'You two take a break.'

'Wait,' Garec warned.

'If you want to warm up a bit, go-'

'Quiet,' he said harshly, then, 'listen.'

'I hear them,' Gilmour said. 'Steven, cloak the cart.'

'Got it. Mom's old blanket.' Steven closed his eyes in concentration. Time slowed. The air thickened to a paste and the forest of green and brown melted into a waxy curtain. Draping the small company, their horses and Brand's stolen cart, Steven said, 'Done. We're hidden.'

'Excellent,' Gilmour whispered, dropping to one knee and peering back towards the river. 'They'll be along in a moment.'

Garec crossed to Gilmour's side and considered nocking an arrow. He placed his hand palm-down in a frozen footprint the old man had left in the snow. Nothing, not the slightest vibration; the riders were close now, but not making much noise, no pounding the earth in great numbers. He wouldn't need his bow ... not yet, anyway.

'There aren't many,' Gilmour whispered.

'No,' Garec agreed, 'a handful at the most.'

'Let's hope it's Brand and Kellin.'

When the Falkan partisans came into view, Garec was both relieved and alarmed. Seeing Kellin safe, obviously uninjured, lifted a stony weight from his chest; he was glad to see her and wondered briefly if it would be inappropriate to hug her when she slipped from the saddle.

Garec's amorous musings faded quickly, as he saw how hard Kellin and Brand were riding. The Falkan soldiers had loosed their reins and were frantically galloping, guiding the horses south. Chasing one another along the winding path would have been dangerous at half their speed; Garec looked away, afraid he might see one of the mounts slip on an icy patch or even shatter a limb on an exposed root or a snow-covered rock.

'Something's wrong,' he whispered.

'Yes,' Gilmour said, and cupping his hands over his mouth, he murmured a spell and whispered, 'Brand, Kellin,' across three hundred paces of empty forest.

As if they had been struck, Kellin and Brand reined in and searched the woods, patting the frothing animals gently, thanking them for what had obviously been a harrowing flight.

Their voices came in garbled snatches of adrenalin-charged conversation: 'Hear that?'

'... over there?' over there?'

'Don't see-'

'... keep going ...' keep going ...'

'...just the wind.'

Gilmour cupped his hands and whispered again, 'Brand, Kellin.'

Garec barely heard his raspy whisper from less than two paces away. How they heard him from the riverbank was astonishing.

'Here,' Gilmour said into his cupped hands, 'east of you, three hundred paces.'

The Falkans turned as one, peering through the late-day shadows; even from this distance, Garec could see them looking perplexed.

'Let them see me, Steven,' Gilmour said.

'All right,' Steven answered, 'just wave an arm or something.'

Gilmour did, and suddenly Brand pointed in their direction.

All Garec's fears were realised when instead of coming at a gentle trot they plunged into the trees at a gallop. They were still a hundred paces out when Garec heard Brand shouting. 'Mount up! Get in the saddle now!'

'What is it?' Gilmour said as Steven let the cloaking spell dissipate; Brand reined in, a little surprised at suddenly discovering Garec, the foreigner and the spell table all secreted amongst the trees.

'How did you-? Never mind. It's an infantry company, at least one, maybe more there were several mounted officers, so it might be an entire battalion.'

'How far?' Steven asked.

'An aven, maybe less,' Kellin said. 'They're coming south along the west bank.'

The Larion spell table was balanced on one side, leaning against the slat rails of the little cart. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide it, not within an aven.

A battalion. battalion.

Garec's hands were clammy; he wiped them on his leggings and looked up at Kellin. She was pale, obviously nervous. He shot her a half-hearted smile; she grimaced back at him. 'Don't worry,' he whispered. 'There's good news too.'

'What's that?'

'We can't fight a battalion,' he said.

Kellin frowned. 'How is that good news?'

'All we can do is run.'

Steven rinsed his mouth with snow and spat it out. 'We can't leave the table here,' he said.

Garec brightened. 'Let's drop it back in the river. You two hauled it out with no trouble at all. We can come back for it after we slip past Mark and the soldiers.'

'He'll know right where it is,' Gilmour said. 'He has Lessek's key; when Mark gets closer, he'll sense the table, no matter where we put it. It will knock his legs out from under him.'

'Like hitting a speed bump,' Steven agreed.

'Then let him have it,' Garec said.

Brand said, 'Kellin, check him for a pulse, please.'

'No, I'm serious. Let him have it. He's got at least a company of soldiers working for him. Let him him haul it back to Wellham Ridge.' haul it back to Wellham Ridge.'

Steven stared, then smiled. 'And then we steal it.'

'Exactly.'

'It's too risky,' Gilmour said. 'He has the key; he might clear a space right here and begin using the table against us.'

'Then we destroy it,' Steven said.

'We won't be able to seal the Fold without it.'

'We might,' Steven argued, wishing he had more time to experiment with his own magic. He had been able to cast spells that took form when his magic worked in tandem with knowledge he had of his environment, or the quandary at hand. A college physiology class had saved Garec's life in Orindale, a rudimentary knowledge of chemistry destroyed the acid clouds above Sandcliff Palace and a childhood memory of a loosely woven blanket had hidden them from Nerak outside Traver's Notch. 'We might just be able to do it, Gilmour.'

'The maths and compassion thing?' Garec asked.

'Yes,' Steven said. 'I know it can work.'

'And if it can't?'

'At least he won't be able to release his evil master,' Steven argued. 'Eldarn will be saved. And afterwards we can find some way to destroy the evil controlling Mark.'

'Without killing him,' Kellin said.

Brand shrugged slightly; Mark's survival was immaterial to him. Garec was glad Steven had been looking the other way.

Gilmour closed his eyes. The air was damp and cold, like a wet cloak. He thought of the lump of folded cloth lashed to the back of his saddle. Lessek's spell book was hidden there, protected. The ash dream. ash dream. Nerak had used the book to reach across the Fold. Could Mark use it to usher an unthinkable evil into Eldarn? It was too great a risk. 'No, we can't destroy it yet,' he said. Nerak had used the book to reach across the Fold. Could Mark use it to usher an unthinkable evil into Eldarn? It was too great a risk. 'No, we can't destroy it yet,' he said.

'Why?' Steven said. He cleared his throat, trying to control the tone of his voice. It would do no one's confidence any good to hear him whining in fear. 'He can't open the Fold without it, Gilmour.'

'I think he can.' The Larion sorcerer pointed at his horse.

'What? The book?'

'Can you open the Fold, Steven?' Garec asked. 'Isn't that where you tossed Nerak?'

'It is,' Steven said, 'but I need more time, I need more practice. I need some frigging paper, a decent pen and a couple of days to think it through. If Eldarn's fate boils down to a fistfight here in the woods, ankle-deep in the snow, we're going to lose. I'm not going to kill my friend; it's my fault he's here at all.'

'But that's not what-' Garec began.

Steven interrupted, 'We can win, Garec, I know we can. But I've no idea at all what that book's about. If there's something the rest of us need to know, Gilmour, the clock's ticking. As for Nerak, if he could have used that book to open the Fold, I'm betting he would have done it Twinmoons ago. He wouldn't have hidden the table; he wouldn't have hidden Lessek's key, and he wouldn't have committed himself so diligently to running us all over Eldarn. I know it's a gamble, but we have to assume the book is secondary to Mark's goals. We can't have come this far just to change gears now. The book may be powerful; it may be cruel or beautiful or as pernicious as a bad case of crabs, but we have to focus on the table, because we know know that can ruin us.' that can ruin us.'