Arafanz was hovering above her, his face a mask of worry. "Speak to me. What has occurred?"

"It's Iridor," she gulped. "I think he's dead."

As he sank, the rug unraveled about him and Pez finally found himself floating free in the depths of the Faranel. It was soundless and dark and it would not be long now, for he didn't have the strength or ability to do anything but give himself to the water. The burning in his lungs distracted him from the throb of his fingerless hands.

As he began a final prayer to Lyana, knowing he had but moments, for there was truly was no more breath in his aching lungs and his chest was racked with pain from broken ribs, he saw a vision floating toward him. It began as a soft green light that strengthened into a shimmering brightness, so bright that it was almost unbearable by the time the figure was clear enough to make out.

Ellyana drifted fully into view and gave him a heartbreaking smile. Her luster seemed to dim the terrible pain and the exquisite desire to give up his last and most precious air. She was young and dazzlingly beautiful. He felt suddenly safe in her cocoon of luminescence.

"I am dying," he said, shocked that he could speak.

"Not yet, dear Pez. This is not your time."

"But how can I live?"

"If you were going to drown, believe me, the Faranel would have claimed you by now. Maliz should have finished you off himself; if he had, we could not interfere. This is his mistake. He will rue this day." She smiled again. "You must trust me now."

"I always have," Pez replied, entranced by her shimmering beauty and the realization that he was no longer struggling for breath, no longer cold or even frightened.

"That's not true. You privately question my motives."

"But I do obey you," he qualified.

"Because you know in your heart that I am not your enemy."

"Then what are you?"

Her brilliance intensified. "You already know. I belong to LyanaI am an extension of her. A messenger, you could say, a disciple, her servant. As are you. We must trust each other. There are too few of us to not believe."

"It's not easy when none of the few you refer to know what is going on," he admonished softly. "Iridor, above all, should know."

"It is this factor that will help us prevail," she soothed, floating before him, her golden tresses stretching out in tendrils and waving gently in the water.

"So I am saved? I know she commands the waters," he said, mesmerized.

Ellyana smiled. "Lyana is the water. She is the sky, the wind, the sun, the desert."

"I am to live, this is what you're here to tell me?" he clarified.

She nodded, her hair weaving patterns in the currents as fish darted amongst the silky strands. "There is a condition."

Pez's heart sank. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It is not my doing. Maliz has destroyed your body, my friend. That is certainly dying. You must leave it behind and emerge from these depths as Iridor. You will be whole, but you must understand that you can never return to the being you were before. You are no longer Pez." Her tone was sorrowful and Pez appreciated that she grasped how deeply her news must hurt him. His body had been hardly attractive and his face had not been pretty but they were what his goddess had given him; the dwarf 's body belonged to him and made him who he was. Iridor had chosen him, not the other way around.

She could read his mind, it seemed. "Surely you would not choose death over life?"

He didn't answer straightaway; he needed to let the soft grief that her revelation provoked dissipate slightly. She let his silence lengthen, happy to drift nearby, bathing him in her bright sea-green glow. "Not if by living I can serve Lyana longer," he finally spoke.

She smiled. "Iridor still has his role. There are lives to be saved and a battle still to win."

He fixed Ellyana with a baleful stare. "Then what are we waiting for?"

The sun reemerged and the skies lightened instantly. Lazar looked back at the city and its return to its more usual sparkling landscape. He had no idea where those angry clouds had come from, and though they had seemed unnatural, he knew anything connected with the weather around Samazen time should not surprise him.

He realized his head hurt from the voices and from the dire revelation they had brought. His emotional thoughts about Ana, about Herezah's behavior and how easily he had been compromised by her, and especially about his father's potential presence only made his confusion and pain worse. He looked out across the Faranel and wondered if the King was doing the same. Was he thinking about the son he despised and yet would honor by massacring another realm? When had it come to this? Had it been only such a short while ago that he had been wandering through the city he loved, looking forward to a spicy ratha at the famous emporium? It felt as though he had lived a lifetime since that messenger had burst through its doors and interrupted his breakfast with the grim news of Zar Joreb's death. The excellent, totally controlled, and unemotional life that he had so carefully shaped over so many years had changed in that instant. And not just changed because of the delivery of that news, he thought; his life had dramatically twisted and turned to leave him near death, forever scarred, deeply in love and more shattered than he had ever felt.

And now stone statuesseemingly lifeless sculptureswere talking to him! And had just delivered chilling news. He couldn't believe the dwarf had perished, and whilst he dithered, wavering between shock and disbelief, Beloch spoke again.

Lazar, Iridor lives.

Relief flooded his body, and in his desire for information, it seemed suddenly natural to be having this conversation with a stone statue. What happened?

We do not know. But we felt him dying.

And now?

He has survived the attack.

He is completely safe?

As Iridor only. He is no longer the dwarf.

Lazar felt his gut twist. Where is Maliz? he demanded.

We are not connected to him, only to Lyana's disciples.

But he made you, Lazar insisted.

Beloch gave a sound that was part sigh, part moan. His evil touch is upon us, yes, but we do not feel him and he cannot feel us, hear us, sense us.

Where does this magic you possess come from?

The giant gave a sound of amusement. We used his.

His? You'll have to explain that.

Ellyana taught us. She told us how to use the darkest of his magic and twist it, knead it...mold it, you could say, into something he could never understand.

I'm not sure I do either. Is that why she asked me to stop by you when I was being rowed to Star Island?

I'm impressed you remember.

It was only a fleeting moment of consciousness. But I remember you towering up above us and her whispering to you.

Maliz used a sinister magic to turn us to stone. It remained inside with us. Ellyana showed us how to release it, use it to begin to break the bondage of the stone. That night she was thanking us for our steadfastness.

Did you use it to reach me?

Yes.

And he can't sense it.

He wouldn't recognize the magic anymore. It is like the Lore, completely beyond his comprehension, although he can sense its sinister power.

The Lore is wild, I'm told.

It is. As is your magic.

It was Lazar's turn to be amused. I have no magic, Beloch.

Does it not strike you as odd to be talking to me now? Do you believe anyone can do this?

No. But I presumed the magic was all yours. All one-sided.

You are wrong.

Lazar couldn't imagine what the giant was referring to, wasn't ready to pursue the conversation until he'd had time to think it through. So I can talk to you when I want?

We are only ever a whisper away. You are only now learning how, though. Until now, we could only reach you at times of great stress...the drezden fever, especially. Hold on to this. Remember how it feels.

Lazar, bewildered, changed the subject. So I continue with this journey.

Yes.

What about Pez?

There is no Pez anymore, and Iridor has his own journey.

Lazar wanted to shout, hurl something at the giant. Beloch used the same irritating, cryptic manner of speaking that he recalled Ellyana employing.

You must release us very soon, Lazar.

I told you, I don't know how!

Think about what we have discussed today. You alone can do itmust do it!or Percheron is lost.

Lazar, still distracted, was impressed to see that Boaz arrived not in a karak, flanked by a host of guards, but covered head to toe in a white jamoosh with only two other people at his side, one of them his mother, similarly disguised.

"We thought it best to leave the palace unobtrusively," Boaz explained. Lazar could hear the tinge of excitement in his voice.

"You were wise to do so, Majesty."

"Let's drop my title from now on."

Lazar nodded, again impressed by the Zar's wisdom. "And we should change your name. What should we call you?"

"I have always liked the name Fayiz."

Herezah squirmed. "Oh, Boaz, that's so common."

"Victorious," Lazar translated. "It is a good sentiment and a strong name," he assured Boaz, ignoring the Valide.

"It's a favorite name of mine, so I like to think of it as destiny that I can use it," Boaz said, his eyes shining.

"Well, my Lion, you are our destiny."

"No, Mother, my son is our destiny. He will be called Fayiz if we find him."

"When we find him," Lazar countered. "I do not mean to return empty-handed."

The Spur couldn't imagine that it was possible for the Zar to swell any larger. He was bursting to be on his way. "I have picked out a horse for you, Fayiz," he said, giving the young royal a wry grin. "It's not as fine as you are used to riding, nor is it a stallion, but we will give ourselves away if we are on magnificent animals. She's hardly a nag but she will do you proud." He nodded toward the chestnut filly.

Boaz seemed untroubled by the horse's lack of pedigree, moving to stroke her muzzle, whispering to her.

Herezah spoke up. "Lazar, it is all very well racing off into the desert with the ruler of Percheron, but how can we ensure his safety?"

"We can't, Valide. But it was never my idea to bring Boaz along. With all due respect, my Zar, if you give me the option, I would leave you behind without a moment's hesitation."

"Mother! The decision is made. Please do not fuss or ask any more irrelevant questions," Boaz snapped.

Herezah pasted a suitably chastened expression on her face. "My son, I will worry for you until I see you safely delivered back to us."

"I know," Boaz said, all aggression gone. "And in the meantime you will serve me well in looking after the realm. You know what to do."

Herezah looked up and nodded, her gaze firmly fixed on the Spur when she replied. "I will make haste to meet with King Falza, or his representative, immediately." Lazar flinched, felt his lips thin in an effort to suppress any overreaction. "And assure him that I have firsthand experience that his son is alive and well," she added, her tone laced with innuendo.

"Valide"

"Mother," Boaz interrupted, glaring again at his parent. "Lazar, please. We are too far down the path now to worry about petty matters. Mother, do not inflame the situation with your intimations. I have already told you what I want said to the King of Galinsea. Follow my orders or don't take on the role of Crown Valide."

Her eyes glinted with amusement. "I shall do only your bidding, my Lion. Be safe. Do I get a farewell kiss, Lazar?"

Boaz sighed as Lazar bristled and snarled, "Farewell, Valide. Give my saluations to my family." He turned briskly to the Zar. "Where is the Grand Vizier?"

"Coming. He sent a message that he is minutes behind us."

"And Pez?"

Boaz frowned. "I thought he would already have met up with you."

Lazar felt his anxiety deepen. He had somehow impossibly hoped that Beloch had been wrong. "I have not seen him."

The Zar gave a sound of exasperation. "Both Tariq and Pez late?"

"Coincidence, no?" Lazar muttered.

"They detest each other, Lazar. I'd hardly say they were deliberately in tandem."