'Who is that?' whispered Petara. 'Is it one of the Council?' The Presiding Elder put a finger to his lips, indicating silence, a gesture wasted in the darkness. This one was indeed a puzzle.

They had been observing him for a few days, a man who was a part of the Ecclesia, who actually ran one of the meetings, but who lived in the Hall of Lore, in rooms reserved for important visitors to the Council of Faltha. He obviously didn't want people to make the connection, because he was seen to use this path only when no one else was about.

The leader of Escaigne's army whispered a command for absolute stillness. Now, of all times, they could not risk discovery and the loss of all they had worked for, not when they waited on the very cusp of their assault on Instruere. Though it might be interesting to capture this man and find out what he knew, the Presiding Elder resisted the temptation. A lifetime of operating on the fringes of society, first in Sivithar and latterly in Instruere, taught him to make no hasty decisions.

Without warning the figure turned from the path and walked briskly towards them. The Presiding Elder panicked and, fearing they were about to be discovered and denounced, made to signal his archers to strike the man down; but, to his horror, found he could not move as much as an arm or even a hand in response to his urgent thought. He could not cry out. His voice seemed locked in his throat.

'1 know you're there,' the man said casually, peering through the foliage towards where the Escaignians hid. 'I know who you are and what you intend to do. In fact, I'm helping you with your plans. Some of your best ideas are mine! But I don't want you to know who I am, not yet, not until it's too late. So - let's see - I'll take one of you,' - he beckoned, and Petara rose woodenly to his feet - 'and let the rest of you go. But first, it seems you have all become very forgetful. Ah well, just don't forget to launch your attack on the Granaries at dawn tomorrow morning.' He came close to the helpless Escaignians, close enough for them to see his face, then his eyes flashed red and they fell to the ground, unconscious.

Deorc beckoned to the remaining Escaignian. 'Come with me to The Pinion. I have a number of things I want to show you.' He would turn this man without placing a hand on him. Perhaps he would show the result to Stella before he returned the unfortunate man to the Escaignians.

After a brief but heavy shower overnight, the next morning dawned clear and bright, as though someone had spent the night scrubbing all the dark deeds from the city. The Presiding Elder rubbed his temple. He had picked up an annoying headache, dampening his spirits somewhat. Still, the culmination of a decade of planning had arrived and, as the first rays of sunlight broached the walls of the wicked City and illuminated the high tower of the House of Worship, he signalled the commencement of their long-awaited campaign. He could surely be forgiven the surge of excitement flashing through him.

Within a few moments a lamp was lit and one of the Granary buildings, located near the Struere Gate, caught fire. This was purely a diversionary tactic, as those who planned this attack did not want ordinary Instruians to starve; but the fire would ensure the authorities, and many of the Instruian guardsmen, would be occupied in putting it out. Being able to predict the movements of the Guard was crucial to the Escaignian plans.

Smoke began to rise from half-a-dozen places around Instruere, all close to the walls, designed to draw the Guard away from the centre of the City. The attack of Escaigne on Instruere had four main targets, the Four Halls of Instruere: the Hall of Lore, the House of Worship, the Hall of Meeting and The Pinion. Capturing these four buildings would give them command over Instruere. It would offer control over the decisions made and the people who made them; over the guards who enforced them; and over the minds and hearts of the Instruians who looked on these four buildings every day as representing the tangible link to the founding of Instruere by the First Men. Whoever held these places held Instruere in his hand.

The plan was to harry the Guard rather than to engage them in battle. The Presiding Elder was smarter than to think his men and women could hold out long against a concerted attack by the well-trained, well-equipped guardsmen. The Escaignians were to emerge from their hiding places, ambush the guards as they ran from one fire to another, then melt back into the tangle of narrow streets and alleyways, of rooftop paths between tenements and disused buildings they knew far better than did the Guard.

By the midst of a morning full of shocks, their plan had been abandoned. Far fewer guards than anticipated arrived to deal with the fires, and because of this things began to go wrong for the Escaignians. The Council, having tumbled to their strategy, held a large reserve of guards in The Pinion, which meant the attack on both it and the Hall of Meeting nearby had to be delayed. Further, the fires which ought to have been extinguished by the Guard now raged out of control. The Presiding Elder fumed, having never considered the notion that the Council might rather see Instruere burn than empty The Pinion of guardsmen. Finally, the appearance of only a few guards emboldened many of the Escaignian fighters, who saw a real chance of success when confronted with small knots of confused guardsmen. Some of his generals encouraged sustained attacks, believing this would help draw reinforcements from The Pinion, but had forgotten how well-trained the Guard was. The situation collapsed rapidly from there.

Turn aside! Turn aside!' screamed the Presiding Elder to a group of Escaignians armed with all manner of cast-off weapons. Inflamed beyond reason, they ignored the cries of their leader and continued to chase half-a-dozen guards down a lane, pursuing revenge. Around a corner they went, there to be confronted by another dozen of the Guard. The Escaignians had been lured into a trap. Fifty yards behind, the Presiding Elder saw what was about to happen, but could do nothing. He turned helplessly and ran from what already sounded like a slaughter.

His plan was ruined, and his men were dying.

The Granaries burned beyond saving. Many ordinary Instruians joined with the firefighting efforts of the grain workers and the Guard, but made little impression on the fires. High up in the largest of the grain silos, the heat and pressure finally reached the point where something had to give. With a loud boom the silo exploded, showering those below with flaming wood, white-hot fragments of metal and burning grain that settled on their exposed skin and found its way inside their clothing. Within moments the whole area began to come apart in a series of explosions, dooming many of the people who rushed to put out the fires, and the Escaignians who hoped to pick off the guards, or at least delay their return to The Pinion.

'Back, get back!' Mahnum cried, dragging Indrett away from a large, jagged piece of glowing metal, from the shrieking of a man whose legs jutted out from beneath it, and from the terrible smell of burning flesh. 'We can do nothing! We must leave!'

'Always we can do nothing,' Farr growled. 'Run from this, run from that, never staying, never standing to fight!' But like the others he ran, barely outpacing another explosion, joining with the crowds trying to escape the sudden destruction reaching out to them.

'If Stella is held in the Granaries, or anywhere around them, then she is dead,' concluded Perdu.

'As will we be, if we don't run faster!' Mahnum urged them on. He longed to scoop Indrett up but knew she wouldn't allow it. Just four of them left. They couldn't afford to lose anyone else.

They had lost Stella the morning after their confrontation with her over her proposed marriage. She was not in her room, and could not be found. Mahnum and Indrett immediately suspected she'd run off to be with Tanghin. The man denied it, and he'd been very convincing.

He expressed shock and sorrow, added a mild rebuke of those who would have counselled such a headstrong girl as his Stella to lay aside her feelings, and incidentally disappoint his hopes. He offered to help them search for her, but as yet his duties with the Ecclesia prevented him from joining them as they scoured every part of Instruere for news. To Mahnum his words simply did not ring true. How much did he truly love her, if he was not willing to put the Ecclesia aside for a short while for her sake? Stella had been wrong in her judgment of him, and Indrett had been right, he decided. The man was a social dilettante, one who played with the affections of others, who liked the sound of his own voice and the effects of his own power. She was well rid of him. But where was she?

Over the last few weeks they felt they'd searched the whole of Instruere, inside and out, every alley, every crooked street, marketplace and business house. Yet they knew this could not be so, as in all their inquiries they had not once come across any sign of Escaigne. And if Escaigne could hide itself effectively in Instruere, so could whoever hid Stella. They knew from their time at the markets that every year a number of people went missing in the Great City, never to be heard from again. The general opinion was that these were made up of some who vanished to escape bad debts or a wrathful lover, others who had been murdered for any number of reasons, from robbery to revenge, and a few who, so the whispers went, ended up as slaves to the rich and powerful. Still, none of the searchers seriously considered any of these possibilities had befallen Stella.

Just behind them and to their left a tall wooden building burst into flame. Mahnum cried a warning. The fire kept pace as they fled, running parallel with the southern wail, herding them towards the Struere Gate. Panic spread throughout the district as people tried to avoid the accelerating destruction. Perdu stumbled and fell, and was immediately trampled on by people desperate to escape the ruin of the Granaries. Without warning a bright orange flash lit the street, then a pulse of sound followed, so loud it blew them off their feet. Debris rained down from above. Just as the first of the crowd regained their feet a second, louder blast felled them again; then before they could do anything other than curl up, hands over their ears, a third explosion seemed to lift the very skin from the earth.

Indrett hauled herself to her feet, using a doorframe for support. The explosions had blown her across the street, where she fetched up against a tenement. Her left side hurt, her lip bled where she had bitten it involuntarily, and her ears rang so she could hear nothing else. Even so, her first thought was for Mahnum, and for a few awful moments she could not find him.

Eventually she located him lying with his legs in an open sewer, his torso half covered by the body of a man who had been pierced through by a piece of smouldering roofing timber. Mahnum groaned, coughed a little, then raised himself to his knees and retched.

First Farr, then Perdu, came to find them. The two men staggered out of the smoke and ruin of the street. Black smoke filled the air, billowing out from the shattered windows of warehouses and tenements set on fire by shrapnel. People struggled to their feet, looking for friends in the choking gloom, or tried to make their way somewhere, anywhere but here. A few prone figures made no movement. Indrett glanced to her left. Close by, at the end of the street which she now recognised as the south end of the Vitulian Way, lay the wreckage of the Struere Gate.

A cold thought stabbed through her mind. Is this the beginning of the Bhrndwan assault?

As she watched, half-expecting the armies of the Destroyer to come howling through the gate, a lone figure stepped into the gap, framed by chaos. The figure raised an arm. Something flared brightly in his hand, piercing the gloom. Indrett staggered forward a few feet, careless of the danger from further explosions. As the. smoke cleared, thinned by a fresh wind blowing through the open gate and by the light that pulsed like a heartbeat from the flame above the figure's head, she knew; and the tears began to flow. Indrett was joined by her husband, and together they called his name.

'Kurr! Haufuth! Over here!' The old farmer heard the shouts, but too much noise, too much movement all at once made it difficult for the voice to register. Around him men and women struggled to calm frightened animals and children, or dodge the occasional red-hot missile that fell from the enveloping darkness descending on them. Kurr hung on grimly to the reins of the lead camel, while at the same time trying to see through the smoke to ascertain whether all the travellers were unhurt, and wondering what had just happened to the Great City. Could this be the Bhrudwan army?

Then a figure materialised out of the smoke. Astonishingly, beyond all joy or hope, like a figure from a dream, the boy Leith stood before them. Mahnum's boy, grinning from ear to ear, with the Jugom Ark flaring brightly in his hand. He was almost unrecognisable in outlandishly foreign clothing, and there seemed to be a broad cut across his cheek and blood smeared across his face, which healed and disappeared even as he watched. The boy didn't seem to realise it had happened, and continued to grin widely at the old man.

'Took your time, didn't you, boy?' Kurr growled, trying to keep an answering smile from growing on his own face. 'Where did you get to? Never mind for now: I see you still have that pretty arrow thing. Well, I suppose we'd better have a think about what to do with it. Did that magician come with you?'

'I did,' said a stocky figure stepping up on to the road beside Leith. But what else he might have said was lost as Belladonna threw herself into his arms, crying inarticulate words of delight.

Now the remainder of the travellers gathered around, fractious animals forgotten in the joy of the unexpected reunion. Leith found his hand shaken and his back slapped, and though his friends were reluctant to embrace him, perhaps for fear of the bright arrow he carried, the boy from Loulea found himself weeping for sheer happiness. He was even able to look Hal in the eye and tell him sincerely that he was pleased to see him again. Most startling of all was seeing the Arkhos of Nemohaim standing at the back of the group, obviously eyeing the Jugom Ark with a mixture of covetousness and nervousness. He wanted to ask his friends what had happened, how this man came to be standing with them, but there were more immediate things he needed to do.

'So what happens now?' the Haufuth inquired of them all. As one, the travellers turned to Leith - who was already walking across the bridge towards Instruere.

'My parents are in there,' he called back over his shoulder. 'They are why we started on this adventure in the first place. I'm not doing anything else until I find them.'

He picked his way across the bridge, stepping over debris from the City and ignoring the soldiers who tried to accost him but who drew back when they saw what he carried. Kurr and the others looked on as Leith walked right through a sheet of flame without seeming to notice.

As they tried to keep up with him, they were forced to hug the railing on the far side of the bridge to avoid a place where the timber roadway had caught fire. They were still some distance behind when he stood, framed in the wreckage of the Struere Gate, and raised the Jugom Ark aloft.

He saw them as the smoke parted momentarily, then heard them call his name. He felt no surprise that of all the places they might have been, his companions were here to see him enter the City in triumph. Then he saw his parents, and all pretence of power, all confusion over what was happening to him, all his fears about what the future might bring were forgotten in an instant as he ran to his mother and father and their deep, enfolding embrace.

The Jugom Ark flickered quietly, unregarded in his hand, as the man and the woman were reunited with their son.

Deorc strode purposefully into his room, slammed the door shut behind him and took a key from his desk. Stella knew that key, and she took a deep breath to keep control of the fear that rose up within her.

'Time to inspect the progress of the battle, my queen,' the hateful man said as he undid her chains. She whimpered a little as feeling returned to her arms. Though Deorc did not seem particularly aware of her, preoccupied as he was with the conflict he had fomented, Stella did not attack him or try to escape. She remembered what he had done when she first tried, and kept still.

'Up to the tower, my queen!' he cried, almost gaily. She was to be married to the Destroyer, he told her - not quite truthfully, she thought, as she understood the Destroyer's words from the blue fire - so she would be Deorc's queen. But he had all the power, and he delighted in taking every opportunity to drive despair into her heart.

Pushing her ahead of him, Deorc and Stella made their way to the highest room in the tower above the House of Worship. They met a few people in the corridors, but so thoroughly had Deorc cowed those who worked there that none remarked on the bedraggled girl accompanying the dapper Head of the Council. Indeed, none gave any sign that there was anything amiss. Stella thought she recognised one man she saw as a member of the Council of Faltha. She couldn't remember his name, but dragged at the memory until she retrieved it, taking any chance to keep her mind working, focusing on anything but her predicament. The Arkhos of Firanes, that's who he was. Firanes! That's where I'm from!

He dragged her to a window, one of four quartering the circular room at the top of the tower.

'Gaze on the fruit of my master's plan!' he boasted. 'Look there!' He pointed out over the City, towards the south-west, where a vast plume of smoke hung. 'Escaigne, the sworn enemy of wicked, debauched Instruere, does his work! They have set fire to the Granaries, believing it would draw the Guard away from the heart of the City, leaving the Council vulnerable. It was a good plan! The only problem is that it was my plan! Ah, listen, my sweet. Can you not hear?' Against her wishes she heard faint cries and the sound of explosions. 'That is the sound of Escaignians and the Instruian Guard killing each other. I play them both like stringed instruments, one coun-terpointing the other, sending just enough reinforcements from The Pinion to keep the battle even and ensure the greatest number of deaths on both sides. See how I weaken the City, thus fulfilling my master's commands!'

Stella turned her head away, her mind's eye filling with imagined scenes of battle in which people died, people she knew from the market and the Ecclesia. Because of this man, the one she would have wed. His hand snaked out, grasping her jaw in a harsh grip, turning her head back to the window.

'Don't make me angry, my queen,' Deorc said from between clenched teeth. 'I have practised some new tricks which I long to show you. Is that what you want?' She shook her head, stomach icy with fear.

'Good. Since you desire so much to watch the destruction of Instruere, I will allow you to remain up here all afternoon. Keep a close watch, my queen. I shall ask you questions about it later. You wouldn't want to give me any wrong answers.' His level voice was more of a threat than any shout might have been.

'Now wait here until I bring back your jewellery.' He laughed his dry laugh and turned on his heel, as though grinding something in to the floor.

As soon as the door closed, Stella moved into a series of exercises. She needed the defiance, the self-assertion, whatever the risk, though she kept a careful ear for his footfall on the stone stairs. When he returned she acquiesced, as she always did since those terrifying first few days, not resisting as he chained her to a single bolt high on the wall, facing the south and east windows.

'I'll make sure you have plenty to look at,' Deorc promised her. 'And tonight, if you're good, I'll leave you here to watch the death of the Ecclesia.'

Stella tried to keep her renewed fear from showing on her face, but she must not have entirely succeeded, for the brute drew close and leered at her, his foul breath hot on her cheek. 'Oh, I neglected to inform you. I've invited the Ecclesia to join my party. We can't have a battle without allowing the fanatics to take part, now can we?'

The girl said nothing, but clearly Deorc enjoyed hurting her. 'Your friends will be invited too, don't worry. If you're lucky, you might just see the heroic dreams of your northerner friends end at the tip of a blade right below this tower. And if all goes well, I might let you be the one to tell our master of His great victory - and mine, of course.' He sneered at her, then left the room. Stella heard the key turn in the door. When she was sure he had truly gone, she hung her head and wept bitterly.

'What is happening here?'

Leith's question spoke for them all. They had no time to tell each other their stories. Still the explosions continued somewhere behind them in the Granaries district, not as violent as those that brought destruction to the Struere Gate, but threatening nonetheless. All around them buildings burned, with one or two of those ahead starting to smoke, and there was a very real possibility they might not escape this place if they remained much longer. Already they stood alone on the street, apart from a few unclaimed bodies.

'Somebody fired the Granaries,' Mahnum told them. 'Started at dawn. We were out on the streets looking for Stella - it's a tale we will tell when we cana"'

'Stella is missing?' The Haufuth moved to the front of the group. He turned his head this way and that as though he might see her somewhere on the street.

'As I said, it is a tale we will relate when we can. For now, let's go back to our lodgings, if we are able, if they're not on fire as well.'

'Who started the fire?' This from the Captain of the Guard as they began to walk hurriedly along the Vitulian Way, the Struere Gate behind them.

And who are you to ask?' Mahnum retorted.

'Now who wants to ask questions?' the Haufuth said gently. 'The man's question is a fair one.

He serves this City loyally, no matter how evil his master might be, and might be able to do something to save it. So who did start the fire?'

'The general belief among those helping put out the Granary fires is that it must be Escaigne.

They've committed similar acts before, apparently, but nothing on this scale.' The grim captain nodded, as if the information confirmed his own guess.

Indrett added: 'A few of the locals I spoke to tell of seeing strangely-clad men and women, and even some children, grappling with the guards. This likely convinced them the Escaignians are involved.'

Farr spoke up. 'I have a question. What is he doing here?' The mountain man indicated the Arkhos of Nemohaim, who walked among them without apology. 'More to the point, why is he still alive? I have the will and the skill to change that, if no one else has the stomach for it.'

He put a hand on his sword hilt.

'There is much to explain,' Hal put in. 'He gave us aid on the journey north, and we agreed to respect each other for the time being. We have a bargain to honour, and until the man proves unfaithful he may remain with us.'

'Are you collecting enemies like stray dogs?' Farr asked the cripple with a sneer in his voice.

'Such dogs turn on their masters when hungry. I, for one, do not want to make a meal for them!'

'We would have made a meal for a band of robbers, were it not for Achtal,' Kurr responded sharply. 'We would not have escaped from the Deep Desert if he had not rescued us. Don't be too quick to condemn others. Perhaps your brother might still be with us if those who knew him best had been more tolerant.'

'You have no right!' Farr cried, his anger blazing hot. 'You know nothing!'

'Enough!' The Haufuth stood between them. 'I thought you two had resolved your differences.

Can't this wait until we're somewhere safe?'

The two antagonists glared at each other and lapsed into silence. For some time the group walked briskly northwards, along the road. Clear sky opened up above them.

'So how do we stop the burning?' Leith asked eventually, glancing back behind him. 'Surely that is the most important question?'

'That, and then to decide what we do about the thing you carry in your hand,' Phemanderac stated firmly. 'We could spend our time battling the flames, or the Escaignians who started them, but surely we have forgotten our purpose? The Arkhimm has succeeded! We have reclaimed the Jugom Ark and brought it to the heart of Faltha! Now all we need to doa"'

'a"Is what?' the Haufuth finished for him. 'So we have an arrow that burns people's hands, all except his.' Involuntarily he lifted his own hand and placed it under his armpit, as though sheltering it from pain. 'It was never clear to me how this talisman would suddenly make everyone do as we tell them to.'

Geinor spoke, throat working, his thin voice barely under control. 'How can you doubt? Are you not a true Falthan? This is the Jugom Ark, the Arrow given to unite all true Falthans against the Destroyer, as spoken by the Most High Himself and relayed to us by Bewray of Nemohaim. I can testify personally to its efficacy. My hand was burned, and was instantly healed!'

And you are?' the Haufuth asked, holding his own hand against his chest. Tempers threatened to flare in the heat of this extraordinary morning.

'He is here at our place of lodging,' Indrett said brightly, keen to avert open argument. 'This is where we are staying. We have left the fire behind for the moment. Let us go inside and talk things over there.'

Tanghin strode up and down the platform in the Basement. The fervency of his delivery drew the crowd close to him so that even more of those waiting outside could squeeze in to listen.

Though it was late afternoon, and the nightly meetings did not begin until after sunset, a large crowd gathered.

Tanghin knew they would, after the great fires in the southern districts. To make sure, he spread word that something extraordinary would be happening. The curfew would be strictly enforced tonight, he whispered, so the meeting would begin early. Expecting the blue-robed Hermit, their usual speaker, the crowd was confused by the appearance of the handsome man from the Lore Market branch. Tanghin counted on this, and threw all his skill into the Wordweave he spun. This was a critical moment.

'We have been guilty of placing spiritual interpretations on the prophetic words we have been given,' he cried. 'We have mistakenly thought the fire would fall only in our hearts. Our founder, the Hermit from the north, gave us that interpretation. He had the message straight from the mouth of the Most High, but he failed us in its interpretation. Beware! Do not get caught up in deception! The Most High has come to visit us with fire, but not just a fire within. He has set the city of sin alight! He seeks to purge the Great Harlot of wickedness, of all her evil! He will not work with an unclean vessel. He will have us cleansed!'

The preacher ran a careful eye over the crowd. Despite the force of his words, and the underpinning of the Wordweave, a few people made their way from the Basement, faces set in puzzlement or anger. Troublemakers and wiseacres, he thought. Better off without them.

'Last night I gave my flock from Lore Market a word from the Most High Himself. I prophesied He would raise up a new movement to execute His will. See how I am proved correct! See how the City burns for its sins, as 1 foretold! The anointing has passed from the Hermit, the one who prepared the way, to me, the appointed one. I am here to immerse Instruere in fire, to supervise the spread of the flames across Faltha, until all the worldly governments are brought down and the greatest Power in the world is installed in their place.

'This new movement is made up of the men and women of Escaigne, whom the Most High caused to be set apart from their worldly fellows, dedicated unto purity. They have been raised up to tear down the ungodly Council of Faltha. Even now, right now as we speak together, they are fighting and dying on our behalf. Outnumbered and ill-equipped, Escaigne continues to challenge the Instruian Guard. They are fighting and dying for us! While we talk, they act!'

He paused for effect, and noticed the usual formulaic chorus of assent was absent. Good.

They're listening. They're hooked. On cue, a voice came from the crowd. 'So what do we do?'

Ah. The months of conditioning pay off. I could ask them to put their neighbours to death, or sacrifice their own children, and many of them would do it.

Quietly now, he continued. 'So what do we do, my sisters; my brothers? We fight. It is time for what has been placed inside us to come out. It is time to live - and to die - for the Most High. And where do we fight? It has been prophesied we are the spearhead of the next move of the Most High, and so we are. We are pointed squarely at the heart of Instruere. The Most High hurls us at the Council of Faltha! Go now, seek out your friends and acquaintances from other branches, and tell them to assemble in front of the Hall of Lore at sunset tonight. Bring your swords, bring your sticks and your clubs, bring your torches and your fire. Bring your wives and your husbands, your parents and your children. Bring the fire that has been set in your hearts, your courage and your purses to receive the largesse of the Most High Himself.

For we will burn the buildings of the ungodly to the ground, we will take their treasures for our own, and we will lift high the standard of our master!'

Cries of assent rang around the Basement. Really, he needn't have bothered with the Wordweave.

'Go now! Today is the day of decision, when you find out whether your faith is of the heart or of the mind only. If your faith is indeed of the heart, then meet me in front of the Hall of Lore at the setting of the sun. I will be there, revealed as the appointed one, and I will see that justice is delivered!'

With a mighty roar the crowd surged toward the door, which burst open. Within ten minutes the Basement emptied out, leaving Tanghin alone, laughing, laughing.

The hot autumn sun beat mercilessly on Stella as she hung from the wall of the high tower room. She could feel her skin burning in the glare, but could not move to protect herself.

Sweat blinded her, the salt stinging her eyes, and the joints in her tortured arms screamed their pain. For a time she rehearsed the bones of a plan in her mind. A desperate plan, a plan of revenge, not of escape, but even revenge would most likely be denied her. Yet she now hated Deorc - Tanghin -with a passion far exceeding her former regard for him; a hatred born of pain and humiliation. Her plan relied on what the Destroyer might do to her if ever he came to claim her. She practised and practised what she would do, what she would say, which thoughts she would display and which she would hide. She polished the plan like a precious stone, honed it like a sharp knife to slip between Deorc's ribs. Eventually her mind wandered, her thirst for revenge dissolving in the face of a bleak tiredness, her precious disciplines abandoned. Some time later her skin cooled, and a light breeze caressed her arms, waking her from fractured dreams. The breeze seemed the most beautiful thing ever to happen to her. She hung there for some time before opening her eyes. The sun had set, and the stars were out.

Stella blinked, and blinked again. The stars were below her, and they were moving. What had Tanghin done to her? What new illusion was this? No, they were not stars, but "torches.

Hundreds of people carrying torches filed down the streets that converged on the open space in front of the Hall of Lore. Coming to the slaughter.

The reconstituted Company spent the afternoon in deep conversation. Tales of remarkable adventure were told frankly and without embellishment, and listened to with few questions and little comment. All present realised the urgency of the moment. They heard about the journey of the Arkhimm, of the disaster of Joram Basin, of the separation of Ark and Arkhimm, and of the adventures encountered on the way back to Instruere. Leith told them of Nemohaim and the Pei-ra, and his companions marvelled anew at the flame in his hand.