The two women walked along a street where blacksmith's iron rang upon anvils. Overhead, balconies of second-floor houses leaned out over the narrow roadway, blocking the sunlight at intervals. Turning left at a crossing of lanes, Laesha led her past an open area where the noise and the smell of food announced a market. Slowing to look, Jennifer saw that even in a time of festival there didn't seem to be much produce on display. Following her glance, Laesha shook her head slightly and continued up a narrow alleyway, pausing at length outside a shop door through which could be seen bales and bolts of cloth. Laesha, it seemed, wanted a new pair of gloves.

While her friend went inside, Jennifer moved on a few steps, drawn by the sound of children's laughter. Reaching the end of the cobbled lane, she saw that it ran into a wide square with a grassy area, more brown than green, in the center. And upon the grass, fifteen or twenty children were playing some sort of counting game. Smiling faintly, Jennifer stopped to watch.

The children were gathered in a loose circle about the slim figure of a girl. Most of them were laughing, but the girl in the center was not. She gestured suddenly, and a boy came forward from the ring with a strip of cloth and, with a gravity that matched her own, began to bind it over her eyes. That done, he rejoined the ring. At his nod the children linked hands and began to revolve, in a silence eerie after the laughter, around the motionless figure blindfolded in the center. They moved gravely and with dignity. A few other people had stopped to watch.

Then, without warning, the blindfolded girl raised an arm and pointed it towards the moving ring. Her high clear voice rang out over the green: When the wandering fire Strikes the heart of stone Will you follow?

And on the last word the circling stopped.

The girl's finger was leveled directly at a stocky boy, who, without any hesitation, released the hands on either side of him and walked into the ring. The circle closed itself and began moving again, still in silence.

"I never tire of watching this," a cool voice said from just behind Jennifer.

She turned quickly. To confront a pair of icy green eyes and the long red hair of the High Priestess, Jaelle. Behind the Priestess she could see a group of her grey-clad attendants, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Diarmuid's man edging nervously closer to them.

Jennifer nodded a greeting, then turned back to watch the children. Jaelle stepped forward to stand beside her, her white robe brushing the cobblestones of the street.

"The ta'kiena is as old as any ritual we have," she murmured in Jennifer's ear. "Look at the people watching."

And indeed, although the faces of the children seemed almost unnaturally serene, the adults who had gathered at the edge of the square or in shop archways wore expressions of wonder and apprehension. And there were more people gathering. Again the girl in the ring raised her arm.

When the wandering fire Strikes the heart of stone Will you follow?

Will you leave your home?

And again the circling stopped on the last word. This time the extended finger pointed to another of the boys, older and lankier than the first. With only a brief, almost ironic pause, he, too, released the hands he was holding and walked forward to stand by the other chosen one. A murmur rose from the watchers, but the children, seemingly oblivious, were circling again.

Unsettled, Jennifer turned to the impassive profile of the Priestess. "What is it?" she asked. "What are they doing?"

Jaelle smiled thinly. "It is a dance of prophecy. Their fate lies in when they are called."

"But what-"

"Watch!"

The blindfolded girl, standing straight and tall, was chanting again: When the wandering fire Strikes the heart of stone Will you follow?

Will you leave your home?

Will you leave your life ?

This time, when the voice and the dancing stopped together, a deep sound of protest ran through the watching crowd. For the one chosen now was one of the youngest girls. With a toss of her honey-colored hair and a cheerful smile, she stepped into the ring beside the two boys. The taller one placed an arm around her shoulders.

Jennifer turned to Jaelle. "What does it mean?" she asked. "What kind of prophecy...?" The question trailed off.

Beside her the Priestess was silent. There was no gentleness in the lines of her face, nor compassion in her eyes as she watched the children begin to move again. "You ask what it means," she said at length. "Not much in these soft times, when the ta'kiena is only another game. That last one they now say means only that she will leave the life her family has led." Her expression was unreadable, but an irony in the tone reached Jennifer.

"What was it before?" she asked.

This time Jaelle did turn to look at her. "The dance has been done by children for longer than anyone can remember. In harsher days that call meant death, of course. Which would be a pity. She's an attractive child, isn't she?"

There was a malicious amusement in the voice. "Watch closely," Jaelle continued. "This last one they truly fear, even now." And indeed, the people around and behind them had grown suddenly quiet with strained anticipation. In the stillness Jennifer could hear the sounds of laughter from the market, several streets over. It seemed farther than that.

In the circle on the green, the blindfolded girl raised her arm and began the chant for the final time: When the wandering fire Strikes the heart of stone Will you follow?

Will you leave your home?

Will you leave your life?

Will you take... the Longest Road?

The dancing stopped.

Her heart pounding inexplicably, Jennifer saw that the slim finger was pointing unerringly at the boy who had carried the blindfold. Raising his head, as if hearing some far-off music, the boy stepped forward. The girl removed her blindfold. They regarded each other a long moment, then the boy turned, laid a hand, as if in benediction, on the other chosen ones, and walked alone from the green.

Jaelle, watching him go, wore a troubled expression for the first time. Glancing at her unguarded features, Jennifer realized with a start how young the woman beside her was. About to speak, she was checked by the sound of crying, and, turning her head, she saw a woman standing in the doorway of a shop behind them in the lane; there were tears pouring down her face.

Jaelle followed Jennifer's glance. "His mother," the Priestess said softly.

Feeling utterly helpless, Jennifer had an instinctive longing to offer comfort to the woman. Their eyes met, and on the face of the other woman Jennifer saw, with an aching twist of new understanding, a distillation of all a mother's sleepless nights. A message, a recognition, seemed to pass for an instant between the two of them, then the mother of the boy chosen for the Longest Road turned her head away and went into her shop.

Jennifer, struggling with something unexpected, finally asked Jaelle, "Why is she hurting so much?"

The Priestess, too, was a little subdued. "It is difficult," she said, "and not a thing I understand yet, but they have done the dance twice before this summer, I am told, and both times Finn was chosen for the Road. This is the third, and in Gwen Ystrat we are taught that three times touches destiny."

Jennifer's expression drew a smile from the Priestess. "Come," she said. "We can talk at the Temple." Her tone was, if not exactly friendly, at least milder than hitherto.

On the verge of accepting, Jennifer was stopped by a cough behind her.

She turned. Diarmuid's man had moved up to them, sharp concern creasing his face. "My lady," he said, acutely embarrassed, "forgive me, but might I speak with you in private for a moment."

"You fear me, Drance?" Jaelle's voice was like a knife again. She laughed. "Or should I say your master does? Your absent master."

The stocky soldier flushed, but held his ground. "I have been ordered to watch over her," he said tersely.

Jennifer looked from one to the other. There was suddenly an electric hostility shimmering in the air. She felt disoriented, understanding none of it.

"Well," she said to Drance, trying to pick her way, "I don't want to get you in trouble-why don't you just come with us?"

Jaelle threw her head back and laughed again, to see the man's terrified recoil. "Yes, Drance," she said, her tone coruscating, "why don't you come to the Temple of the Mother with us?"

"My lady," Drance stammered, appealing to Jennifer. "Please, I dare not do that... but I must guard you. You must not go there."

"Ah!" said Jaelle, her eyebrows arched maliciously. "It seems that the men here are already saying what you can or cannot do. Forgive me my invitation. I thought I was dealing with a free visitor."

Jennifer was not oblivious to the manipulation, and she remembered Kevin's words that morning as well: "There's some danger here," he'd said soberly. "Trust Diarmuid's men, and Matt, of course. Paul says be careful of the Priestess. Don't go anywhere on your own."

In the dawn shadows of the palace, it had made a good deal of sense, but now, in bright afternoon sunlight, the whole thing was rankling just a little. Who was Kevin, making his way through the court ladies, then galloping off with the Prince, to tell her to sit tight like a dutiful little girl? And now this man of Diarmuid's...

About to speak, she remembered something else. She turned to Jaelle. "There seems to be some real concern for our safety here. I would like to place myself under your protection while I visit your Temple. Will you name me a guest-friend before I go?"

A frown flicked across Jaelle's face, but it was chased away by a slow smile, and there was triumph in her eyes.

"Of course," she said sweetly. "Of course I will." She raised her voice so that her words rang out over the street, and people turned to look. Lifting her arms wide, fingers spread, she intoned, "In the name of Gwen Ystrat and the Mormae of the Mother, I name you guest of the Goddess. You are welcome in our sanctuaries, and your well-being shall be my own concern."

Jennifer looked to Drance, questioningly. His expression was not reassuring; if possible, he appeared even more consternated than before. Jennifer had no idea if she'd done right or wrong, or even of exactly what she'd done, but she was tired of standing in the middle of the street with everyone watching her.

"Thank you," she said to Jaelle. "In that case, I will come with you. If you like," she added, turning to Drance, and to Laesha, who had just scurried up, her new gloves in hand and an apprehensive look in her eye, "you can both wait outside for me."

"Come, then," said Jaelle, and smiled.

It was a low-set building, and even the central dome seemed too close to the ground, until Jennifer realized, as she passed through the arched entrance, that most of it was underground.

The Temple of the Mother Goddess lay east of the town on the palace hill. A narrow pathway wound its way further up the hill, leading to a gate in the walls surrounding the palace gardens. There were trees lining the path. They seemed to be dying.

Once they were inside the sanctuary, the grey-robed attendants melted away into shadow as Jaelle led Jennifer forward through another arch. It brought them into the room under the dome. At the far side of the sunken chamber Jennifer saw a great black altar stone. Behind it, resting in a carved block of wood, stood a double axe, each face ground into the shape of a crescent moon, one waxing, one waning.

There was nothing else.

Inexplicably, Jennifer felt her mouth go dry. Looking at the axe with its wickedly sharpened blades, she fought to repress a shudder.

"Do not fight it," Jaelle said, her voice echoing in the empty chamber. "It is your power. Ours. So it was once, and will be again. In our time, if she should find us worthy."

Jennifer stared at her. The flame-haired High Priestess in her sanctuary seemed more keenly beautiful than ever. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that was the more disturbing because of how cold it was. Power and pride, it spoke; nothing of tenderness, and no more of her youth. Glancing at Jaelle's long fingers, Jennifer wondered if they had ever gripped that axe, had ever brought it sweeping down upon the altar, down upon- And then she realized that she was in a place of sacrifice.

Jaelle turned without haste. "I wanted you to see this," she said. "Now come. My chambers are cool, we can drink and talk." She adjusted the collar of her robe with a graceful hand and led the way from the room. As they left, a breeze seemed to slide through the chamber, and Jennifer thought she saw the axe sway gently in its rest.

"And so," the Priestess said, as they reclined on cushions on the floor in her room, "your so-called companions have abandoned you for their own pleasures." It was not a question.

Jennifer blinked. "Hardly fair," she began, wondering how the other woman knew. "You might say I've left them to come here." She tried a smile.

"You might," Jaelle agreed pleasantly, "but it would be untrue. The two men left at dawn with the princeling, and your friend has run off to the hag by the lake." Midway through the sentence, her voice had dipped itself into acid, leading Jennifer to realize abruptly that she was under attack in this room.

She parried, to get her balance. "Kim's with the Seer, yes. Why do you call her a hag?"

Jaelle was no longer so pleasant. "I am not used to explaining myself," she said.

"Neither am I," replied Jennifer quickly. "Which may limit this conversation somewhat." She leaned back on the cushions and regarded the other woman.

Jaelle's reply, when it came, was harsh with emotion. "She is a traitor."

"Well, that's not the same as a hag, you know," Jennifer said, aware that she was arguing like Kevin. "A traitor to the King, you mean? I wouldn't have thought you'd care, and yesterday-"

Jaelle's bitter laugh stopped her. "No, not to the old fool!" She took a breath. "The woman you call Ysanne was the youngest person ever to be named to the Mormae of the goddess in Gwen Ystrat. She left. She broke an oath when she left. She betrayed her power."

"She betrayed you personally, you mean," Jennifer said, staying on the offensive.

"Don't be a fool! I wasn't even alive."

"No? You seem pretty upset about it, though. Why did she leave?"

"For no reason that could suffice. Nothing could suffice."

The clues were all there. "She left for a man, then, I take it," Jennifer said.

The ensuing silence was her answer. At length Jaelle spoke again, her voice bitter, cold. "She sold herself for a body at night. May the hag die soon and lie lost forever."

Jennifer swallowed. A point-scoring exchange had suddenly been turned into something else. "Not very forgiving, are you?" she managed.

"Not at all," Jaelle replied swiftly. "You would do well to remember it. Why did Loren leave for the north this morning?"

"I don't know," Jennifer stammered, shocked by the naked threat.

"You don't? A strange thing to do, is it not? To bring guests to the palace, then ride off alone. Leaving Matt behind, which is very strange. I wonder," said Jaelle. "I wonder who he was looking for? How many of you really did cross?"

It was too sudden, too shrewd. Jennifer, heart pounding, was aware that she had flushed.

"You look warm," Jaelle said, all solicitude. "Do have some wine." She poured from a long-necked silver decanter. "Really," she continued, "it is most uncharacteristic of Loren to abandon guests so suddenly."

"I wouldn't know," Jennifer said. "There are four of us. None of us knows him very well. The wine is excellent."

"It is from Morvran. I am glad you like it. I could swear Metran asked him to bring five of you."

So Loren had been wrong. Someone did know. Someone knew a great deal indeed.

"Who is Metran?" Jennifer asked disingenuously. "Was he the old man you frightened so much yesterday?"

Balked, Jaelle leaned back on her own cushions. In the silence Jennifer sipped her wine, pleased to see that her hand was steady.

"You trust him, don't you?" the Priestess said bitterly. "He has warned you against me. They all have. Silvercloak angles for power here as much as anyone, but you have aligned yourself with the men, it seems. Tell me, which of them is your lover, or has Diarmuid found your bed yet?"

Which was quite sufficient, thank you. Jennifer shot to her feet. Her wine glass spilled; she ignored it. "Is this how you treat a guest?" she burst out. "I came here in good faith-what right have you to say such things to me? I'm not aligned with anyone in your stupid power games. I'm only here for a few days-do you think I care who wins your little battles? I'll tell you one thing, though," she went on, breathing hard, "I'm not happy about male control in my world, either, but I've never in my life met anyone as screwed up on the subject as you are. If Ysanne fell in love-well, I doubt you can even guess what that feels like!"

White and rigid, Jaelle looked up at her, then rose in her turn. "You may be right," she said softly, "but something tells me that you have no idea what it feels like, either. Which gives us a thing in common, doesn't it?"

Back in her room a short while later, Jennifer closed the door on Laesha and Drance and cried about that for a long time.

The day crawled forward webbed in heat. A dry, unsettling wind rose in the north and slid through the High Kingdom, stirring the dust in the streets of Paras Derval like an uneasy ghost. The sun, westering at the end of day, shone red. Only at twilight was there any relief, as the wind shifted to the west, and the first stars came out in the sky over Brennin.

Very late that night, north and west of the capital, the breeze stirred the waters of a lake to muted murmuring. On a wide rock by the shore, under the lace-work of the stars, an old woman knelt, cradling the slight form of a younger one, on whose finger a red ring shone with a muted glimmering.

After a long time, Ysanne rose and called for Tyrth. Limping, he came from the cottage and, picking up the unconscious girl, walked back and laid her down in the bed he'd made that afternoon.

She remained unconscious for the rest of the night and all the next day. Ysanne did not sleep, but watched her through the hours of darkness, and then in the searing brightness of the following day, and on the face of the old Seer was an expression only one man, long dead, would have recognized.

Kimberly woke at sunset. Away to the south in that moment, Kevin and Paul were taking up their positions with Diarmuid's men outside the walls of Larai Rigal.

For a moment, Kim was completely disoriented, then the Seer watched as a brutal surge of knowledge came flooding into the grey eyes. Lifting her head, Kim gazed at the old woman. Outside, Tyrth could be heard shutting up the animals for the night. The cat lay on the window sill in the last of the evening light.