Her thin face lit with a fleeting smile. It made her beautiful. But then her eyes darkened with shadows, and before he could shift out of reach she wrapped her fingers round his wrist.

“You mustn’t breathe a word of this, Jervale. Not to anyone. You must keep my secrets secret. Lur’s safety depends on that. The life of every Olken and Doranen depends on it. Swear you won’t repeat what you know, that you won’t betray me. Swear it!”

He pulled himself free. “I won’t be swearing anything to the likes of you, Barl Lindin! Who are you to ask me to hold my tongue?”

“I’m the mage who wants to save Lur from the drought… and from Morgan. Would you be the mage who lets Lur wither, and bares its parched throat to his blade?”

The sharp question stabbed him. The weight of Lur and every Olken on his shoulders… he’d never asked for this.

“I told you,” he said, scowling. “I ain’t a mage.”

“Whatever you are, Jervale, you stand at a crossroads,” said Barl Lindin. Her eyes were glittering again, shadows chased away by purpose. “And the fate of your people turns on this moment.”

She was so young. How could she be so dangerous and so young?

The fate of my people… and her people… and the world.

He felt his head swim. His blood thunder. He felt the ground tilt beneath his feet. Saw again that lush green farmland, and heard the twinned joyful voices singing in his bones. Instinct stirred again, sharply prodding.

“All right,” he muttered. “I’ll hold my tongue. For now. But if it seems to me you’re rushing us down a road as’ll lead nowhere but trouble, then I’ll speak up. I’ll have to. And if that time comes, you’ll show us all what kind of mage you are. What kind of folk you are.” His belly twisted. “You Doranen.”

And with that, he turned his back on her and walked away. What happened next would happen. He’d wait and see what else his dreams had to say.

Alone in the woods, Barl slid from the fallen tree-trunk to the cool, leaf-littered woodland floor and opened herself completely to the land of Lur. Watching the Olken, Jervale, as he’d summoned the foxes, feeling the way Lur’s unique magic moved in him, moved him, feeling it suffuse her blood, she’d begun to see her way. Had seen, in brief glimpses, how she could weave Doranen and Olken magics together… or, at least, how it was possible. But whether she was mage enough to achieve such a feat was another question entirely.

But I have to be. To fail is to condemn all of us to death.

She had to keep reminding herself of that. It would be too easy to let fear incant her into a coward, if she didn’t.