That he did, Dani of the Yarru, earnest of face, approaching the dead branch in all seriousness. He reminded Carfax, unexpectedly, of Turin, the young Staccian in his command. He’d taken his duties thus seriously, Turin had, given the difficult task of impersonating an Ellyl maiden. It had galled him to be left out of their ill-fated attack on the Company of Malthus. Remembering the barrows of grass where his comrades had fallen, Carfax was glad he’d spared the lad. He wondered if the young Staccian and his two companions had made it safely to Beshtanag, and hoped they had. In the silence of his locked tongue Carfax hoped, very much, that Lord Satoris’ plans were uncompromised.

Dani squatted before the branch, laying hands upon it.

Pale and weathered and grey, the dead wood; the boy’s palms were pale too, lined and weathered. He cupped them together, and the radiating lines met to form a star in the hollow of his palms. He bowed his ragged head as if listening, and his uncle, his fat uncle, chanted low under his breath, grinning. Blaise raised an eyebrow. The Archer bit her lip. In the orchard, with the sweet smell of sun-warmed apples in the air, the Dwarfs gathered close, watching.

Dani uncorked the vial at his neck.

One drop; one drop of water he let gather at the lip of the vial. One drop. And it smelled—oh, Shapers! Carfax inhaled deeply, unable to help himself. It smelled … like water. Like life, dense and condensed, mineral-rich. It swelled, gathering roundness, shining bright as steel. Swelled, rounded …

… dropped.

Greenness, dizzying and sudden, as the earth rang like a struck bell. Urgent leaves burst from the dead wood, a riot of green. Twigs sprouted and grew buds, blossoms opened, releasing sweet fragrance. Pierced by plunging roots, the very soil buckled, even as the branch thickened into a sapling’s trunk.

“Aiee!” Dani leapt back, wide-eyed, clutching his flask. “I did that?”

“You did.” Malthus smiled, laying a hand on the little Yarru-yami’s shoulder. There was approval in his grave features, and at his breast, the Soumanië lay quiescent and dark; a red gem, nothing more. “You did, Dani.”

Gazing at the tree, the assembled Dwarfs murmured in awe.

“The Water of Life,” the Elder Haldol said. “That is what he carries.”

“Yes.” Malthus inclined his head, one hand still resting on Dani’s shoulder. “The lifeblood of Uru-Alat. He is the Bearer. Has he met your challenge, Earth-Tender?”

In the silence that followed, Haldol of the Dwarfs sighed, and the weight of the world was in that sigh, his broad, sturdy shoulders slumping. “Yrinna’s Peace is ended,” he whispered, then straightened, a terrible dignity in his features. “So be it. Counselor, that which you sought shall be yours.”

“It was not yours to keep, Elder,” Malthus said gently.