Lilias waited in the cavern, composed and steady, watching the node-light surge, fitful and red, answering pulses traveling eastward along the branching Ways. One was coming, one of the Branded.

This time, she was ready.

Beshtanag was ready.

A wall of stone encompassed the mountain’s base; granite, seamless and polished. And though she was exhausted in limb and spirit, the wall stood. Only the narrowest gap remained, and the raw stone was heaped in piles, awaiting her mind’s touch to close the gap. The cisterns were full, the storerooms stocked.

There came a figure, blurred—lurching, uneven, an impression of limbs frozen in motion, too swift across Time to register, of pale, shining hair and mismatched eyes. A crooked grimace, caught redly in the node-light’s sudden flare.

“Dreamer.” Lilias inclined her head.

“Sorceress.” For all his body was damaged, he emerged from the Ways with an odd, hunch-shouldered grace, inclining his head. When all was said and done, although he spoke Pelmaran with an accent undistinguishable from her own, he was still half-Ellyl. “I bring you greetings from Darkhaven.”

“Is there news?” Raising her brows, she felt the weight of the Soumanië.

“Yes, and no.” Ushahin drew a deep breath. “Lady, let us confer.”

He followed her through the tunnels into the fasthold of Beshtanag, into the rose-and-amber luxury of her drawing-room, where Sarika knelt waiting to serve them. He spared one glance at the girl, and took sparingly of the offered refreshments.

“The Ways do not tax you as they do the General,” Lilias observed.

“No.” Ushahin took a sip of water, cool from the cistern. “Tanaros wields a mighty sword, and a mighty command of battle. I have … other skills. It is why I am here. Lady Sorceress, what news of Haomane’s Allies?”

“They converge upon Kranac.” Nervous, Lilias ran a finger underneath Sarika’s collar of Beshtanagi silver, wrought in fine links, felt the girl lean adoringly against her knee, offering her soft throat. Calandor had showed her how to bind them to the Soumanië, to her will. “Is that not in accordance with your Lordship’s plan?”

“Yes.” The half-breed’s eyes uneven pupils shone. “What of Malthus?”

“Malthus the Counselor?” Lilias blinked. “There is no news. Why?”

The Dreamer turned his head, considering the unused spinning-wheel collecting dust in the comer. “Because I have no news of him either,” he said softly. “Sorceress, is Beshtanag ready for assault?”

“It is,” Lilias said grimly, straightening. “Do you say the plan has changed?”

“No.” After a pause, Ushahin shook his head with a susurrus of shimmering hair. “No,” he said, strongly. “I leave you to travel the Ways to Jakar, on the outskirts of Pelmar. There, where the forest of Pelmar abuts the Unknown Desert, is a node, a portal of the Marasoumië. There, two units of mounted Rukhari tribesmen await the arrival of our troops. Lord Vorax has sworn it is so. Do you doubt?”

“No,” Lilias whispered, asking silently, Calandor?