She escorted him to the guarded exit at the rear of the fortress, where a doubled guard of ward-soldiers saluted her, eyeing the Dreamer askance with unconcealed fear. Outside, he did not wait for her lead, but climbed steadily up the winding mountain path. Lilias followed, a shadow of fear lying over her thoughts. Ushahin the Misbegotten, who could walk in the darkest places of the mortal mind. It was said he could drive Men mad with a glance. And she had thought, in her folly, that he would be less dangerous, less strange, than Tanaros Kingslayer.

Lilias, little sister.

Ahead on the ledge, a massive brightness shone, bronze scales gleaming in the sun. Calandor awaited them. At the sight of him, her heart lifted, the darkness clearing. “Calandor!”

“Liliasss.” The dragon bent his sinuous neck so she could press her cheek to the scale-plated warmth of his. Lifting his head, he fixed his slitted green stare on the half-breed. “Child of three rassses, ssson of none. What is it you ssseek?”

Ushahin stood unflinching. “Knowledge, Lord Calandor.”

A nictitating blink, the dragon’s slow smile. “You ssseek the Counsselor.”

“Yes.”

“He chasses the Prophesssy, Dreamsspinner.”

“I know that.” A muscle twitched along Ushahin’s jaw. “Where?”

“I do not know, Dreamssspinner.” Raising his head to its full height, Calandor gazed out over the dark green forests of Pelmar. “Uru-Alat is Sssundered, and Malthus the Counssselor was Shaped on the far ssside of that ssschism. Him, I cannot sssee, nor any weapon Shaped there. Only the effectss of their actions.”

“What actions?” His voice was taut. “Where?”

“In the desert of Haomane’s Wrath.” The dragon sounded amused and regretful. “Sssuch a sssmall choissse, on which to hinge ssso much. A boy and a bucket of water. Is that what you ssseek to know, ssson of no one?”

Ushahin, pale as death, nodded. “Yes.”

NINETEEN

NINETEEN

DARKHAVEN SHOOK WITH LORD SATORIS’ fury.

The very foundations trembled at the Shaper’s roar. Torches rattled in their sconces, flames casting wavering shadows against the black, marble walls. Overhead, storm clouds gathered and roiled, shot through with smoldering bolts of lightning. In the Chamber of the Font, the marrow-fire surged in blinding gouts and Godslayer pulsed, quick and erratic.

“Where?” the Shaper raged. “Where are they?”

Tanaros closed his eyes and touched the rhios in his pocket. “I do not know, my Lord Satoris,” he whispered.

“The Dreamspinner didn’t know, Lordship. Said the dragon couldn’t say.” Vorax tugged at one ear and scratched his beard. “Only it wasn’t heading here, like you’d think. Vedasia, he thought.” The Staccian shrugged. “Something about birds and Dwarfs.”

“It’s what the ravens saw, those who were shot.” Tanaros cleared his throat, summoning the will to meet the Shaper’s furious red stare. “Did Ushahin not speak to you of it, my Lord?”