There, he found seven minds sheltered, warded against incursions in one manner or another. One, that shone like a red star, he avoided like plague. One was Ellyl, and made him shudder. One was wary, bound with suspicion. One dreamed only of the bow’s tension, the drawn string quivering, the arrow’s quick release.

One dreamed of water, following the veins of the earth, carrying a digging-stick.

One dreamed of marrow-fire and clutched his throat.

But one; ah! One seethed with resentment and dreamed of what displeased him, and his envy made brittle the wardings that protected him until his thoughts trickled through the cracks and he might be known, his place located and found upon the face of Urulat, his destination discerned. Hobard of Malumdoorn was his name, and he was Vedasian. A young knight, given his spurs only because of his family’s long association with the Dwarfs and the secret they guarded. Were it not for that, he would never have been knighted, never sent to Meronil to confer with the wise.

Never chosen for the Company of Malthus.

In the darkness, Ushahin smiled, and woke.

Sitting cross-legged, he summoned the ravens of Darkhaven.

TEN

TEN

SUNLIGHT FLOODED THE GREAT HALL of Meronil, streaming through the tall windows. The slender panes of translucent blue flanking the clear expanses of glass laid bars of sapphire light across the polished wood of the long table.

Ingolin the Wise surveyed those assembled.

“There are tidings,” he said to them. “Good and ill.”

“Give us the bad news.” It was Aracus Altorus who spoke. The loss of Cerelinde had struck him hard, etching lines of sorrow and self-blame into his features. No longer did the ageless Ellylon behold the Altorian king-in-exile and reckon him young for one of his kind.

“The Lady Cerelinde’s abductors elude us,” Ingolin said. “Even now, we pursue them across the waters. But hope dwindles.”

“Why?” Aracus’ voice was grim. “Do our allies fail us?”

Duke Bornin of Seahold cleared his throat. “Kinsman, I have bargained with the Council of Harrington Bay on our behalf, and all aid they have given us. This much is known. The miscreants booked passage to Port Calibus aboard the Ilona’s Gull. Witnesses in the harbor attest to the fact that the Lady Cerelinde was with them, and seemingly unharmed. But,” he said somberly, “ships returning from Vedasia report passing no such vessel en route. I fear they changed their course at sea.”

There was silence in the great hall.

“So we have lost them?” A single frown-line knit the perfect brow of the Lady Nerinil, who spoke for the surviving members of the House of Numireth.

“Yes.” Ingolin bowed his head to her. “For now. If they are bound for Port Calibus, we will intercept them there. If not—”