“Do not be so quick to mourn him.” Malthus’ voice deepened, taking on resonance. He summoned a smile, though a shadow of sorrow hovered beneath it. In the depths of his Soumanië, a bright spark kindled. “He is stronger than you reckon, and more resourceful. Take hope, child.”

Fianna bowed her head in acquiescence, even as Lorenlasse of Valmaré lifted his in defiance. “Child!” he said scornfully. “A mortal may be, but I am not, Counselor. If you had protected this Bearer better, we would not have to cling to this desperate hope. Better still if you had spent your vaunted wisdom in protecting the Lady Cerelinde, on whom Haomane’s Prophecy depends.”

“Lorenlasse.” Peldras touched the Ellyl warrior’s arm. “Listen—”

“Let me be, kinsman.” Lorenlasse shook off his touch.

“Child.” Malthus’ voice, gaining in power, rolled around the confines of the tent. He closed the lid of the coffer with a thud, extinguishing the light of the tourmaline. “Haomane’s Child. Do not mistake what we do here! Our hopes ride upon the Bearer as surely as they do upon the Lady; indeed, even more.”

Lorenlasse of Valmaré stared at him with bright Ellyl eyes. “It is too small a hope, Counselor.”

“No.” Malthus spoke the word softly, and although he damped the power in his voice, it surged through his being, emanating from the Soumanië on his breast. He laughed; an unexpected sound, free and glad, his arms spreading wide. Despite fear, despite sorrow, he opened his arms in embrace. The light he had quenched upon closing the coffer resurged threefold, dazzling, from the clear Soumanië. “No, Haomane’s Child. While hope lives, it is never too small.”

They believed, then; they hoped. All around the tent, backs straightened and eyes kindled. Only Aracus Altorus sighed, bowing his red-gold head. A mortal Man, he felt the burden of those lives he must send into battle.

“Counselor,” he said heavily. “It is in my heart that you are right. The Bearer’s quest is his own, and there is no aid we may give him. All we can do is afford him the opportunity, by pursuing our own goals.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “At least insofar as we may. The Sunderer has had many years in which to render Darkhaven unassailable.”

A silence followed his words, but Malthus smiled and the clear light of his Soumanië was undimmed. “Trust me, Son of Altorus,” he said. “I know Satoris Banewreaker. I have a plan.”

THEY FLED FOR SEVERAL LEAGUES before they rested, following the hidden route of the White River, which went to earth outside Neherinach. Once they did, Dani found himself shuddering all over. He felt unfamiliar in his own skin. Within his narrow breast, his heart pounded like a drum.