“No,” Tanaros murmured. “It doesn’t.”

“Well, then.” Speros shrugged. “If you ask me, Lord General, I think you worry too much. This is a problem, aye, but you see that?” He pointed to the ceiling. “By my gauge, there’s a good twenty fathoms of solid rock there. At this rate, it ought to hold until Aracus Altorus is old and grey. And by that time, Haomane’s Allies may as well call off the siege—and make no mistake, Lord General, Darkhaven can hold out that long, fortified as it is!—because now that I’ve seen her with my own two eyes, I don’t see the Lady Cerelinde taking some doddering old mortal relic into her bed, Prophecy or no. So then it’s too bad for them, try again in another generation or three, and meanwhile Lord Satoris can pluck Godslayer out of the marrow-fire and put this right. Do you see?”

Tanaros laughed. “Clear as day. My thanks, lad.”

“Aye, sir.” Speros grinned at him. “So what would you have me do here?”

“Seal the breach,” Tanaros said. “If it is all we can do, we will do it.”

BY THE SECOND DAY, IT seemed to Dani that his entire life had consisted of running, stumbling and exhausted, across a barren grey landscape. It was hard to remember there had ever been anything else. The sun, rising in the east and moving westward, meant nothing. Time was measured by the rasp of air in his dry throat, by one foot placed in front of another.

He would never have made it without Uncle Thulu. What vigor the Water of Life had imparted, his uncle was determined not to waste. He was Yarru-yami, and he knew the virtue of making the most of water. His desert-born flesh, accustomed to privation, hoarded the Water of Life. When Dani flagged, Uncle Thulu cajoled and exhorted him. When his strength gave way altogether, Thulu gathered moss while Dani rested, grinding it to a paste and making him eat until he found the will to continue.

On they went, on and on and on.

The terrain was unforgiving. Each footfall was jarring, setting off a new ache in every bone of Dani’s body, every weary joint. His half-healed collarbone throbbed unceasingly, every step sending a jolt of pain down his left arm. On those patches of ground where the moss cushioned his steps, it also concealed sharp rocks that bruised the tough soles of his feet.

When darkness fell, they slept for a few precious hours; then there was Uncle Thulu, shaking him awake.

“Come on, lad.” Rueful compassion was in his voice, coupled with a reserve of energy that made Dani want to curl up and weep for envy. “You can sleep when you’re dead! And if we wait, the Fjeltroll will see to it for you.”