His thoughts turned momentarily from Panterra Qu to the matter of the Drouj prisoner and the threat from the army encamped outside the valley. Somehow he must find a way to meet with the Maturen of these people so that he could discuss their mutual interests in the fate of the valley. The Drouj would not believe there were such interests, of course, but Skeal Eile would persuade him otherwise. There was something for everyone in this; it just had to be explained in terms they could understand.

For that, he might need the aid of the Maturen’s son, which meant finding a way to spirit him out of Glensk Wood without being discovered. Or at least keeping him close enough that he could make use of him when it was necessary.

Skeal Eile had been thinking about his future long and hard ever since the boy had brought word to the village council of the collapse of the protective wall. The world was changing, and there was no going back to the way things had been. Life in the valley would change, and those who survived it would have to start over. Those inside and outside, whatever species they were, would be joined in the search for a harmonious relationship. The consequences of doing that could be brutal, but there was no escaping the inevitable. What was needed was a way of avoiding the worst of it, and he had already determined that strength of arms on the battlefield, in whatever form, would not be enough to protect the faithful.

Or himself.

What was needed was something else entirely. Something that only he, with his considerable skills and special talents, could manage.

He reached the old cabin while it was still light, the forest surrounding the dilapidated structure thick with biting insects and deep layers of seething heat. It was not a place for the faint of heart or the unwary, but Skeal Eile was neither of these. He cloaked himself in scents to repel the insects and a lifetime of steely resolve to ward off the heat, then walked to the porch and stood waiting.

This time, the old man did not appear. Instead, Bonnasaint walked out of the house and stood looking down at the Seraphic, his young face beatific and shining with an inner light. I am innocent of all crimes, it seemed to say. I am at peace with who I am.

Which he probably was, Skeal Eile realized. Madness took many different forms.

“Your Eminence,” the boy greeted him, bowing low at the waist, extending his arms. “What service can I perform for you?”

“Do you remember the boy and girl whom I sent you to find in the city of Arborlon some weeks back?”

“Of course.”

“You failed in your efforts on that occasion, but chance and circumstance present a fresh opportunity. What do you say?”