“He’s a Light Other,” said Semyon, nodding. “But not one of us. Maybe in a year’s time he would have been one of us. Maybe in a month. But not yet. You say yourself there’s no way we can beat this thing. Why would it be better if we all died?”

“But how do we know it’s impossible?” I asked indignantly.

“Judging from the skirmish this afternoon, it is impossible,” Semyon replied calmly. “We don’t have a chance. And wiping out the Watch for the sake of one Other is stupid.”

“Semyon’s right,” said Alisher, nodding. “I’m not afraid of being killed in battle, if there’s a chance of winning. But this—this is a game beyond our level. I saw him . . . and I didn’t like what I saw. Let’s hope Gesar can teach the kid to prophesy.”

“But you just said that if you have to fight it doesn’t matter if you win or not!”

“Right. But we don’t have to fight on this one.”

I looked at Las.

“Why does the Prophet have to be an obnoxious little kid and not a beautiful young girl?” Las exclaimed. “There’s no motivation to sacrifice yourself!”

“I thought you were about to get baptized . . .” I reminded him.

“Exactly. I want to be able to do that. You know, even those thick-skulled knights who picked a fight at every chance they got only dashed off to do battle with a dragon if it had carried off a delightful young maiden, not some scruffy brat of a shepherd boy.”

“How egotistical your motivation is,” I said sarcastically.

“Aesthetic,” Las corrected me. “If I’m going to sacrifice myself, I want the goal to be exalted.”

“And the life of a Prophet isn’t an exalted goal?”

“Prophets usually give utterance to predictions that are pretty grim.”

A chilling presentiment stole into my mind as I looked at them.

“Have you already discussed the situation, then?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Semyon. “We didn’t know who it was we were dealing with. But it doesn’t take a genius to predict that the attack will be repeated.”

“And what if I dig my heels in and try to defend the lad?” I said, looking Semyon in the eye.

“Then I’ll help you,” Semyon said, with a nod. “And we’ll die together. So I ask you not to do it. Think of Svetlana. And Nadya. And tell me honestly—are you prepared to die for some kid you don’t even know?”

I looked at my friends.

Thought for a few moments.

Imagined Sveta and Nadya . . .

Then the boy-Prophet.

And I said: “No, Semyon. I’m not.”