Dorrin watched, wondering which Verrakai was trying to transfer to the child, wondering how to stop it. A bolt of magery staggered her, then another.

It should have been impossible to use attack magery here in the shielded nursery—she’d trusted that shield. Now she felt the leaden weight of that attack; the two boys came toward her, smiling, their power beating at her. Dorrin fought it back, felt the weight ease. She could move; she could think—but what to think? What could she do here, in front of the others?

Trust the light. In her mind, the voice was firm but not harsh. Which light, though? Magery’s light was fire; Falk, after his years of toil, had burned out the prison in which he had been kept, cleansing it. Here were children she did not wish to burn. She did not have that other light, the light by which paladins revealed the truth of evil.

Trust me, then. But she still doubted. Was it Falk and the High Lord in her mind, or the Verrakai who had violated children’s bodies to take them over? An internal laugh, good-natured, without malice, answered her. Again she thought of Paksenarrion, and seemed to see a ruby centered in the circle she wore on her brow.

She had sworn her life to Falk. She had received her magery back from a paladin and Falk’s own Captain-General. With that thought she released whatever kept light from doing whatever Falk and the High Lord wanted. It burst from her, soundless, effortless, unconsuming and revealing. By that light, she saw the adult selves in the two boys nearest her and the girl squatting on the floor behind the others … that one pouring magery at Mikeli as he lay twitching across the room.

Saving him had to come first. Dorrin attacked full speed, disabling the other two with one blow each to the head. The other children fled screaming to the corners of the nursery, except for the little girl. She did not even look up, concentrating on Mikeli. Dorrin felled her with a blow, and turned to the maids now huddled protectively over the sick boy.

“These three were making Mikeli sick with magery,” she said. “I am taking them away. He may recover now.”

“But—but you—”

“He’s sweating,” one of the maids said. “He’s not as hot.”

“Stay here,” Dorrin said. She carried the little girl, now bleeding from mouth and nose, over her shoulder, and managed to pick up the others and get them out of the room. She shut the door, took a breath, looked around. What now?

Out of the house. No more killing blood here.

Dorrin called for Selfer and explained. “We must kill them—they are not children, but adults using children’s bodies—but we must not kill them in the house. Too much blood here already.”

“They’re so little,” he said. “Can it really be—” He looked at her face and then nodded. “You are sure; that’s enough for me. Do you want someone else to do it?”