Her attention shifted to the valley. Following her gaze, he saw movement among the fallen. Dreamweavers and priests were at work.

“The change I’ve long considered starting has begun by itself,” she murmured.

“Change?”

She shook her head. “The healer priests and priestesses, instead of ignoring or scorning Dreamweaver healing, are paying attention. They will learn much today.”

Danjin stared at her. Priests learning from Dreamweavers? Was this what she had been aiming for all along? As the implication of this dawned on him he felt dazzled by her brilliance. If the priests could offer the same services as Dreamweavers there would be no more need for Dreamweavers.

Did Leiard know? Had he ever guessed?

Danjin doubted the man would have liked the idea. And being his lover must have made Auraya hesitate to work toward bringing about the end of his people, even if it did mean she would save the souls of those she prevented from joining the heathen cult in the future.

How long had she been planning this? Had making Leiard the Dreamweaver adviser been a step in the process? Now that Leiard was gone she was free to continue her work.

Auraya sighed and turned around. Glancing back toward the camp, Danjin saw that the other four White were approaching.

“We’re going to have a little conversation with the gods now,” Auraya said lightly. “Go back to camp, Danjin. I’ll join you for breakfast soon.”

He nodded, then watched as she walked down the slope to join her fellow White.

A soldier limped out of the valley toward him. He glanced at Auraya again, then hurried over to help the man.

For a long time now, Tryss had struggled to make sense of it. For hours he had lain in a daze, listening to the sounds of men and women murmuring in languages he didn’t understand. There was a desperation to their voices. Only much later did he realize that what he was hearing was praying.

It went on and on. Eventually most of the voices faded away. He wondered if the gods had answered. He hoped so.

A new voice had started, but this one did not speak the names of gods. It spoke a more familiar name.

“Tryss! You’re alive! Tryss! Wake up! Talk to me!”

It was so familiar. And comforting, somehow. Yet he wasn’t about to do what it said. Waking up meant pain. He’d had more than enough pain today.

“Tryss…” There was a long pause, then a choking sound. “Tryss. I have something to tell you. Wake up.”

He felt a stirring of curiosity. It wasn’t enough. The memory of pain was too frightening. He let himself drift.

Then pain came seeking him.