—no dawn sky, no rushing river. All was silent and pitch-black. Reaching out, Alec felt smooth wall under his hand. The ground was level and hard under his feet, and the air smelled of dust and fresh plaster. Completely disoriented, he reached down and felt the floor: dressed stone, no carpet. That, and the smell of plaster, gave him hope that he was back in the Hierophant’s palace. He chose a direction and felt his way along the wall until he saw light ahead, streaming in through a glazed window. Reaching it, he could make out a few newly built villas outside that looked familiar. Deciding it was safer outside than here in the dark, he opened the window and climbed painfully out onto a dewy verge next to a paved street. He was somehow back in Menosi.

Weak and in considerable pain, he still relished the chill breeze and smell of new growth as he staggered around to the front entrance where uniformed guards were standing around a brazier in front of the stairs leading up to the huge carved doors. They saw him and came running to his aid. Supporting him with their arms around his waist, two of them helped him to the brazier.

“It’s Baron Alec!” the sergeant in charge exclaimed. “Where have you been, my lord? Your companions are frantic.”

“I don’t know,” Alec gasped, shaking with hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. “Where’s Seregil?”

“Tonil, Sera, fetch Baron Seregil and the others,” the sergeant ordered. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around Alec and helped him sit down on the steps. Someone offered him a waterskin and he drank deeply. It was cool, sweet, and real. A few moments later the great doors swung open again and Seregil dashed down the steps to where Alec sat shivering in the borrowed cloak.

“By the Light, Alec, where have you been?” he asked breathlessly, sitting beside him and brushing loose strands of hair back from Alec’s face to look him over.

“I don’t know,” Alec told him. “I need food, and a drysian. There were dogs—”

Seregil pulled the cloak and coat away and swore as he saw the blood-soaked bandages around Alec’s arms and hand. Then he was shouting orders and Micum was there, too, bundling another cloak around him.

“Can you ride?” Seregil asked, coming back into focus.

“I think so—Yes.”

Seregil and Micum helped him up onto Windrunner’s back. Alec slumped there like a sack of grain, clinging to the saddlebow as best he could, arms and hand throbbing with pain. Mounted on Cynril, Seregil took Windrunner’s reins in hand and led the way back to the encampment.