He hurried out through the opposite tunnel to the outer chamber. Ducking out into the cold night air, he was grateful beyond words to see a fire burning on the altar of Illior and the familiar stars in the sky. His elation lasted only an instant, however, when he thought of Mika, still trapped in that dreary plane.

What was he going to tell Thero? That he’d been led astray by the very woman who’d taken Mika? That right now there was no way in all the hells there might be that he could force himself back down to that innermost cave alone to see if he could get back into that other plane the way he’d apparently gotten out of it? Turning to face the dark mouth of the outer cave, he stood frozen, hating himself for the fear that held him fast. Another faint, anguished cry echoed up from the bowels of the earth.

Cursing himself for his cowardice, he ran for the camp, sodden boots squelching with every step and shame burning his cheeks. All he could do now was get back to the palace and find another portal. Apparently they moved about.

He stumbled through the grove in darkness, then followed the distant light of campfires across country. Hunger and thirst reasserted themselves and suddenly he was dreadfully tired. Reaching camp at last, he headed straight for Thero’s tent, but as he crossed the cooking circle one of Klia’s riders caught him by the arm.

“Thank Sakor you’re back!” the man exclaimed, taking in the sight of him. “By the Flame, my lord, what happened to you and your clothes?”

“I don’t have time.”

“Lord Thero is half out of his mind, what with you and Mika gone and Baron Seregil as he is.”

“What do you mean, ‘as he is’?”

“Some kind of demon attack, Lord Micum said. They’re with him now in Lord Thero’s tent. You’d best get to them.”

Feeling punched in the gut by this whole awful day, Alec dashed to the tent.

Micum sat by Seregil’s cot with his head in his hands. Thero stood on the other side, arms crossed, and bandages on his face and neck. Both men looked up as Alec burst in and their eyes widened in surprise. Alec went to the bedside and looked down speechlessly at his lover. Seregil’s neck, arms, and chest were swathed in linen bandages. Patches of his long, blood-stiff hair had been shaved away from two long cuts in his scalp, which had been expertly sewn up by the neat-handed healer with black thread. As Alec fell to his knees beside Micum, Seregil opened his eyes, glassy from some soporific draught, and managed a smile. “Good to see you again, talí, but what happened to you?”

“Me? What happened to you?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. Just tangled with a demon.”

Alec looked to Micum.