He wakened to warmth and daylight and a sense of well-being. A bent old man stood over him, examining his injuries. Imp-Child watched from a doorway.

He was inside the tower. Its interior was no ruin. He tried to rise.

The old man restrained him. Let me finish. Haroun found his accent difficult. Sad tones crowded his reassuring smile.

What time is it? How long have I been here?

Three days. You needed the rest.

Haroun surged up. The old man pressed down on his chest with all the weight of the world.

My people

All safe and well. Resting and healing at the foot of the tower. Your enemies wont find them. Child!

Imp-Child brought a copper mirror with a surface clouded by age. Stare into your own eyes, the old man said. He did something strange with his fingers.

At first Haroun was too shaken by changes in his appearance to see anything else. Youth had fled him. The brown of his skin had deepened. His thin, long face had become an emaciated deaths head. His hawkish nose had become more shadowed and pronounced. His eyes looked haunted. Anger and pain had etched deep furrows across his forehead.

Then he began to discern the hunters deep in the pools of his eyes. The Scourge of God and two score Invincibles followed a trail implacably.

There was something wrong. Their eyes blazed with madness. They were within a mile of the tower, but never glanced its way.

Theyre following their own trail around the stronghold, the old man said. He giggled crazily.

Haroun glanced at him and surprised a malice which instantly transformed into sorrow. Four hundred winters of despair, his savior said in a voice gone sepulchral. And finally youve come. I hope its you. Pray, be the One. This charge has grown tedious. I long for the embrace of the Dark Woman.

Haroun felt he was an audience of one. There was something subtly unconvincing about this old man. Where am I? he demanded.

The place has no name. A watchtower. It had a number once, but Ive forgotten it.

Who are you? The old man seemed not to hear. Why are you helping me? If youre helping.

Because you are of the Blood. Because you are the Candidate.

Haroun frowned. Candidate? For what?

For the Invisible Crown.

Each answer left Haroun more baffled. Why are you hiding out here? This is the least explored part of Hammad al Nakir. The inquisitiveness and skepticism he had acquired from Radetic kept him from accepting the old mans answers. Youd better tell me a story, old man. A good one. This is all crap and wasted time. I should be heading for the border.