Sweating, dizzy, Raffi gripped his hands tight on the old man’s. ‘Where is the Crow?’

In Tasceron. In you. In your master, if he knew it.

‘But where?’

The answer was harsh and garbled; the sound distorted as if down tunnels and veins, deep in the earth. His hands clasped a wooden knoll. He felt sick and retched, choking.

‘Hold it!’ Galen was yelling.

‘I can’t! He’s gone! He’s gone!’

Sweating, he was hauled up; dragged out from the tree on hands and knees. He collapsed in the grass, sick, shivering uncontrollably, his head throbbing with flashes of light and pain. After a while he realised Galen was holding him. Rain had soaked them both.

‘Sorry.’

‘You did your best.’

The keeper eased him against the tree, dragged the pack over and pulled the blankets out. ‘Get these around you. It’s aftershock. We should have a fire.’

‘Not safe.’

‘What did it say, Raffi?’ Galen clutched him on both arms, as if he couldn’t bear the suspense. ‘Can it cure me?’

Raffi shook his head. He looked away from the keeper’s face.

It remembered the Makers. It said … only they can give back what they’ve taken. It said the Crow was in Tasceron. And in us, if we knew it.’

‘In us?’ Then Galen stopped, instantly.

Another wave of nausea shuddered through Raffi. ‘What’s wrong?’ he croaked.

Galen had leapt up. He was looking down the hill, into the dark, and there was something in his look that made Raffi feel for his sense-lines.

They were all in shreds.

He staggered up and stood there, the blankets falling.

‘Why don’t you come up,’ Galen said grimly, ‘and see us from a little closer.’

A dim shape was down there just beneath them, crouching on the dark turf.

‘Come on!’ Galen’s voice was murderous.

The figure stood up, small and indistinct. Then the tiny moon, Pyra, came out. The light from it, ruby and warm, flickered over the girl.

The Watch, Unsleeping

The Watch, Unsleeping

11

Once you believe, you are lost. Anything you see or hear can be twisted against you. The Order are masters of nothing but falsehood.

Rule of the Watch

SHE CAME A little closer, then stopped.

‘Is he all right?’

Galen glared at Raffi. ‘Is there anyone with her?’

Bewildered, Raffi groped for knowledge. ‘Only a horse, somewhere.’

The girl stared at him in surprise. ‘You can hear it?’

He shrugged, uneasy.

She was small, wearing dark blue-and-grey trousers and jerkin, her hair a shiny nut-brown cut against her cheek. She seemed remarkably unconcerned.

As no one said anything she went on, ‘My name is Carys. Carys Arrin. I’m travelling west from here. Are you sure you’re all right?’

Raffi was surprised. It was a long time since anyone had asked him that. ‘Fine,’ he said weakly.