The Wolf Lord’s beautiful face was untroubled, and it seemed to Iome to be full of kindness.

Binnesman said softly to Raj Ahten, “You understand, as a Runelord, you must care for your Dedicates, or else in time they would starve or sicken. If they died, you would lose the powers you draw from them.

“The same principles apply to me . . . or to your flameweavers. See how they feed the fire, knowing they will gain strength from it in return?”

“Milord,” the flameweaver at Raj Ahten’s side whispered, “let me kill him. The flames show that he is a danger. He helped Prince Orden escape from his garden. He supports your enemies. The light within him is against you.”

Raj Ahten touched the flameweaver’s hand, calming her, asking, “Is it so? Did you help the Prince escape?”

Don’t answer him, Iome wanted to shout. Don’t answer.

But Binnesman merely shrugged. “He had a wound. I tended it, as I would if he were a rabbit or a crow. Then I pointed his way into the Dunnwood, so he could hide.”

“Because?” Raj Ahten asked.

“Because your soldiers want him dead,” the herbalist answered. “I serve life. Your life, your enemy’s life. I serve life, as surely as you serve death.”

“I do not serve death. I serve mankind,” Raj Ahten said calmly. His eyes hardly narrowed, but his face suddenly seemed harder, more passionless.

“Fire consumes,” Binnesman said. “Certainly, when you surround yourself with so many flameweavers, you too must feel their tug, their desire to consume. It has you in its sway.”

Raj Ahten casually leaned back on the throne. “Fire also enlightens and reveals,” he said. “It warms us in the cold night. In the right hands, it can be a tool for good, even for healing. The Bright Ones and the Glories are creatures of the flame. Life comes from fire, as well as from the earth.”

“Yes, it can be a tool for good. But not now. Not in the age to come. Certainly no beings of the greater light will come do your bidding,” Binnesman said. “I think that you would do better to rid yourself of these . . . forces.” He waved casually at the flameweavers. “Other wizards would serve you better.”

“So you will serve me?” Raj Ahten asked. “You will supply my armies with your herbs and ointments?” He smiled, and that smile seemed to light the room. Certainly Binnesman will help him, Iome thought.

“Herbs for the sick and the wounded?” Binnesman asked. “I can do this in good conscience. But I do not serve you.”

Raj Ahten nodded, clearly disappointed. Binnesman’s devotion would have been a great boon.

“Milord,” the flameweaver hissed, glancing from brazier to Raj Ahten, “he is not truthful. He does serve a king! I see a man in my flames, a faceless man with a crown! A king is coming, a king who can destroy you!”