I thought again of Dragon and felt ill at the realisation that she, too, must be afflicted with taint sickness if the man had forced her to cross tainted ground. I could only cling to the image I had seen of her in Gavyn’s memories, which had shown her as badly beaten and battered, but lacking any of the obvious signs of advanced taint sickness.

Dameon heaved a sigh and turned to go along with Faraf, who glanced back and sent solemnly, ‘Take care, ElspethInnle.’

‘Do not fear for me/us, little sistermind,’ I assured her.

When they had gone, Swallow and I set about preparing hiding places for Darga and the tribesman. Our plan was to lure the man between them, and then I was to distract him so that they could leap out and get Dragon safely away from him. Rasial had impressed upon me that the man’s mind was fanatically edgy and suspicious and that I must do nothing to alarm him, for he would have no reason to keep Dragon alive once he had found us.

When all was in readiness, we sat down by the fire and Swallow set some soup at the edge to warm. Then he got out some campbread that he had made while I was ‘sleeping my head off’, as he put it with a mischievous smile. I could not muster a smile in response for I was too anxious about Dragon. The gypsy sobered as he sliced the bread and forked the first piece, handing it to me to toast. I told him that I was not hungry, but he bade me cook, for no one could feel threatened with the smell of toasting bread wafting at them.

Sighing, I forbore to say that it might be hours before the man appeared, and held the bread to the glowing embers. Despite what I had said, when the scent of the toast reached my nose, my stomach began to growl. Swallow laughed and said my stomach gave the lie to my words. This time, I managed a wan grin in response.

For a time we were silent, save for the rising whine of the wind that had blown up, and the sound of the wood and firenuts crackling.

‘She was the first D’rekta that led the Twentyfamilies here, wasn’t she, this Cassandra?’ Swallow asked almost dreamily, his eyes on the wisp of steam rising from the bread. ‘There cannot be two skilled stone carvers born in the Beforetime who left messages for you.’

‘I am certain of it,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘How do you come to know so much of her life before the holocaust?’

‘I have been having past-dreams of her, almost since I first learned what I must do,’ I said.

His eyes widened. ‘You have seen her, too?’