“From what I know,” Han said, “what’s real in Aediion is wizards, amulets, and magic. Everything else is illusion. We all came from the same room,” he went on, “but we could be spread all over the Seven Realms and still come together in a common place, if you planned ahead of time. Otherwise, you’d never find each other.”

“Is bad weather coming in?” Mordra said, shivering and peering up at the sky. “It sure looks real.”

A cold wind ripped between the buildings, raising gooseflesh on Han’s exposed skin. Dark, mottled clouds rolled in, turning midday into a peculiar twilight. Han conjured a deerskin jacket lined with fleece. The others followed suit, donning warmer clothes in the face of the drop in temperature.

“Did you do that?” Gryphon asked Han, eying the sky. “Change the weather, I mean?”

Han shook his head, at a loss to explain it. Could one of the others have done it? Micah or Fiona? They still clutched their amulets, but they both gazed skyward apprehensively, so it seemed unlikely. Han had never visited Aediion in a crowd before. It was hard to say who was really in control.

Lightning brindled the sky, turning it garish shades of green and purple. A clamor of thunder made everyone cover their ears.

“That’s enough, Alister,” Mordra said, pulling her head in like a turtle. “You’ve made your point.”

Han gripped his amulet and tried to conjure better weather, but with no success. Illusion or not, the oncoming storm was hard to ignore.

“Who is that?” Dean Abelard asked, shading her eyes and squinting past Han.

Han turned, then stood gaping in surprise.

It was Crow, dressed more finely than Han had ever seen him, in brilliant cloth of gold that set off his midnight hair, a jewel-encrusted sword in his hand. By now the sky was as black as darkman’s hour, but it didn’t matter. Crow lit up the whole street.

He strode purposefully toward them, his sword extended, a bone-chilling smile on his face, flame rippling around him like a halo around a saint.

Han stepped in between Crow and Abelard’s crew. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. He hadn’t said anything to Crow about the time of their visit or the place of their meeting. How had he found them?

“Alister!” Abelard said. “Explain this at once! Is this person your creation or someone you know?”

Crow twitched in irritation. Turning, he flicked his hand, and a mammoth wall of flame erupted from the street, separating Han and the Bayars from the others. With a gesture he set it rolling, driving the others down the street. Beyond the blaze, Han could hear screaming and shouting.

Han swung around to face Crow again. “What are you doing?”