The five young men departed for the Black Boar. Kim, however, following an instinct that had been building since the coronation, begged off and returned to the palace. Once there, she knocked at a door down the corridor from her own. She made a suggestion, which was accepted. A short while later, in her own room, it emerged that her intuitions on this sort of thing had not been affected at all by anything in Fionavar.

Matt Sören closed the door behind them. He and Loren looked at each other, alone for the first time that day.

“Owein’s Horn now,” the mage said finally, as if concluding a lengthy exchange.

The Dwarf shook his head. “That is deep,” he said. “Will you try to wake them?”

Loren rose and crossed to the window. It was raining again. He put out his hand to feel it like a gift on his palm.

“I won’t,” he said at last. “But they might.”

The Dwarf said softly, “You have been holding yourself back, haven’t you?”

Loren turned. His eyes, deep-set under the thick gray eyebrows, were tranquil, but there was power in them still. “I have,” he said. “There is a force flowing through all of diem, I think, the strangers and our own. We have to give them room.”

“They are very young,” Matt Sören said.

“I know they are.”

“You are sure of this? You are going to let them carry it?”

“I am sure of nothing,” the mage said. “But yes, I am going to let them carry it.”

“We will be there?”

Silvercloak smiled then. “Oh, my friend,” he said, “we will have our battle, never fear. We must let the young ones carry it, but before the end, you and I may have to fight the greatest battle of them all.”

“You and I,” the Dwarf growled in his deep tones. By which the mage understood a number of things, not least of which was love.

In the end, the Prince had had a great many pints of ale. There were an infinity of reasons, all good.

He had been named Aileron’s heir in the ceremony that afternoon. “This,” he’d said, “is getting to be a habit.” The obvious line. They were quoting it all over the Black Boar, though. He drained another pint. Oh, an infinity of reasons, he had.

Eventually it seemed that he was alone, and in his own chambers in the palace, the chambers of Prince Diarmuid dan Ailell, the King’s Heir in Brennin. Indeed.

It was far too late to bother going to sleep. Using the outer walls, though with difficulty because of his arm, he made his way to Sharra’s balcony.

Her room was empty.