The Speakman looked at her for the first time. His features were drawn and haggard, everything stretched out of shape and pinched by weather and age. He looked to be neither young nor old, but from some indeterminate middle region. He shook his head. “I travel alone.”

“This one time?” she asked. “Can you make an exception? We need your eyes to help us find the landmarks I described and avoid the dangers you know.” She hesitated. “It is important.”

“She speaks the truth,” Farshaun added. “You need go only as far as you want. But anything would help.”

The Speakman looked back at him. His eyes were bright and depthless and filled with secrets. He gave them a half smile, one that reflected an irony they did not understand.

“If I go with you,” he answered, “I won’t be coming back.”

The old man and the Ard Rhys exchanged a quick glance. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

He climbed to his feet, his tall, bony form hunched over in the gloom, his shadow crooked and skeletal.

“Because none of us will.”

22

APHENGLOW ELESSEDIL WAS WALKING THE UPPER HALLWAYS of the Druid’s Keep, forcing herself to ignore the ache in her broken leg, summoning her magic to buttress her efforts. She used her staff to support herself, burdened by a pronounced limp and a frustration that led her to curse her infirmity in a variety of imaginative ways. The pain told her she was stretching herself farther than she probably should. Still, if she wanted to get stronger, that was what she needed to do. It was a fine line between going just far enough and too far, but she trusted her instincts to tell her when the first began to edge into the second. So far, she wasn’t there yet.

She had just reached the end of the hallway and was turning around to go back again, grimly satisfied with her momentary progress if not with her overall situation, when Arlingfant hurtled through a doorway at the far end of the passageway and came running toward her.

It was easy enough to see that something was amiss, but Aphenglow stayed where she was and waited for her sister to reach her. Trying to do anything more physical would be a mistake.

“Aphen!” Arling stumbled to a halt in front of her, breathing hard. “Federation warships—a fleet of them! They’ve just crested the Forbidden Forest and are sailing right for Paranor!”

A jumble of thoughts crowded into Aphenglow’s mind, but she dismissed them all as foolish. The Federation would never dare to attack Paranor. Not only would such an effort fail; it would also risk substantial repercussions from the governments of other lands. The Druids were a neutral power. It was understood by all that they were to be left alone. This must be something else.