I PLACED THE KINDLING grasses and the firestones in the fifth and final urn, and stepped back. As always, the map of the divining ground was detailed and accurate. The Chosen had cleared away the light snowfall, and out of the frozen ground the Firelord had carved a replica of the place called Qustra. I recognised the great eastern cliff, beneath which nestled the tents of the Quelled. I saw the mountain slope opposite, where the town sprawled across its terraces; and the river valley that divided it from Quelled land. My lord had even placed a trickle of tiny stones across the river, to indicate the rope bridge slung across the waters. I recognised the ground where we stood; a small flat area beside the river on the side of the town.

The Firelord lit the central fire, and from it carried a torch to the four urns I had prepared. Then he, too, stepped back off the replica of Qustra, and for a moment stood by me, close. I felt his sleeve brush mine, and glanced quickly at his face. It was hidden by the red hood of his divining robes, but I felt fatigue in him, and strain.

His room in the house was next to mine, and I had heard him pacing in the night, up and down, the floorboards creaking under his boots. This morning he looked holloweyed. I did not know whether he was ill or over-driven. He seldom shared his private feelings. But I felt them strongly, and I always knew what he never told. And I knew now that for some reason he was at the limits of his endurance. Even making the replica had taxed him, though I helped; and he had yet to call upon the most exacting powers of all.

He crouched for a while behind the fire on the eastern side of the map, and I could not help looking across him at the mountains, and thinking of Siranjaro beyond. For a longer time than usual he sat there, the edges of his robes in the piled-up snow, his shivering hands gripping the upright divining staff. His hooded head was bent, his forehead resting on the staff. I should have been behind him, but I stood opposite, on the western side of the replica of Qustra, and watched him.

After a long time, he stood. He lifted his head, and I saw that he looked skywards, and that his lips moved in prayer. He looked old, so old. It grieved my heart. Slowly, he moved onto the replica, and for a while seemed undecided. The crowds watching grew restless, and people looked at each other, frowning; but no one moved. Even the children were silent, knowing that here something mighty was happening, but not fully understanding it.