The boy did not move much, and then only slowly, mainly just turning his head. He was intrigued by everything, as though seeing it all for the first time. And he was, really, for the first time with any curiosity. His cousins, his sister, the Winterstorm, it all stirred mild expressions of wonder.

The baby was just as intrigued by her brother—when she was not preoccupied with her butterfly.

Nepanthe arrived accompanied by burdened servants. “I decided to bring a whole meal since we didn’t have a proper supper.”

“Good thinking,” Varthlokkur said. “Considering the energy those two goblins are burning off.”

Nepanthe started to ask if he had found a way to communicate with Mist but he was not listening.

Ethrian had stiffened. As Varthlokkur turned his way the boy stunned everyone. He pointed at the Winterstorm, said, “Grandfather.”

“Nepanthe, take the baby. Now!”

The Winterstorm was stirring but what had triggered Ethrian was not obvious there. That was clear only in a mercury pan seldom used but eye-catchingly alive right now. It had been spelled to trigger only under a few unlikely circumstances.

One would be the sorcerer Magden Norath coming within a mile of the Star Rider’s winged horse.

A thousand hours, spanning the years since the Great Eastern Wars, had gone into the mathematics needed to build the spell suite that tripped the alarm. The task had proven intractable till Varthlokkur decided to try tracing the winged horse instead of the Star Rider himself.

After Nepanthe took Smyrena, Varthlokkur told her, “Darling, clear everyone out. The children first.”

Which meant something big and possibly dangerously bad was happening. Vaguely, Varthlokkur was aware of Nepanthe fussing over Ethrian as she drove everyone out of the chamber.

In moments the wizard was assessing the situation in al-Habor.

Oh, what an opportunity delivered by Chance! A nudge here, another there, hardly powerful enough to disturb an ant’s slumber, and the world changed forever. His part would remain forever unknown to any but he.

Once the nudges had been dealt he settled to observe.

He wished he had the Unborn close enough to do more.

It might be worth revealing himself if he could get the winged horse while the Star Rider was preoccupied.

With any luck he might even have stripped the Star Rider of his principal source of power, the Windmjirnerhorn.

“Let’s not get greedy,” he muttered, on finding himself searching for the horse using Norath’s only surviving deathcat.

It had been a long day before the alarm. Exhaustion took hold. Sweet as harming Old Meddler would be, disaster was certain if he lost control because he was too tired to concentrate. Released, the deathcat would be after Haroun in a heartbeat.

He drove the beast to the Sheyik’s compound, over the adobe wall, into the house proper, then released it.

There was a chance it might get the Star Rider.

Varthlokkur let himself collapse, pleased with his day.