"Aye, you're as bad as the Healers," he said, shaking his head. "They need to eat like horses when they've been working. Get this down you." He handed us both trenchers of fresh bread, spread with butter, softened with gravy, and with shoes of roasted beef draped over all. I had never tasted food more clearly, or needed it more. Though there was something—

"Will, where is Salera?' I said, between mouthfuls.

"She's gone with the Kantri," he said, and smiled. "They were all so taken with her, and she is fascinated by them. She said she'd come find me in the morning." He shook himself. "As for you two, there's plenty more away back at the inn, but I'm blessed if I'm going to bring it to you. Up you get."

"Blessed indeed, lad," said Maran, gulping down the last of her chelan. "I've seen you often enough in the stone, Goddess knows, along with that tall lad and the fine lass, but what are you called?'

"Willem of Rowanbeck, Mistress," he said, grinning. 'The tall Healer is Vilkas, the young woman is Aral. You're Lanen's mam?'

"I am that," she said, grinning back, "and it's not making my life any easier, I can tell you. I'm Maran of Beskin. And you!" she cried, turning to me. I had risen, and now reached down to give her a hand up. When she stood, we were of a height, and her gaze locked on mine. It was the first time I'd looked at her closely. Name of the Winds, she appeared so like my beloved Lanen that my heart ached with it. "I've seen you nearly every day since Lanen found you, but I've no idea what your name is."

"I am called Varien, Lady," I said.

"Varien," she repeated softly. "It's a good name. And you can call me Maran, lad," she said, grinning. "I'm a blacksmith, not a lady. Goddess, what a voice you have on you." She stared at me, frowning, her gaze suddenly gone quite serious and her voice very low. "And you—I must know. Unless I'm mad, or unless that damned thing deceived me, you're no man. You're a dragon; transformed, somehow, but a dragon—that great silver one who watched over Lanen out on the Dragon Isle."

"What!" I cried, taken aback. "Don't waste time being coy, man! Is it true?"

"You are neither mad nor deceived. I am both dragon and human," I answered. Not for the first time, I wished that my mind might be more under my control when faced with the unexpected. The Kantri are seldom surprised. The Gedri, it seemed, were seldom otherwise.

She paled. "Bloody hellsfire. Then it's true. A transformation of kind. It's started." She grasped me by my shoulders. "Do you have any idea how this was done, or who did it? How you were transformed?"

In my astonishment I answered without thinking. "I have no idea. Lanen and I thought it was—all we could imagine was that it was the Winds and the Lady."

"Oh, save us all," she said, sounding much like Jamie in a bad mood. "It probably was exacdy that. Now all we have to do is find out who or what on the other side has undergone the same transformation." She began cursing under her breath and strode off towards the inn, leaving me a moment or two for thought.

That this woman was Lanen's mother I never doubted for an instant, though how Lanen could have grown so similar to one she had never known was a wonder. The same headlong rush into action without thought of the cost to herself, or indeed to anyone else; the same wildly focussed intensity and determination about her. And the Winds bear me up, the same eyes in a face so achingly familiar.

I stopped and blinked.

If she knew I had begun my life as one of the Kantri, what else might she have learned?

I ran after her. I was better at running these days. Time was, if I were lagging behind, I would have fallen by instinct onto my "forefeet" that I might fly to catch up. My hands and knees had not been that badly scraped for some months now. I was still far, far too slow to suit myself, but at least I remained upright. Will trotted easily beside me, tray in one hand, mugs in the other.

Vilkas and Aral awaited us outside, Rella beside them. Aral watched Maran suspiciously, and I could not blame her—whatever else might be said of her, she still reeked of the Rakshasa. As we approached I noted that Aral had begun to summon her power, just in case. Vilkas, however, simply stared.

As well he might. For the moment she was near enough, she took his right hand in hers and went down on one knee before him, bringing his hand to her lips. She might have been a great queen kneeling to honour a subject who had served her well, for there was nothing of servility about her, kneeling there in the twilight before him.

"I beg you to accept a mothers blessing for saving the life of her daughter," she said.

"Lady, arise, I pray you," said Vilkas gruffly. I tried hard not to smile. Vilkas was, after all, a very young man. "I did what was required. I only wish I had been able to keep your daughter from the clutches of that bastard Berys." Between his clenched teeth, he added, "We don't even know where she is."

Maran rose and grinned, and for a moment I saw her as one of the Kantri—for this was not delight. This was baring her teeth, and woe betide him who was its object.

"Ah. There I can help you. Did anyone think to bring my pack?"

"As ever, Maran, I have looked after you," I said, pretending weariness. We grinned at each other as I handed over her pack. I'd begged a double handspan of thick leather and sewn it, with double stitches, over the gaping bum hole, so that it was as good as before.

We had been friends for nearly twenty years. I knew she would have done the same for me, twice over. It still hurt. Like it or not, Jamie stood between us now like a burning brand. It appeared that we were both going to ignore that particular raging fire until we were forced to deal with it.

She grinned, looking over the patch. "You do fine work. I never knew you were so good with a needle." She drew out the Farseer once more, and I saw her flinch when she touched it. Time she found a Servant of the Lady and got herself shriven, I thought. She's getting twitchy.

"This is the Farseer that Marik and Berys created ere Lanen was born," she said, handling it as though it burned her fingers. "I have used it for years, but when Lanen left Hadronsstead, I— well, you may assume that I have a rough idea of what has taken place."

Varien stood beside me, and I could practically hear his heart pounding. "Do you know where Lanen is now?"

She turned to him, her eyes bleak. "I'm not certain, but I know she's in Berys's power. Where he is, there we will find her."

"Can you not see where Berys is, that we may be certain where to look for her?" asked Vilkas.

"He's wherever he has been living these ten years past," said Maran shortly. "I've never seen the place in person, I don't recognise it to give it a name. It's a stone building with a large walled and cobbled courtyard closed by two wooden doors. There's a guard on the doors, there are usually lots of people around—"

"It's Verfaren right enough," said Aral flatly. "It's just over three leagues distant from here."

"Then in the Name of the Winds and the Lady," Varien cried, "let us be gone to Verfaren!"

"Patience, Master Varien, it isn't that simple," I said, hating to have to quench his resolve. "For one thing, these three"—I pointed to Will, Aral, and Vilkas—"are accused of murder in Verfaren, and I'd rather not have to fight off King Sufis of Eli-mar's Patrols unless and until I'm forced to. For another thing, you must remember that whatever we may know about him, to the rest of the world Master Berys is still the head of the College of Mages, very highly respected and virtually untouchable. The College more or less owns the town. In effect we'd be storming all of Verfaren, and we don't really have enough troops for that."