The only way to be certain that you will lose is to surrender.

Determination without hope. It is a dry and strange place in the soul, and I do not recommend it, but it is full of power.

I stood then, breathing deep into my gut where my littlings lay. It was a strange fire indeed that I had found. I was ready to fight or flee, ready for battle in a bare cell, but there was nothing to do but watch the slow departure of the moon's gleam as the Ancient Mother's stately dance took even the reflection of her light from me.

I needed to act, to do something that would force an action, that would get me out of this Hells-be-damned cell.

I had never spent much time in the service of the Lady, not in the way of those dedicated to Her. They beseech Her on their knees for all sorts and lands of things—but somehow it always seemed to me that kneeling was unnecessary. It might be that, having no mother around me, I took the Mother of us All into my heart more completely than most. Greatest need brings greatest faith, they say. I stood, braced, and spoke my invocation, though not even I could hear it.

"Ancient Lady of the moon, rising in the east, who hast brought light to this dark place; Mother of the earth beneath my feet, in the very stones that surround me, whose fire rageth in my heart; Laughing Girl"—I faltered for a moment there, for laughter and water seemed both too distant from me—ah—"Laughing Girl of the Waters, who surrounds my babes within me—a boon I beg of thee, blessed Goddess! Do not leave me in this cold place of death." I began to shiver, whether from the deepening cold or from anger I could not tell. "Come fire, come battle, come rage to warm me! Shia, Goddess, in the name of all that is precious to you, do not leave me here!"

If there were poetry in life, my words would have echoed from the stone walls and given me heart—and perhaps been heard by a passing soul who might have been of some use to me. As it was, my throat was raw from shouting and neither I nor any other creature in the world had heard a thing.

I stood motionless, waiting, fire in my heart yet trapped in cold silence, for death to come and claim me and mine, when a light spilled into the room. But it was not the moon.

The light came from under the door.

I found the stair swiftly, and the four identical oaken doors. I was delighted, in a strange way, to also find a huge guard pacing the corridor in the pitch-black dark.

He was sharp and well armed and he came for me the instant he saw me. Good eyes, I thought as I avoided his first blow. With some difficulty, it must be said. It s bloody dark down here. Well, well, well, and I just happened to have a lighted dark lantern in my hands.

I threw open the panel of the dark lantern and shone the light straight in his eyes. He swore and backed off. And dropped his guard.

I had no wish to murder him, the poor sod, but I had no choice. I could not rely on a deep wound, not here in the midst of the enemy. I despatched him as painlessly as I could, and when he stopped twitching I dragged him along the corridor out of my way. I searched the body for keys. No such luck.

I took a closer look at the doors. They were not particularly close-fitting, for they had been made chiefly to keep drunken louts out of the way for a night. Still, if you've nothing but your fingernails and you can't be heard, a door of thick oak will do as well as one of iron. No light shone under any of them.

She can't hear you. You can't hear her.

There was no one anywhere near; obviously Berys had trusted in that poor bastard I'd had to kill. I lifted the catch again and opened the dark lantern. Light blazed in that dark corridor. I stood before the first door, keeping the lantern on the ground that as much light as possible might shine underneath. I knelt there only a few moments, hoping with all my soul that she was awake, or that the unaccustomed light would waken her, but I didn't dare wait too long at any one door. Every nerve in my body jangled like shaken harp strings, out of tune, wrong. I desperately wanted to call out to her, if only for the relief of some kind of sound, but Rikard had warned me. The corridor would not appear unusual, sounds would behave as normal—they would just stop at the door. She could be no more than the thickness of oaken planks from me and I'd never know it.

I called to her in the silence of my heart, as you do to loved ones in peril—do you live, my daughter? Are you here, so near I might touch you? Was the guard a distraction, and are you a thousand leagues hence in some dread prison? Does your body lie rotting already in a shallow grave, my soul's child, my bright Lanen?

I held back a sob and mentally shook myself. Cold, cold as revenge, cold as the depths of evil, lest your fears unman you.

There was no response. Time was rushing past like a gale, bearing all my hopes into bleak darkness.

The next door. I was acutely aware that every moment made discovery more likely. I waited, my light gleaming unnoticed into silent darkness, where only dust was illumined, where she slept unheeding or crouched wounded, where she was held chained to the far wall being driven mad with needing to get to the door.

Then the next door. The one Hygel had said led to the cell ruined long since. The door was like all the others. Blessed Lady, I prayed in the depths of my cold heart, Ancient One, riding serene above us all in your pale chariot, 1 beg you, if she sleeps waken her.

I had never prayed half so fervently, for I had never before been so unable to do anything of use myself.

Let her see the light, let her notice, let it be that she can move so far—let him not have blinded her. Lady, Goddess, Mother of us All, I am helpless and I hate it and I cannot change it. Don't let her die in silent darkness, Shia, Have mercy on your daughter. On my daughter. On the only child I will ever have.

Somehow I managed to spill a little of the oil onto my foot, which made me look down. At the fresh bloodstains on the stone outside this particular door.

My heart was a deep drum, pounding out the seconds. I lifted the lantern and shone the light onto the keyhole. My hands were shaking as I drew out the lockpicks I'd borrowed from Hygel. My short sword was loose in its sheath, for I fully expected to have to deal with as many demons as Berys could spare. I knew fine that Berys was too bright to leave her protected only by a single guard, a paltry spell, and an oaken door, and I was prepared for everything I could think of.

I was certainly not ready for nothing.

Behold the advantages of long-term planning. Marik and I have been preparing for years, building up a legion of our own particular Healers. In exchange for a doubling of their inherent abilities, they have allowed us to link them to a spell. Oh, of course it would only be used in event of an emergency, of course. And most of them have been told that the purpose of the link would be to summon vast power from every corner of Kolmar to protect us all from some great evil.

Ha! If I could find a way to do that, I would not need the De-monlord to rid myself of the dragons!

The beauty of it is that all the work of activation, apart from the final ritual, has been done long since. Though I really must arrange to replace Durstan, it is awkward getting dressed with one hand. It has been easy enough to draw the double circle on the floor in my hidden chamber, and scribing the symbols is simple—but preparing the cauldron takes twice as long as it did.

I have only just finished crushing the leaves and pouring in the oil. Now to light the candles around the altar, so; tie my rope wards about my waist, damn, it's tricky, I really must replace Durstan. Now let me ensure—yes, I did remember to put the globe inside the circle. Check the wards one last time—ah, yes, renew that smudged one, my robes must have trailed over it—all is done.