"You poor fool," muttered Vilkas. "From such a compact the only way out is the death of the demon-master who made the agreement with you."

"Who did you compact with?" demanded Maran, pushing her way forward. "Quickly, man, a name!"

"Marik of Gundar and Archimage Berys," Donal replied, panting, as one who has run a long race. "It returns—in Shia's name, I beg you, strike to the heart while yet my soul has hope of paradise!"

Maran went to draw her sword, Rella pulled out a dagger, but they were too slow. I went for my own weapon, but I was too late.

"Now!" screamed Donal, his face a mask of terror.

Shikrar's talons pierced his chest, four talons sharp as swords. The Raksha, forced outside the body now that it was dead, barely had time to scream its frustration before Salera and Shikrar flamed it into oblivion.

With his last breath, the poor Gedri sighed "Thank you" to bright Salera and to me, and left this life to sleep on the Winds.

I bowed and sent a benison after the departing soul, and began to speak aloud the ancient prayer for the dead. I had never known it to be used for a child of the Gedri, but the Wind of Change blew stark across us all. Perhaps it was time for the Wind of Shaping to speak while the world shifted around us.

"May the Winds bear you, Donal ta-Wylark, to where the sun is ever warm and bright. May your soul find rest in the heart of light. May you join your voice to the Great Song of Tune, and may those you love who have flown before meet you and welcome you into the Star Home, the Wind's Home, where all is well, and all is joy, and all is clear at last."

The words were meant to give comfort, but I felt none. I had killed a Gedri Healer in full view of a hundred witnesses. No matter that I had done so to grant him release from bondage—no matter that he had begged for that mercy—it was an ill way to begin, and I did not like it as an omen.

Lanen

Varien had not flinched, even when Shikrar solved the problem of who was going to release that poor soul, but I couldn't bear to look at the mangled body. I turned away, deeply regretting my breakfast—and there she stood. We had been near the back of the crowd when I heard some woman saying something about a Ladystar, but I hadn't seen who it was.

Maran, my mother, stood at my left shoulder, gazing at Jamie and Rella as though her heart would break.

"Marik and Berys! He named them before witnesses!" I turned to Jamie, laughing with savage delight, and saw that his eyes burned with the same fire as mine. "Those bastards seduced that poor fool of a Healer into selling his soul to demons. They are now outlaws in every Kingdom in Kolmar. Fair game at last!"

I had been waiting years for this. The Silent Service had known for some time that Marik had been building up the House of Gundar, raising small branch Houses throughout the Four Kingdoms, each with its own supply of men and arms, and—rumour had it—its own sorcerer. I had thought that last an exaggeration.

"They have called in our debt," Donal had said. And "They gave us power."

Hells.

I grabbed Rikard from the frantic melee around Donal's corpse. "Where was he quartered, Rikard? Where did he serve?"

"He worked in a little branch of the House of Gundar some leagues north of here, towards Elimar," said Rikard, still gazing at the body. Rikard's voice was flat, though with anger or with shock I knew not, nor cared in that moment. I dragged Jamie a little apart.

"Hells' teeth," I whispered to Jamie, "that's it. The House of Gundar. We were right, damn it, the Healers are all sold to Marik and Berys the Bastard."

"Every one? In all the Four Kingdoms?" Jamie swore. "Hells, there must be hundreds!"

"And Donal said the debt had been called in. If that's an example—"

"Lady save us," muttered Jamie, and I'd swear he turned pale under his tanned leather skin. "Hundreds like him? Walking demons?" He shuddered. "What chance would anyone have against them if there were no dragons by?'

"Little to none," I growled. "But Vilkas said there was another way. The death of the demon-master who made the pact." And I felt myself smile horribly. The idea of Berys's death had always appealed to me.

'The sooner the better." Jamie's sudden grin frankly blazed. "I'm first in line!" he cried.

"Only one tiny problem," I said ruefully. "We don't know where he is."

"Ah," said Jamie, suddenly quiet. "It is just as well then, isn't it, that we've a Farseer to hand?"

And with that he strode over to face Maran, who stood, head high, waiting for him. I would have greeted her but she was too busy staring at Jamie, who was giving as good as he got.

They were both closed and armoured, hearts locked securely away. At least, I knew Maran well enough to see that's what she thought she was doing, the poor innocent. You're a blacksmith at heart, my girl, I thought, wrapping my own fragile heart in stone. You've had no practice. You can't lie to iron.

Jamie, now, he was a lot better at it, but when he saw her like that, so much older, so much like Lanen, and trying so hard to pretend that she didn't love him with every bone in her body— well, I had known it was coming, no matter what Jamie said. I was desperate to turn away. I forced myself to wait and watch.

"Jamie," she said, nodding to him, not trusting herself with more. I swear the sun could have turned green just then and she'd not have noticed.

"Maran," he said, nodding back.

Lanen, who stood astounded, watching, could wait no more. "Maran!" she cried. Lanen's eyes were huge with the shock, and I could practically hear the clang when her gaze locked with her mothers. They both just stared for ages, then I swear, with a single breath they both said exactly the same thing, with exactly the same inflection.

"Hells' teeth!"

I led the retreat. I think Jamie would have stayed, if only to ensure a fair fight, but I grabbed bis sleeve and hauled. I made sure Rikard came too.

The poor souls. It was going to be hard enough without an audience.

For the longest time I just stood there, staring at her. To be fair, she was returning the favour. Neither of us said anything after that first outburst. Everyone else must still have been there— I know Varien was somewhere near—but I saw no one but her.

She was my height or a little more, though she looked to have twice my strength: her thick linen shirt covered shoulders wider than mine, and could not hide the impressive lines of her arms beneath. Her hair, light brown like mine but with a generous coating of silver, was braided and wrapped round her head like a crown. Her eyes ... ah, her eyes. I knew them. They were the same as those that stared out of my mirror. And hers were crinkling at the edges.

"Hullo, lass," she said, grinning suddenly. Her joy was mixed with a measure of panic, to be sure, but for all that it was overwhelming. "By my soul, Lanen, but it's good to see you in the flesh."

"Maran Vena," I replied quietly, my mind reehng, my belly fluttering. Nervous, frightened, angry, floating on a sea of wonder and of fury and of longing that threatened to undo me. "Maran. Mother."

No, it wasn't yet real. Impossible, she was on the other side of Kolmar—"What in the name of sense are you doing here?"

"I do still have the Farseer, you know," she said, her grin fading to a wry smile, her self-control taking hold again. "I left Be-skin while you were on the Dragon Isle. When it became obvious that Marik had recognised you and knew you for his. By the time you had started back with that new-minted husband of yours, I was well on my way. I'd swear it was chance that brought us to meet here," she said, her eyes narrowing, "but the world is a strange place at the moment. I'm not so sure I believe in chance just now."