He cursed under his breath and sheathed his sword, then began to re¬move the creature's strange shell-like armor, which, considering the cold, wet day, was warmer to the touch than if it had been metal or anything else decent. Cursed black magic-I should never have come here again. Every hour, it seemed, some new and unwholesome choice was put before him. Instead of a soldier, I should have been a king's poison-taster, he thought bleakly. At least then I wouldn't have survived to see the outcome of my failures.

He had been adrift in the depths of his own being for so long that only now, as he was finally nearing the surface again, did Barrick Eddon begin to understand how completely he had been lost.

From the moment that the fairy-woman's eye had caught and held his own he had lost the sequence of everything. From that astounding instant when he had lain stunned and helpless as the giant's club had swung up but death had not followed, all the moments of his life, strung in ordered se¬quence like Kanjja pearls on a necklace, had suddenly flown apart, as if someone had broken the string and dumped those precious pearls into swirling water. His childhood, his dreams, barely recognized faces and even all the moments of Briony and his father and family, the army of Shadow-line demons, a million more glittering instants, had all become discontinu¬ous and simultaneous, and Barrick had floated among them like a drowning man watching his own last bubbles.

In fact, for a while the most clear-thinking part of him had been certain he was dead, that the giant's club had fallen, that the spiky porcupine woman and her fierce, all-knowing gaze had been nothing but a last mo¬mentary glimpse of the living world before it was torn from him, a glimpse which had expanded into an entire, shadowy imitation of life, another bub¬ble to observe, another loose pearl.

Now he knew better-now he could think again. But even though he could feel the wind and rain on his face once more, even though he again had a sense of life unrolling moment by moment instead of surrounding him in a disordered whirl, it was all still very strange.

For one thing, although he could no longer remember the important thing the fairy-woman had told him, he knew that he could no more go against her wishes than he could sprout wings and fly away, just as he had known that her servant, the faceless one they had discovered, must be saved.

But how could it be that someone could command him and he could not say the reason or remember the command?

liven the few things in his life that had once given Barrick comfort now seemed distant-his home, his family, his pastimes, the things he had clung to throughout his youth, when he had often feared he would go mad. But at this moment, of all of it, only Briony still seemed entirely real-she was in his heart and it seemed now that not even his own death would dislodge her. He felt he would carry her memory even into the darkest house, right to the foot of Kernios' throne, but all, the other things that he had been taught were so important had been were revealed to be only beads on a fraying string.

Ferras Vansen did not notice the wounded fairy wake. For hours the creature had lain deathlike and limp, eyes shut, then he suddenly discovered the red stare burning out at him from that awful, freakish face.

Something pressed behind his eyes, a painful intrusion that buzzed in his head like a trapped hornet. He took a step back, wondering what magic this shadow-thing was using to attack him, but the scarlet eyes widened and the buzzing abruptly faded, leaving only a trace of confused inquiry like a voice heard in the last moments of sleep.

"I cannot really tell him," Prince Barrick said. "Can you?"

"Tell…? What do you mean?" Vansen eyed the fairy, who still lay with his head propped on a saddlebag, looking weak and listless. If he was preparing to spring he was hiding it well.

"Didn't you hear him?" But now Barrick seemed confused, rubbing his head and grimacing as though it hurt. "He said he wants to know why we saved him, our enemy. But I don't know why we did it-I can hardly remember."

"You told me we had to, Highness-don't you remember?" Vansen paused. Somehow, he was being pulled into the madness as well, just when he could not afford to lose his grip on sanity-not here behind the Shadowline. "But what do you mean, 'said'? He said nothing, Prince Bar¬rick. He has only just woken and he said nothing."

"Ah, but he did, although I could not understand all of it." Barrick leaned forward, watching the stranger intently. "Who are you? Why do I know you?"

i

The Twilight man stared back. Vansen again felt something pressing he-hind his eyes and his ears began to ache as though he had held his breath too long.

"Surely you heard that." Barrick had closed his eyes, as if listening to fas¬cinating music.

"Highness, he said nothing! For the love of Perin Skyfather, he has no mouthl"

The prince's eyes popped open. "Nevertheless, he speaks and I hear him. He is called Gyir the Storm Lantern. He is on a mission to the king of his people, the ones we call the fairy folk. Lady Yasammez, his mistress, has sent him." Barrick shook his head. "I did not know her name before now, but she is my mistress, too. Yasammez! For a moment his face clouded as if he remembered a terrible pain. "I should love her, but I do not."

"Love her? Who are you talking of? That she-dragon who led the enemy? That spiky bitch with the white sword? May the gods save us, Prince Barrick, she must have put some kind of evil spell on you!"

The red-haired boy shook his head again, forcefully this time. "No. That is not true. I do not know how 1 know, or… or even what I know, but I know that isn't the truth. She revealed things to me. Her eye found me and she laid a task on me." He turned to the one he had named Gyir, who was watching with the bright, sullen glare of a caged fox. For a moment, Bar¬rick sounded like his old self. "Tell me, why has she chosen me? What does she want, your mistress?"

There was no reply that Vansen could hear, only the pressure in his head again, but more gentle this time.

"But you are high in her confidences," said Barrick, as if carrying on an ordinary conversation. "You are her right hand."

Whatever answer he thought he heard, though, it brought the young prince no happiness. He waved his hand in frustration, then turned back to the fire, refusing to speak more.

Ferras Vansen stared at the impossible creature. Gyir, if that was truly his name and not some madness of the prince's, did not seem disposed to move, let alone to try to escape. The huge welt on the creature's forehead still seeped blood, and he had other ugly wounds that Vansen felt sure were bites from the strange lizard-apes, but even so the dalesman could not imag¬ine sleeping while this monstrosity lay just on the other side of the fire. Could the prince really talk to him? And how did a thing like that survive,

with no mouth or nose? It seemed utter madness. How did it breathe, how did it eat?

/ am trapped in a nightmare, he thought, and it grows worse with each passing hour. Now we have invited a murderous enemy to share our fire. He propped him¬self against an uncomfortable tree root in the hopes it would keep him awake and alert. A waking nightmare, and all I want to do is sleep…

The rain had abated when Vansen woke, but water still drizzled from the trees, pattering on the thick carpet of fallen leaves and needles like a thou¬sand muffled footsteps. There was light, but only the usual directionless gray glow.

Vansen groaned. He hated this place. He had hoped never to see this side of the Shadowline again, but instead-as though the gods had heard his wish and decided to play a cruel joke-it seemed he could not stay out of it.

He started up suddenly, realizing he had drowsed when he had been de¬termined not to-with one of the deadly Twilight folk in their camp! He clambered to his feet, but the strange creature known as Gyir was asleep: with most of his faceless head shrouded in his dark cloak, he looked almost like a true man.