The Sister nodded, and looked to her fellows. Once again, Kiara sensed other presences, as if a conversation were taking place just on the verge of her hearing, and assumed the four were in conference. Finally, the Speaker leaned back once more. "Your Journey is part of a much larger story, one that began long ago," she said.

"Years ago, a great war was fought among the mages of the Winter Kingdoms, between those who would nurture the currents of magic for the good of all, and those who sought to bend its course for their own gain. In a conflict that nearly destroyed everything, the darkness was driven back, but not defeated. When the Great War ended, the mages of the Light were too spent to pursue the Dark Ones further, and it was our hope that they were damaged even more than we. We were mistaken.". Her expression hardened. "They have returned. This time, we must stop them before they rise once more, or there will be no reprieve. Neither we nor the world itself can bear another great conflict."

"But I am not a true mage," Kiara protested weakly. "I have only the blood-line magic of Isencroft's kings. I can do so little. How can it help?"

The sorceress smiled, her eyes distant, as if remembering something from long ago. "There are magicks that have been forgotten, my princess, perhaps even by-the Dark Ones themselves." She paused, and once again looked at Kiara as if taking the measure of her soul. "Now, it is time to ready you for your journey. At dawn, you must set out for Westmarch."

Before Kiara could ask the questions that filled her mind, her guide touched her arm. "Come with me," the brown-robed woman said. When Kiara looked back, the speaker and her companions were gone. Weak in the knees, Kiara allowed herself to be led from the audience hall.

She was clearly expected. A stack of new garments lay on the bed—rugged travel clothing that Kiara knew without checking was exactly her size. A worn-looking leather and light mail breastplate lay with them. A sizable purse of gold lay to one side, and on top lay a parchment map, yellowed with years. Next to these, a plain but beautifully worked dagger glittered beside a small velvet pouch and an unremarkable clay oval on a thong, pressed with runes Kiara did not recognize.

Kiara looked to her guide for explanation. The woman nodded toward the provisions. "Here is your first lesson in judgment, princess," her guide said. "What do you see?"

Kiara shook her head. "Ample provisions, more than I would have expected."

"Guard them well," her guide replied. "That riding cloak will hide your magic from those who scry for your power," she said, gesturing with a long, thin finger to the woolen cloak. "Replace your breastplate with the one on the bed." She held up a hand as Kiara began to protest. "It will lessen the impact of magic weapons, such as spelled daggers and arrows, but cannot turn them altogether. And its power can be exhausted, so do not offer yourself foolishly as a target."

Kiara turned the dagger in her hand, admiring its workmanship. "Guard it well, princess," her host said from behind her. "In the hands of a mortal, it will turn the undead. In the hands of a mage, it can destroy the soul."

"Undead?" Kiara whispered.

"You have much to learn," the guide said. "There are some who walk among us neither living nor dead. Some are wizards, who sought such power for themselves. Some are changelings, who by birth or accident lost their mortality. Yet others serve the Dark Lady as vayash moru."

Kiara's eyes widened. "But vampires are only in children's tales."

"Believing in them is beside the point." She reached past Kiara for the clay oval and handed it to the princess, who accepted it in cupped hands. "Guard this carefully, Kiara," she said gravely. "Use it only in a moment of dire need." As the woman turned it to the light, Kiara could see a pattern embossed in its surface. But as Kiara looked closer to examine the pattern, the lines blurred, as if in motion.

"This wafer is spelled with the magic of the Sisterhood," the sorceress said. "Snapped in two, it will transport the bearer and those in immediate contact to the place chosen in the bearer's mind." She replaced it carefully in the bag. "It may only be used once." She anticipated Kiara's objections. "You need not be a mage yourself to use these things. We know your gift, and its limits."

She gestured toward the coin purse that lay on the bed. "There is gold enough for your travels."

She gave an unexpected, mischievous smile. "That, at least, is as it seems." She paused, noting that Kiara remained silent. "There is more you do not say, Goddess-blessed."

"It's just... I sent my closest kinswoman to the Sisterhood in Dhasson. We were told that the Sisterhood's best healers were there. If you were so close, why—"

"Why didn't we just pop in with potions to help?" the Sister finished her sentence with gentle humor. Kiara nodded.

"We are aware of your father's sickness," the sister replied carefully. "And as much as I wish it were so, we do not have a 'magic potion' that can undo the spell. We sent word to our sisters in the Winter Kingdoms to see if any elixir might be found that could help prolong your father's life while you and others destroy the sender of the curse." She paused. "Word travels slowly, even among the Sisterhood. And such marvelous transportation as you experienced can be used only sparingly, for short distances, and at great cost. Otherwise, we are just as constrained by distance and the speed of a horse as non-mages," she said with a sad smile. "As for our cloister here, it is just a small hiding place. We have no healers here."

"But the Sisterhood has the most powerful mages alive," Kiara marveled. "Why would you need to hide?"

The Sister's eyes took on a sad, distant look. "What people do not understand, they either destroy or worship," she said quietly.

"Throughout our history, we have, unfortunately, encountered both. We neither seek worship nor martyrdom. And there is fear among our Sisters—well-founded fear—that now that Jared Drayke rules in Margolan, we may once again be targets."

"Why?"

The sister looked away. "Jared Drayke's mage, Foor Arontala, is well known to us. Now that he controls a king and the resources of a kingdom, his ambition will grow. He will see us as a threat, and rightly so, because his blood magic is the dark stain Bava K'aa and others gave their lives to wipe out."

"Can't you just... tounce him or something?"

The Sister chuckled. "I wish it were so easy. Perhaps no one since the Obsidian King so deserves to be 'trounced' as you put it. But the Sisterhood does not, cannot, intervene directly in the rule of kingdoms. To do so would bring about our destruction. We, too, would be seduced by power, and it would be our ruin. And so, we work behind the scenes. We enable, we guide, we arrange fortuitous coincidences," she said with a knowing smile. "But we cannot become kingmakers. We would be presuming the role of the Lady. Instead, we make it possible for Her will to work."

Kiara considered for a few moments. "If the Sisterhood does not have a potion, Carina's journey is in vain."

The sister shook her head. "We do not know that. Our sisters throughout the kingdoms will search their records and send us word if help can be found." she said. "You are correct that the healers in Dhasson are among our finest. It may well take the length of your kinswoman's journey for them to exhaust their resources and find something that can help. But I do not believe the journey is wasted," she said, meeting Kiara's eyes. "I believe their path is in the hands of the Lady Herself."

A knock at the door startled Kiara but her hostess brightened, expecting the interruption. "Come," she said, and the door opened to admit another robed woman carrying a tray full of food. Kiara's stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was nearly morning. "You must be hungry by now," the guide remarked, and while she did not completely lose her reserve, by comparison, she was now almost friendly. "Please eat well, and take your rest. You have a long journey ahead of you."