The light poured into the black water. It bubbled and boiled as if some great heat were under it. The ice looked as if a monster had been eating at it.

"Send it outward, Elaine. Seek the power that you have touched. Find its home."

She gathered a pool of light into her hand, scooping it from nothing. The light pulsed and glowed, painting her face with violet radiance. She flung the light outward, casting it into the air like a hawk.

The light fell in sparks, bouncing along the ground. Then those sparks rose into the air and raced down the street, like manic violet fireflies.

"After them," Gersalius said. "You have cleansed the fountain, but destroyed the spell in the process. We won't be able to trace it a second time." He lifted up his robes and ran. Elaine followed, skirts caught up in one hand, boots digging into the snow.

The sparks raced like miniature comets in the air, diving around corners. Somewhere near the edge of town, Gersalius leaned against a building and motioned her on, too winded to speak.

She glanced back only a moment, then ran. Her own pulse thundered in her ears. Exhaustion miasma ate at her vision in little dots and squiggles. There was a stitch in her side that felt as if it would tear through her stomach if she did not stop. But short of passing out, Elaine wasn't stopping. Gersalius had said they wouldn't be able to trace it a second time. If she lost sight of the sparks now, it would be her fault. She would have failed Blaine again. Even in vengeance she was failing him.

Elaine fell to her knees at the bottom of a hill. Buildings lined the base of the rise, and a graveyard topped it. She had been here before. The violet sparks whizzed into the trees, lost to sight among the graves.

Elaine stumbled to her feet and climbed the hill on hands and knees, sliding in the snow. The high, spiked cemetery gate, meant to keep wolves out, seemed an insurmountable barrier. She couldn't catch her breath, but through the gravestones she saw a sparkling violet flame.

Elaine leapt up, grabbing a crossbar. She managed to scramble to the top of the fence, feet on the crossbar, hands balancing on the spikes at the top. She threw one leg over, skirts catching on the pointed iron, then toppled, fabric ripping. The cloth trailed in the snow as she forced herself to run toward the glimmering flame.

The violet sparks had coalesced into a flame that burned and wavered through the trees and the grave makers. Please don't go out, please don't go out, she whispered to herself, over and over like a prayer.

Elaine collapsed to her knees in the snow. The flame burned over a grave. It hovered about a foot off the ground, consuming some magical fuel. She saw nothing unusual about the grave. It looked like every other one. She dug in the snow below the flame until her hands ached with cold.

The ground had sunk away as the coffin had collapsed, as the body decayed, and the ground had been dug up and refilled. The soil was still hard frozen, but it was frozen in lumps of bare earth. Grass should have covered the grave long ago.

She scrambled at the grave with her bare hands, digging in the frozen soil. The flame was growing dim, fading. She gave a wordless cry and crawled onto the grave.

"Elaine, Elaine." A voice called her name, but it didn't matter. Hands grabbed her wrists, stopped her from digging. She struggled to break free.

"Elaine, look at me!"

She blinked and found Gersalius holding her wrists, kneeling in the torn snow. The violet flame was gone, and they sat in brilliant sunlight. The clouds were gone, and everything sparkled with a clean brilliance. By that harsh, all-seeing light, Gersalius raised her hands so she could see them.

The nails were broken, blood flowed down her fingers. Her skin was cut and torn from digging in the frozen ground. "Didn't you feel this?"

She didn't trust herself to speak. She just looked at him.

"Elaine, speak to me, child?"

"We must find what is in this grave. The flame stopped on top of it." Her voice sounded normal to her ears. Watching the wizard's face, she wondered what he heard.

"We will dig it up, but I think shovels are in order, and perhaps something to heat the ground." He released her wrists, slowly, watching her face. "Are you all right now?"

She gave a harsh laugh. "All right? I will never be all right again. Don't you understand that? Blaine is dead." She choked on the word. "Dead, and I can't bring him back."

"That may not be true," Gersalius said. He looked very intently at her face as he spoke.

"What might not be true?"

"If we can find the body, you may be able to raise him from the dead, as Silvanus did earlier."

"The body is cold by now."

"If you are powerful enough, that does not matter," Gersalius said.

"You mean if we find Blaine's body, I can bring him back?" She grabbed his arm, as if touching him would make it true. "Are you sure?"

"I have seen men raised that have been dead for days."

"Then we must find his body, we must."

"We will, child." Gersalius patted her hand and loosened her grip on his arm. "Let us see who abides in this tomb." He crawled forward, brushing snow from the grave maker.

"Melodia Ashe, beloved wife, lost in death, missed for eternity. Does the name mean anything to you?"

"No," Elaine said.

"Nor to me, but perhaps it will to the townsfolk." He stood, bracing against the tombstone. "Old knees are not meant for running pell-mell up winter streets." He smiled gently at her. "Come, Elaine, let us go back to the inn and get shovels and strong backs to hack this ground."

She didn't want to leave it. "I'll stay here, to guard it."

"Elaine, no one will tamper with it while we are gone. They could no more dig through this frozen soil than we." He held his hand out to her. "So come, let's go back. The sooner we go, the sooner this riddle is solved."

Elaine took his hand reluctantly. She didn't want to leave, as if kneeling on this old grave brought her closer to Elaine. Leaving seemed like deserting him one more time.

"Please, child, these old bones are cold."

She took his hand and let him raise her to her feet. He led her through the graves, holding her fingers as if she were a child. The warmth of his touch began to warm her skin, so that by the time they reached the gate her sores ached. She'd torn a fingernail completely away, and it was a sharp, aching pain. Her hands hurt, but she almost welcomed it.

If she concentrated on the pain, she couldn't think of anything else. If she could find Blaine's body, she would bring him back. He wasn't really dead. She would bring him back. She would not fail him again.

TWENTY-EIGHT

They entered the inn to the sounds of ringing steel and snouting. Elaine ran for the stairs. "Caution might be wiser, child," Gersalius shouted at her back. Elaine ignored him. Everyone she had left was up there. She wouldn't lose anyone else.

Her ripped skirt tripped her on the stairs, and she fell heavily, striking her knee. The pain immobilized her leg, freezing her in place. Voices, shouts, a great bellowing roar of a voice. She'd never heard his battle cry, but it sounded like Fredric. The paladin wouldn't be lightly roused.

Elaine crawled upward, dragging her stunned leg behind her. On hands and knees, she neared the top step. The hallway was a mass of people, struggling. A tall man fought with shield and sword from the doorway where Averil had been. Elaine couldn't see who he fought, but she could hear it.

"Back, damned villains, back I say, or I will slay you all." It was Fredric's voice.

Elaine used the banister to climb to her feet. She stood there for a moment, testing her leg. There was a spot of fresh blood on the step where she'd fallen. She didn't bother looking for the wound. It could wait. The leg would support her now. She limped up the last few steps, leaning heavily on the banister.