"Hush," the woman said, and Anne felt her larynx instantly close. Then the horrible gaze went through and beyond her.

"Leave," she commanded.

"You only delay the inevitable," the male voice muttered.

"Leave," the woman repeated.

Anne felt the weight of him lessen.

"I didn't kill your friends," he said, and was gone.

Anne felt the woman's gaze on her but could not look up.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"The Kept gave you my true name," the woman replied. "He gave you some of my old epithets-Queen of Demons, and so on."

"Yes. But I don't…" She trailed off in confusion.

"You wonder rather what I am. What I want. Why I've helped you."

"I guess so," Anne said weakly, feeling suddenly presumptuous.

"Am I demon or saint?" the woman sighed, so close that Anne could feel her breath.

"Yes," Anne barely managed.

"If there were a difference, perhaps I could tell you," she replied.

"And the man…"

"He's quite right, you know," the woman went on. "He didn't kill the Faiths. I did. For you."

"What do you mean?"

"You led me to them. You rejected them, withdrew your protection, and I ended their existence. All but the one, and I shall find her."

"But why?"

"You don't need them," she said. "You never did. They were poor councillors. And now you have me."

"I don't want you," Anne protested.

"Then say my name. Tell me to leave."

Anne swallowed.

"You won't," the woman said. "You need my help. You need all the help you can get, because he will come for you and will either make you his or destroy you. Which means you must destroy him. And that you cannot currently do. Your friends will fall first, then you."

"And if I believe you, how can I stop that?"

"Strengthen yourself every way you can. Let me teach you the ways of your power. When he comes, you will be ready, if you trust me."

"Trust you," Anne murmured, finally lifting her gaze to the woman's face.

This time it wasn't so terrifying. There was something in the set of the woman's eyes that seemed truthful.

"Give me a reason to trust you," Anne said.

A smile slit the woman's face. "You have another enemy, one you haven't noticed yet, one that even I have difficulty seeing, for he-or perhaps she-sits deep in the shadows of the Reiksbaurg Palace. Like you, he is able to look across leagues and through time. Haven't you wondered why you manage to surprise the forces of the Church but Hansa is always one step ahead of you?"

"Yes," Anne replied. "I assumed spies and traitors were involved. How can you be certain it's shinecraft?"

"Because there is a place I can never see, and that is the sign of a Hellrune," the woman replied.

"A Hellrune?"

"A Hellrune sees through the eyes of the dead, who do not know past from present. Because the law of death has been broken, that is an even more powerful gift than it once was. But you get your visions directly through the sedos power. You can be stronger: See the consequences of his visions and act against them. In time, you will even be able to command the dead to give him false visions. But before you achieve that mastery, he can do much harm. If you act as I say, you may stop him sooner."

"How is that?"

"Send an embassy to Hansa, to the court of Marcomir. Send your mother, Neil MeqVren, Alis Berrye-"

"I'll do no such thing," Anne snapped. "I just got my mother back; I won't send her into danger."

"Do you think she isn't in danger in Eslen? Try to dream about that. I promise you that you will not like what visions come."

A sick dismay was starting to grip Anne, but she tried to stay strong. "You're less use than the Faiths," she said.

"No, I'm not. Your mother is going to ask to go, anyway; she thinks there is a chance for peace. You'll know by that that I'm telling you something useful. But further, I'll tell you this: If you send your mother, the knight, and the assassin to Kaithbaurg, I foresee an excellent chance for them to end the threat of the Hellrune and thus weaken Hansa. If you do not send them, I see you weeping over your mother's body in Eslen-of-the-Dead."

"An 'excellent chance'? Why can't you see whether they kill him or not?"

"Two reasons. The first is that since you haven't decided to send them, the future is cloudy. But the deeper reason is that as I told you, I am not able to see the Hellrune. But I know the opportunity can arise. Try seeing it yourself."

"I can't direct my visions," Anne said. "They just come."

"You can direct them," the woman insisted. "Remember how once you had to be summoned here? Now you come and go as you please. It's the same. Everything you need is here, especially now that the Faiths aren't mucking around."

"Where is here?" Anne asked. "I've never understood that."

"Why, inside the sedos," she replied. "This is where the world is moved from, where the power flows from. It is given form only by those who live here. It is your kingdom now, and you can shape it as you want. Hansa, the future, the past-all are here. Grasp the reins of power. You need not take my word for anything I've just said. Discover it for yourself."

And like a fire blown out by a wind, she flickered and was gone.

Anne stood there for a moment, looking at the dead faces of the Faiths.

Was it possible? Could she really free herself from the whims of the forces around her? Could she actually steer them herself, be free of doubt, finally chart her own destiny without the meddling of untrustworthy wights?

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" she asked the Faiths.

But their whispering was over.

"Well," she murmured. "Let's see if she's telling the truth."

And she saw, and woke with tears streaming on her face, and knew some things had to be done.

She rose to do them.

WHEN NEIL MEQVREN saw the dragon banner of Hansa, his heart sped and his hand shivered for killing. Pain stitched up his side, and he couldn't keep back a gasp.

"Easy, Sir Neil," Muriele Dare said.

He tried to smile at her. In the sunlight a bit of her age was showing: wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and on the line of the chin, a few strands of silver in her black hair. Yet he had never seen her look more beautiful than now, in an emerald Safnite riding habit and embroidered black buskins. A simple rose gold circlet settled over her brow told her rank.

"Sir Neil?" she repeated.

"Majesty," he replied.

"We aren't here to fight, so stray your hand away from that sword." Her brow creased. "Perhaps you shouldn't be here at all."

"I'm hale, Majesty."

"No, you aren't," she retorted. "Your wounds are still fresh."

"He's a MeqVren," Sir Fail de Liery said. "Like his father and his before. Men stubborn as an iron prow."

"I know I can't fight," Neil said. "I know I'll split open at the seams. But I still have eyes. I might see a knife in time."

"And then split open your seams," Fail grunted.

Neil shrugged, and even that hurt.

"You're not here to step between me and a knife, Sir Neil," Muriele said.

Then why am I here? he wondered silently. But he felt the tightness in his arms and legs and knew. Like the leics who had tended him, the queen mother believed he might never be able to wield a blade again. She was trying, as it were, to teach him another trade. So now, while the kingdom girded for war, Neil found himself gazing on the faces of the enemy, trying to count them.

He estimated a full Hanzish wairdu, about a hundred men, on the field between them and the white walls of Copenwis, but that would be only a fraction of their army. Copenwis was occupied, and though he could not see them, Neil knew that a sizable portion of the Hansan fleet was anchored in the harbor and along the shore of the great port. Six thousand, perhaps. Ten? Twenty? There was no way to know from here.