"There!" Jenoe called. "Aim for that yellow light!" He looked at the Mettai. "The rest of your magic! Now!"

Again Enly heard the dull thud of the bows, and a second volley climbed toward the clouds.

"Not the fire," Fayonne said. "Flames in that mist will make you lose track of the Weaver."

"The wolves then! Hurry!"

Once more the Mettai gathered handfuls of earth, cut themselves, mixed the blood and soil, and began to speak their spells. As before, Enly couldn't understand much of what they said. But he could make out a bit more of it. There seemed to be a pattern, linkages between the phrases: "Life to power, power to thought, thought to…" He lost track after that.

And then the sorcerers threw their clumps of blood and earth, and Enly stopped caring what they had said.

Watching that golden powder fly toward the settlement had been as remarkable as anything he had ever seen. But what they conjured this time stole his breath, and left him frightened as well as awed. As soon as the mud left the Mettai's hands it began to change and grow. It happened so quickly that the shapes he saw appeared to be writhing. And by the time they hit the ground, the balls of mud had taken the form of great wolves. They landed lightly, gracefully, as if rather than being created by magic they had jumped down from some unseen crag. They were a good deal larger than wolves Enly had seen while hunting with his father in the Aelean Highlands. Their heads came almost to his shoulder. Their fur was black, with just a streak of silver-grey on their snouts or foreheads, and their eyes were bright yellow. Several of them bared their teeth and snarled at the Eandi soldiers. But then one of them turned and started loping toward the sept, and the others followed. In moments, they had broken into a full run, as if they had caught the scent of their prey.

The archers released another swarm of arrows, which curved across the sky toward that yellow glow of the Fal'Borna Weaver. Enly felt a wind rise out of the west, and knew immediately that the arrows would fall short. But the mist summoned by the Qirsi had started to grow thin. He could make out some shelters once again, and he wondered if this meant that the magic of the Weaver was failing.

Jenoe shouted with some urgency for the bowmen to loose their darts again. As soon as they did, Enly understood what the marshal hoped to do. The arrows reached their zenith and began to descend, just as the Mettai's black wolves splashed through the stream that fronted the sept. They would reach the Weaver just moments after the arrows did. The Fal'Borna had to choose which threat to combat with his magic.

The mist was vanishing, and now Enly felt the wind die away as well. He heard several of the leading wolves yelp in pain, and saw them collapse a short distance in front of the man. Shaping power, no doubt. But the others leaped over the fallen animals and converged on him. The arrows struck, several of them burying themselves in the Weaver's chest and shoulders. And as he went down, the wolves pounced.

A cheer went up from Stelpana's army.

"Advance!" Jenoe cried.

The Eandi swordsmen let out a deafening war cry and started forward past the bowmen, who held their ground. The archers launched one last salvo at the village, but from what Enly could see, few sorcerers remained alive.

A small number of Fal'Borna warriors emerged from the shelters, all of them glowing white, some bearing blades, others spears.

Many of the wolves seemed intent on devouring the Weaver, but more than a dozen of them broke off from the pack and began to advance on the sorcerers who remained. Enly thought it likely that the battle would be won before he and the other swordsmen crossed the stream.

He looked over at Tirnya and found that she was already gazing his way. She looked pleased, her cheeks flushed. Enly couldn't blame her. It was just as she had predicted back in Qalsyn when she first proposed that they attack the Qirsi and attempt to retake D'Raqor. These Fal'Borna had been weakened by the plague that had ravaged their land, as Tirnya had foreseen. Fayonne and the other Mettai had proven themselves formidable allies, as Tirnya had said they would. Amazingly, they had conquered a Fal'Borna settlement without shedding any Eandi blood.

The first battle was theirs.

And then it all began to go horribly wrong.

Realizing that the battle was theirs, that her efforts to persuade her father and Enly and the lord governor to go ahead with this invasion had been vindicated, Tirnya knew a moment of pure and profound relief. She would never have admitted it to anyone, but she had spent the last turn doubting that this day would ever come. She didn't need Enly to tell her how strange these Mettai were, nor did she need her father to tell her how difficult it would be to defeat the Fal'Borna if it turned out they hadn't been weakened by this so-called white-hair plague. She had spent day and night afraid that in her rush to reclaim Deraqor, her family's ancestral home, she was leading thousands of soldiers to their doom.

Now, though, seeing how easily they had conquered this first Fal'Borna settlement, her worries vanished. It seemed that a terrible burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She strode toward the sept beside her father, struggling to keep a satisfied grin from spreading across her face. This was warfare. Even now, with the last few Fal'Borna warriors scattering before the onslaught of Fayonne's wolves, it would have been wrong of her to take too much pleasure in their victory. Her father would have told her so if he had known how pleased she was. He would have warned her that this was just one battle in what still promised to be a difficult and dangerous war. And of course he would have been right.

But wasn't she allowed a few moments to enjoy this feeling? Could she be faulted for wanting to gloat just a little the next time she found herself alone with Enly? Thinking this, she looked over at the lord governor's son. A second later, he turned to face her, almost as if he felt her gaze upon him. They shared a quick look. Then Enly looked away.

"All right, Eldest," Jenoe said as they continued to advance on the settlement. "You can call back your wolves now. The day is ours."

As he said this, three of the wolves were closing in on a Fal'Borna woman who was backing away from the creatures, gripping a spear with both hands. As Tirnya watched, fire appeared to burst from the ground just in front of the middle wolf, but the animal leaped over the flames and charged the woman.

At the same time, its two companions attacked her from either side. The woman managed to impale one of them with her spear, but she could do nothing about the other two. One of them clamped onto her arm with its mighty jaws. She screamed. The other wolf tore at her leg. Tirnya saw her go down, but looked away rather than watch what followed. The woman continued to howl for several seconds. Then she fell silent, which was even worse.

"Eldest!" Jenoe said, sounding frantic.

"There's nothing I can do, Marshal. I have no way of calling them back."

"What? You created them! You have to be able to stop them!"

Another pair of wolves had begun to stalk a young man. He held a spear in one hand and a blade in the other. But rather than fight the creatures, he turned and ran. This proved no better than facing them. The wolves raced after the man, quickly closing on him. They took him down from behind, as if he were a rilda.

"They're wild creatures," Fayonne said, clearly unnerved by what she was seeing. "They may be born of magic, but they're alive now. I can't control them any more than I can control you."

"Can't you use some other magic against them?"