“Stand aside, Gaelin. The others will be following.”

He noticed that her voice had a curious ringing quality, as if the very properties of sound were altered by the bitter air.

He let her guide him a few steps away, and stood there blinking as he tried to get his bearings. Surprisingly, it wasn’t completely dark. In fact, his eyes were rapidly adjusting to a deep gloom, similar to a winter night an hour or so after the sun goes down. The sky was clear and dark, but instead of the warm and friendly stars that should have been there, only a handful of dim and hateful lights flickered weakly in the heavens.

Gaelin turned slowly, peering into the shadows that surrounded them and gasped in astonishment. They hadn’t gone anywhere! Everything was just as he had left it – the rise and fall of the land, the black towers of stone, even the bleak and twisted vegetation. The only thing that had changed was the preternatural darkness that lay over the landscape, and the gnawing cold. He could still see for several miles, taking in the surrounding hills and fields, but it was like looking at the world through smoked glass, and it hurt his eyes to peer too far.

Seriene, too, had changed subtly. She was limned by a strange blur, a soft and otherworldly radiance, while her fair complexion seemed paler and more brittle than bone.

Alarmed, he examined his hands and torso, and found that he, too, was as insubstantial as the sorceress. But instead of the shimmering glow that surrounded Seriene, he seemed to blaze with a vital green fire, an aura that mantled him like a king’s robe. The last time he had seen this manifestation of his bloodline was when he had inherited the regency of Mhoried, on the banks of the Stonebyrn.

There was a ripple of dim light in the air, and Erin stepped through. She was disoriented for a moment, until Seriene directed her to one side. “Help those who follow, Gaelin,” Seriene instructed. “Keeping this doorway open takes most of my concentration.”

Gaelin grasped Erin’s hand and drew her away from the door. The minstrel’s eyes glimmered with a strange violet light – her Sidhelien blood, Gaelin guessed – and she oriented herself much faster than Gaelin. Erin appeared as unnaturally pale as Seriene and himself, but her nimbus was not as strong as either of their own. A shudder racked her frame, and she gasped for breath. “So – cold,” she breathed. “Gaelin, you’re shining. You’re more real here than I am.”

“It must be my bloodline,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Erin leaned into his body, seeking warmth. “So this is the Shadow World,” she said. Her voice, too, had that strange clarity. “I don’t like it.”

“This isn’t a place for us, that’s for certain,” Gaelin agreed.

In short order, the rest of their party followed. Gaelin noticed that Bull, Boeric, and the other guardsmen had only the weakest of auras. When the last of the men stepped through, Seriene dropped her arms, her shoulders sagging, and Gaelin realized that her aura had dimmed noticeably since he had first come through – her exhaustion was tangible and visible here. She rallied and motioned for everyone’s attention.

“Welcome to the Shadow World,” she said with a weak smile. “This is an extremely dangerous place. Don’t wander off by yourself. If you do, I will never find you. Perspective and distance are tricky here, and your sense of time can play tricks on you. Keep track of where you are, where your companions are, and most importantly, where I am. I can’t shepherd you around and do what I need to do here.

“Do not get curious. Don’t look behind boulders or trees.

There are creatures here that can end your life in the blink of an eye, so don’t go looking for them.

“Finally, stay awake and stay alert. There are powers in the darkness that can enter your mind when your defenses are lowered. You may find strange ideas and urges coming into your head. Don’t listen to them!” Seriene paused. “Any questions?”

A few guards shuffled their feet or glanced at each other nervously. Gaelin squeezed Erin’s hand and was sur- prised to find her trembling in cold or fear. Seriene nodded.

“Very well. Follow me, and stay close.”

They set off, winding back toward the center of the hill. It was a march of only a couple of hundred yards on the other side, but here it seemed to take much longer. As they moved on through the darkness, Gaelin became aware of a watchfulness about Caer Duirga that was much more immediate and malevolent than the simple uneasiness he’d felt about the place in the daylight world. He caught up to Seriene. “Where are we going?”

“Bannier’s source,” she answered. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I feel something wrong here, but… wait, I do feel it. It’s stronger up ahead, isn’t it?”

Seriene nodded. “If you were a mage, you would be able to see what I see now. It’s unmistakable.” Glancing at Gaelin, she halted and took his hand. “Actually, you may be able to see it anyway. Close your eyes a moment, and then look again.”

Gaelin did so. When he looked again, he saw a thin purple column of energy rising from behind the hillocks just ahead, arrowing into the sky. A few hundred feet overhead, the column suddenly divided into a dozen razor-thin lines of lambent fire that arched away into the darkness. “Haelyn’s shield! What is it?”

“You’re seeing the raw stuff of magic, mebhaighl caught and corrupted here by Bannier’s sorcery. The smaller ones are ley lines, running away from here to other places where Bannier desires to tap this power.” Seriene pointed at the low, dark rocks that blocked their view of the foot of the column. “His source must be just over that rise.” Cold vapors formed from her words. She released his hand, and to Gaelin’s eyes the crackling, thrumming energy slowly faded from view – but now that he knew where to look, he could still feel it on his face, just as a blind man can feel the heat of a fire without seeing its light.

They continued forward, climbing up the last hillside, a shelf of rock that crowned Caer Duirga like a turret on top of a castle. At its crest, they found themselves looking down into a small hollow, a bowl-shaped space in the mountain’s center.

There, a great ring of ancient standing stones leaned drunkenly around a black slab or altar. On the far side was a gloomy mass of trees. Gaelin was certain no such place existed on the other side – the stones and the altar must have waited here in the Shadow for ages. He started to say something to Seriene, but then his eyes caught a pale wisp of white trapped in the menacing darkness. “Ilwyn!”

He drew his sword and started forward at once, but Seriene quickly caught him. “No, Gaelin!”

“But that’s Ilwyn!”

“It may be Ilwyn, Gaelin. Remember, things aren’t always as they seem here. And Bannier has not left her unguarded.”

Gaelin halted, frowning. “I don’t see anything.”

“You don’t, but I do,” Seriene replied. “We must be very careful how we approach this place; Bannier has woven traps all around this vale, and I can only guess he may have some here that even I can’t see.”

He growled in frustration, lowering the blade. “But we’re so close! Are we going to wait until Bannier himself appears to show us the way in?”

“Of course not!” snapped Seriene. “But we can’t rush headlong into that place. Give me time to examine the spells he’s created around the stones. I’ll find a way to pass them.”

Erin moved up beside Gaelin and put her hand on his shoulder. “Be patient, Gaelin. Seriene knows what she’s doing. A delay of an hour or two doesn’t hurt us.”

Gaelin slammed his sword back into its sheath at his hip.

Ilwyn was only about thirty yards away. She seemed more dead than alive, lying limply on the stone as if she were about to be entombed. “Fine,” he said. “But the sooner we get her and leave, the better.”

Seriene frowned, and paced forward to survey Bannier’s defenses. “I’ll work as quickly as I can,” she promised.