One of the leading Ghoerans reined in his horse and pointed. “Lord Bannier! Is that it?” A low, weed-grown mound rose in a small hollow, surrounded by rings of small, weathered rocks.

Bannier rode up beside the fellow. He could sense the nearness of the Shadow without seeing the mound. “This is it,” he said. “Wait nearby until I call for you.” He slid off the horse and handed the reins to the guardsman, stalking forward to examine the site. Without waiting to see whether or not the Ghoerans withdrew, he started to work the spells that would part the veil between the worlds.

He was nearly finished with his task when he felt the strident shock of his source’s defenses waking. Caer Duirga’s magical energy suffused his body, basking him in a dark ra- diation that only another wizard could perceive, and the signature he’d placed over the old stones was unmistakable. He straightened up, dropping his staff to the wet earth, and stared off to the east in astonishment. Who is it that challenges me? he thought. One of the Gorgon’s fledglings?

Or… No! Someone is trying to rescue Ilwyn! With a vicious oath, Bannier wheeled and waved to the Iron Guardsmen.

“Come here! We ride now!”

Startled by his sudden outcry, the guards scrambled to their feet and mounted, springing into motion. The knight scowled and cantered toward Bannier. “What? What is it?”

At that moment, Seriene’s barrier severed Bannier from his source. It was like a cold, keen blade slicing through his flesh, amputating part of him. He shrieked in pain and staggered, while the strength and power that he hoarded in the center of his being drained away like the blood of a man whose arteries have been cut. The Ghoeran backed away from the wizard, a startled oath on his lips, as Bannier stumbled to the ground and caught himself on his elbows, floundering in the red mud. Bannier was aware of the shouts of the Ghoerans around him, but his attention was focused inward, trying to assess the extent of the damage.

After an agonizing span of twenty or thirty heartbeats, Bannier found a mere shadow of his strength returning, leaving him weaker than he had been. Mustering as much dignity as he could, he picked himself up and brushed the mud from his robes while he considered the implications of what had just happened. He knew Gaelin had struck at him, though he also recognized that because of the time distortion in the Shadow World, the attack might have actually occurred some time bef o re. Bannier allowed himself the luxury of a dire oath.

The men nearby blanched but stood their ground. “What is the problem?” demanded the Ghoeran knight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Bannier ignored the warrior, finishing his spell. He conjured a dark doorway of writhing shadow in front of the barrow’s stone-choked face. “Follow me in single file,” he said, dismissing the knight’s anger. He hoisted himself into the saddle.

“Into that?”

“You’ll be fine as long as you stay close by and don’t lose sight of me.” Bannier looked back and fixed the young Ghoeran with his glare. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to follow where I go?”

The knight spat. “Go on, lead the way.”

“Remember, stay close,” Bannier said. “I will lead you on paths from which you do not want to stray.” With his horse kicking up clods of dark mud, he rode into the Shadow.

While Seriene examined the strength of her shielding one more time, reinforcing the spell where she could, Gaelin and Erin tried to revive Ilwyn. She looked like a pale flower preserved by the snow, her face and limbs cold and imbued with only a semblance of life. Gaelin despaired of waking her; the fires of her life had cooled to embers, too dark to rekindle. He rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to warm her, while Erin trickled some strong brandy between her lips. “I think we need to get her out of here,” the bard said. “This place is unhealthy.

I don’t think Ilwyn will recover until she’s back on the other side.”

“You’re probably right,” he replied. “It couldn’t hurt to get away from here.” He retrieved his cloak and wrapped it tightly around Ilwyn’s torso, wincing. The talons of the shadow monster had scored him deeply, and his injuries still pained him. When he finished, he signaled to Seriene. “Can we get going? We need to leave this place.”

Seriene’s exhaustion was evident. Still, she finished her examination of the barrier before she allowed herself to slowly turn away, her stride unsteady. Watching her, Gaelin wondered what price she paid to gain her sorcerous skills; clearly they were not won or wielded lightly. “That should keep him busy for a time,” she declared.

“What did you do?”

“Severing the ley lines dismissed the source. Think of it this way: If Caer Duirga is a well from which Bannier draws his power, severing the lines is like cutting the rope for the bucket. The well itself isn’t damaged – I’m not strong enough to do that, no one is – but even after Bannier undoes this barrier, he’ll have to spend a lot of time and effort calling Caer Duirga back to life.”

“What were the spells you just wove into your barrier?” asked Gaelin.

“Traps,” Seriene replied with a fierce show of her teeth.

“He’ll want to be careful in approaching my work. Now, let’s get moving before he shows up to investigate. I don’t think I have the strength to face him now.”

Seriene led the battered party back to the doorway she had created to enter the Shadow World, while the rest followed as best they could. Boeric, Bull, and the three remaining guardsmen carried the bodies of their fallen comrades; no one wanted to leave the dead soldiers in the cold and gloom of the place. Gaelin carried Ilwyn – she felt light as a feather in his arms, as if she had grown close to insubstantiality as her life faded in Bannier’s black circle – and, with a dark look at Gaelin, Erin helped Seriene along. The Dieman’s fatigue was even greater than she let on.

To Gaelin’s eyes, nothing remained to indicate that Seriene’s door had pierced the barriers between the worlds, but Seriene seemed to know instinctively where she had left the gateway.

She began the invocations needed to open the door again, but halted after a few syllables. “Damn,” she muttered. She looked a round, her eyes flicking nervously from the gloom that surrounded them to the cheerless sky. “The gate’s gone.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Bull said, “Your Highness, what do you mean, gone?”

Seriene directed a withering gaze at him. “This is a deceitful place. The gate has shifted, vanished, or been closed by design. I’ll have to find another or ready a spell capable of forcing the passage again.”

Gaelin looked down at Ilwyn’s cold face. “I don’t know if my sister will last that long. How hard is it to find an exit back to our world? I mean, could there be one nearby?”

Seriene waved her hands in disgust. “I don’t know. I guess I should start looking.” Bowing her head, she stretched out her arm, extending her senses to search for another weakness or flaw in the dimensional barriers. Gaelin glanced around nervously. The withered trees and sere grass rustled and creaked, but he felt no breeze on his face. He could almost make out some kind of muttering, a voice whispering in the shadows, faint and hard to hear. He found himself straining forward to hear the words, words he must understand…

“Riders coming,” announced Erin. With a start, Gaelin realized that he’d let himself drift off. He shook himself, looking up at where Erin stood, gazing into the gloom. “They’re climbing the hill, back to the stones. I can hear their horses.”

Gaelin rose and moved to see where she was looking. He could discern nothing in the gloom. “Are you sure your mind isn’t playing tricks on you?” he asked.