The Gorgon’s smile chilled Bannier. “Fortunately, Kraith is available to counter the Dieman army. It is not a fatal mistake, Bannier. Now, you must be wondering what role you have left to play. You will become my envoy in Tuorel’s court. It is my desire that Tuorel and Kraith combine their forces in order to crush the remaining Mhoriens and Vandiel Diem’s host.

Kraith marches even as we speak, but Tuorel must be persuaded to accept the goblin’s aid.”

“Tuorel will be suspicious of me,” Bannier said.

“Then you will have to employ a ruse of some kind.” Raesene let his baleful gaze rest on Bannier for a long moment, until the wizard quailed and looked down. “You are also to see to it that Tuorel has the chance to meet Gaelin Mhoried face to face, on the field of battle. Allow the Wolf of Ghoere to slay the young Mhor and claim his bloodline and kingdom.

In a year or two, when the time is right, I shall call upon Tuorel and absorb both the Mhoried and Tuorel bloodlines.

Do you understand?”

“I do, my lord.”

“Then you may go.”

Bannier bowed again and set off at once. He’d visited the Battlewaite on several occasions; he’d find his own way out.

He had reached the doorway leading from the battlements when he heard Raesene’s hooves scrape heavily on the stone behind him. “One more thing, Bannier. I expended a great amount of energy and effort to rescue you from the mistakes you made at Caer Duirga. I shall not do so again.”

“I understand, my lord,” Bannier replied. Backing away, he disappeared into the darkness of the Gorgon’s citadel. It would take much of his remaining strength to walk the Shadow again, but he dared not linger one moment more in the Gorgon’s halls.

Seriene located the portal again after a brief search. Although she was staggering with exhaustion, she managed to reopen the doorway and send Gaelin and his decimated en- tourage through. They found themselves high on the slopes of Caer Duirga, an hour or so after sunset. The stars were emerging in a field of midnight blue overhead. Gaelin was relieved to count the normal number of lights in the sky; the warm, friendly constellations he knew were still here.

Gaelin was immediately aware of a change in the feel of Caer Duirga. The brooding menace and supernatural chill were gone, replaced by the sense of watchfulness common to any wild place. This was not a place for people to linger near, but the hostility had faded, leaving nothing but a memory.

The ancient evil beneath the hill slept once more.

Three hours after sundown, they stumbled back into the camp they’d left at the foot of the hill. The two guards were still there, nervous and alert. They greeted Gaelin and their fellows with obvious relief. “We wondered if you were ever coming back,” one said.

“We were only gone for a day,” Boeric observed sourly.

“We left at dawn and returned at sunset.”

“Begging your pardon, Sergeant, but you’ve been gone for three full days,” the guard told them. “You left the camp the morning of the day before yesterday.”

Gaelin exchanged a long look with Seriene. The princess merely frowned and shook her head. As she had told them, time ran differently in the Shadow World. Although Gaelin regretted the lost days, he decided not to make any effort to begin their return trek. They were all exhausted, physically and spiritually. He allowed Boeric to build a bright and cheerful campfire that night. Enemies or no enemies, no one wanted to lay awake for a night in a cold and empty place without light and heat.

Ilwyn rallied once they left the Shadow, but she was still semiconscious, as if black and hidden ice in her heart had only now begun to thaw. She couldn’t manage anything more than monosyllables and was too frail to stand or walk unaided.

But through the night she made progress, gripping a steaming mug of coffee and staring into the fire with wide, dark eyes. Erin looked after the Mhorien princess, staying close beside her and comforting her.

That night, Gaelin slept alone. Erin stayed beside Ilwyn, holding her through the night as if the princess were a lost and damaged child. Even if Erin hadn’t been looking after Ilwyn, he wasn’t certain that their relationship was going to continue in the same manner as before. Already he felt an exquisite ache in his heart at the thought that he might not hold her in his arms again. He could see her from where he had set his sleeping blankets, facing away from him with her arms around the girl, and he gazed at the curve of Erin’s hip and the firelight dancing in her hair until he fell asleep.

He opened his eyes in the great hall of Shieldhaven, a high chamber graced with tall, carven pillars and proud banners and tapestries. The hall was suffused with a soft, silver light, and things seemed dim or indistinct, as if he viewed only possibilities and not the hall as it really was. He was dreaming again, but the accuracy and strength of the phantasm were remarkable; the air was cold but clear, and he could feel each breath he took.

His feet carried him away from the hall, wandering the corridors and chambers of the castle. He explored many of his childhood haunts, drifting ghostlike through his memories.

At length he found himself on the windswept battlements of the castle, but the air was still and quiet. His footfalls died away, and he had the strange impression that very little he did could disturb the silence of his dream. Gazing over the countryside, he saw little more than silver fog, and hints of dark forest beyond.

“Hello, Gaelin. I’ve been waiting for you.” The Mhor Daeric stepped out of nothingness to join him on the battlement.

His father appeared much as he had in life, dressed in the garments of soft gray that he preferred. But he seemed younger than Gaelin remembered, a tall, broad-shouldered man in the prime of his life, his hair streaked with silver, his face unmarked by the years that had worn him down. Daeric appeared as tangible as Gaelin himself, although limned by argent light.

“I haven’t met you in my dreams for many weeks now,”

Gaelin answered. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Your attention was elsewhere, Gaelin. You had little time or need for me.”

“I didn’t mean to forget you so soon.”

“The living go on with their cares and burdens, and yours have been heavier than most.” Daeric’s face glowed with a warm smile, and a humorous light danced in his eyes. “Be- sides, you haven’t forgotten me. Every day for months now, you’ve stood forward and done your best to heal Mhoried’s injuries. As long as you do that, I’ll never be forgotten.”

Daeric held out his hand to Gaelin. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” asked Gaelin.

“To Caer Winoene. You summoned me here because you needed me again. This is a way I can help you.”

Gaelin tentatively reached out to take his father’s hand.

The moment he touched the phantasm, the castle of Shieldhaven melted into silver mists, and he found himself standing on the hillsides overlooking Caer Winoene, under the starlit night. The ethereal quality of Shieldhaven was gone; now he was the one who shimmered with silver light, much like his father beside him. Gaelin suddenly understood that they existed as phantoms in the real world, the waking world.

He could make out the trenches excavated by the Ghoeran soldiers, ringing the Mhorien stronghold. Campfires dotted the plain beyond, surrounding batteries of siege engines. He turned his attention to Caer Winoene itself. The castle had only been partially repaired in the time Gaelin had occupied it, and under the Ghoeran bombardment, it was not faring well. If Caer Winoene had been garrisoned by anything less than a full army, the Ghoerans would have been able to press the attack and storm the breached defenses. But the castle itself formed only the centerpiece of a ring of ramparts, trenches, and redoubts that concealed the Mhorien army.