No, I look large, came Aryn’s reply. I don’t think I’m ever going to have this baby. I’m just going to keep getting more enormous. Soon I won’t be able to fit in the castle at all, and Teravian will have no choice but to erect a gigantic tent for me in a field.

Grace could imagine Lirith pressing dark, slender hands against Aryn’s belly. Do not believe her, Grace. The baby is healthy and will come very soon. And I can see in Teravian’s eyes every time he looks at her that he has never found his queen more lovely.

Grace didn’t doubt it. She sighed, wishing she could be there with the two witches and spend all day laughing and talking about such simple joys. Only . . .

What is it, Grace?Aryn said. Something is wrong, isn’t it? Lirith was certain of it when she woke this morning.

Grace gripped the chair. Have you had a vision, Lirith?

No, I haven’t. And that’s what’s so strange. I haven’t had a vision in months. Or at least . . .

At least what?

She could sense Lirith struggling for words. I suppose I have had visions. Or what feels like a vision of the Sight to me. The same queer feeling comes over me, and my gaze goes distant, or so Sareth tells me, and I have the usual headache when the spell passes. Only it’s as if the magic is broken somehow. I never see anything with the Sight anymore. Instead, I see nothing. Nothing at all.

A coldness came over Grace, and she sank into the chair. Your magic isn’t broken, Lirith.

She told them everything, sending words, thoughts, and feelings over the Weirding, so that in moments they knew all that had happened. I think you did have a vision, Lirith. If Sfithrisir is right, if the rift keeps growing, then that’s all there will be in the future: nothing. Just as you saw.

She could feel both Aryn and Lirith recoil in horror. However, neither had seen the rift, nor had they heard of anyone who had. That gave Grace a small amount of hope. The rift must only be visible in the far north. That meant it was still small. And that meant there was still time to do something. At least, she had to believe that.

Do you think the rift has something to do with what’s happening to rune magic?Lirith said.

Grace curled up in the chair, hugging her legs to her chest. I suppose it’s too much to believe it’s a coincidence. And it’s not just the Runelords. Lately, the witches here have been struggling with weaving spells.

That is troubling news, came Aryn’s reply. I confess, it was more difficult than usual to reach you over the Weirding. Were it not for Lirith’s aid, I’m not sure I would have succeeded.

So magic was being affected in the south, not just the north. That was troubling news.

I have to go, Grace said reluctantly. I have to talk to Melia and Falken about what we’re going to do.

Wait, Grace, Lirith said, and something in her voice made Grace sit up straight in the chair. We have news ourselves. Such strange news . . .

Grace stared, her body going numb, as she listened to Lirith speak of the letter she had received from Sareth just last night, brought to Calavere by a rider from the south. After three thousand years, Morindu the Dark, lost city of sorcerers, had been found. But it was not so much the news that stunned Grace as the name of the dervish who had brought this knowledge to the Mournish.

Grace, I’m getting tired, Aryn said when Lirith finished. I know there’s so much to talk about, but I can’t hold on to this thread any longer. It keeps slipping through my fingers. We’ll have to talk again later.

“No, wait!” Grace cried out, standing. “Please don’t go!” But their threads had already slipped away.

She moved to the window, gazing outside, letting the morning sun fall on her face. A hawk wheeled against the flawless blue sky.

“How?” she murmured, her hand creeping up her chest, pressing against her heart. “How did you get here, Hadrian?”

That was a question that would have to wait. However, this news changed everything. Grace no longer needed Melia and Falken to help her decide what to do. She already knew.

Seek the one who destroyed this world, the dragon had said. He will come in search of it. . . .

Travis would help her find the Last Rune—the rune that had the power to stop the rift.

And now she knew where she would find Travis.

Grace turned from the window, opened the door, and went downstairs to tell Melia and Falken that she was leaving Malachor.

12.

Vani and Beltan were already moving toward the back of the flat before the sound of falling glass ceased. The blond man paused to grab his sword from the wall above the sofa. Its broad blade gleamed, a decoration no longer.

“Travis,” he said gruffly, “you and Deirdre stay in here.”

Travis gave a wordless nod, then the knight and the T’golvanished into the darkened hallway. His heart raced, but all it would take was a single spell cast by a sorcerer and its beating would stop forever.

He bent down on one knee. “Come here, Nim.”

The girl walked to him, her gold-flecked eyes solemn, and pressed a small hand against his cheek. “You shouldn’t be afraid. Mother always sends the gold men away, and this time she has my father Beltan to help her. He’s very strong, you know.”

Despite his fear, Travis couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, he is.” He scooped the girl into his arms, amazed at how light she was, and stood. Deirdre was frantically dialing a number on her cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Travis whispered.

She held the phone to her ear and ran a hand through her shaggy red-black hair. “Calling for backup.”

Holding Nim, Travis took a step toward the hallway. He couldn’t see Beltan and Vani anymore; they must have slipped into the bedroom. There was no sound now. What was happening in there?

By the hand of Olrig, why don’t you go find out for yourself? Jack Graystone’s voice spoke in his mind. You’re a Runelord, Travis. You can take out a mere sorcerer. You’ve done it before.

Yes, he had slain a sorcerer before, but not with rune magic. It had been in Castle City, in the year 1883, when he had finally come face-to-face with the Scirathi who had followed them through the gate. A drop of blood from the scarab had entered Travis’s veins, and that blood of power had allowed him to turn the death spell back on the Scirathi, slaying him.

That’s right, I quite forgot, Jack’s voice spoke excitedly in his mind. Runes won’t be much help on this world without the Great Stones to lend them some punch. But you’re a sorcerer now yourself, and a fine one at that. You have nothing to fear from them, my boy.

Travis was quite certain Jack was wrong about that. All the same, he started toward the kitchen to get a knife.

Behind him, Deirdre swore softly. Travis halted and turned around. “What’s the matter?”

She lowered the cell phone. “My partner, Anders, wasn’t home. I was leaving a message on his machine, only then there was a burst of static and the phone went dead.”

Nim tightened her arms around Travis’s neck. “The air feels funny,” she said. “It’s all tickly.”

Travis tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He didn’t know how she had sensed it, but Nim was right. Power crackled on the air.

His eyes snapped open. “Deirdre, get away from the—”

The front door of the flat burst open in a spray of wood.

Deirdre stumbled to her knees under the force of the blast, the cell phone flying out of her hands. Travis hugged Nim to him. In the doorway stood a figure clad in black, a serene gold face nestled into the cowl of its robe. Before Travis could think, the sorcerer raised a hand, stretching its fingers toward him.