Now where the light touched the creatures, they hissed and screamed. Aral began to step forward, and of course I went with her, my hand on the jewel.

That was not a bright thing to do.

The creatures could not take their prey so they decided to attack the next best thing; since Aral was the source of their pain and deadly to them, the next best thing was me. I dared not remove my hand from Aral's, so I used my staff in my left hand—very badly—to try to beat the things out of the air. They had physical form, I could knock a few of them back for a little while, but there were so many of them. In moments my arms and my back were covered with the things, biting, slashing—I began to fear for my life and I had to let go of Aral's hand to use my staff.

They turned again to Vilkas when the bright stream of Aral's strength was cut off, but he was ready for them this time. With a word and a gesture he made a great globe of power that surrounded them and kept them captive. Aral moved to my left side, placed my cut right palm again over the gem she bore, and reached out to touch the creatures with her left hand. I tried to restrain her, but she reached right through that globe and touched the nearest.

To my everlasting astonishment it screamed and vanished. Just like that.

It took a very short time thus to dispel the rest of them. When they saw what was happening they tried even harder to escape Vilkas's power, but it might have been iron for all they could affect it. Each time Aral's touch burned them, broke them, sent them back to the lowest of the Hells.

I counted fourteen despatched thus when the last of them had gone, and Aral said later there had been another half-dozen destroyed while I was fighting one-handed. I began to feel a burning in the bites and slashes that covered me, but I was most concerned for Vilkas. The moment he released the prison his power had made, he fell to his knees.

He was in a terrible state. I hurried towards him, idiot that I am, but Aral was there before me. Her hands were empty again, save for the kindly blue glow of the healing power. She sent it to Vilkas, wrapped him gently in it, drawing out the poison, knitting torn flesh. I watched it happen. If you have never seen a high-ranked Healer at work on deep wounds—well, it is astounding. It is to believe again in the sacred nature of healing. To watch the demon-tainted blood turn from black to red, to see the open mouth of a cut close seemingly of itself, and watch even the red seam of that wound fade and mend—there was no question in my mind that this was the highest gift of the Lady, of the Mother of us All.

In a very few minutes Vilkas stood, unsteady on his feet but whole. He put his long arms about Aral, gently and awkwardly, holding her tight against his chest. "Thank you," he said simply.

I knew what she was thinking, I could almost hear her. I knew she would have given worlds for Vilkas to stay like that forever, close in her arms, but she knew too well the nature of that embrace and she wanted his love as well. For all the depth of the bond between them, for all that they had just now saved one another's lives, she knew the embrace was friendship and gratitude and nothing more. Even I could tell as much from afar. I swear I could almost hear her.

Or perhaps it was the beginnings of delirium, for I was badly wounded myself and the poison of demon wounds works swiftly. Vilkas, seeing me waver, left Aral instantly and sent healing to me himself. Drat you, Vilkas, I remember thinking as I leaned against a tree for support for the second time in an hour, if you can't love her, for Shia's sake, you could at least have let her heal me so 1 could hold her too.

Healing leaves Healer and patient both weary. We staggered back to the road. There was no longer any concern about Gair recognising me. None of us cared. We were desperate for a place to stop and to rest, and we had three hours at least of walking still to do. We took it slow, and Vil and Aral took it in turns to keep their power called about them and ready. The shadows of afternoon began to lengthen and the clear air grew cooler. Aral stumbled. "Damnation, I'm tired," she muttered. "Goddess, somebody start talking so I can think about something apart from sleep and demons while I'm walking."

She turned to Vilkas. He shrugged. "Nothing to say."

"You're so helpful, Vilkas." She turned to me. "You've usually got some kind of tale to tell, Will. Who is Gair, then, how do you know him?"

"Do you care?" I asked, managing to smile.

"No, but if you don't talk to me I'm going to fall over and we need to get to Wolfenden."

"True enough. But Gair's no subject, trust me. Even older than I am and never been five miles from his doorstep. I do indeed have a story, and a true one, that you two should hear, as we're going to that inn." Vilkas glanced at me with one dark brow raised. Aral was delighted. "But there's a price," I said seriously. "To be paid before I tell my tale."

"Name it. Unto half my kingdom," said Aral, grinning. "Of course, my kingdom at the moment consists of the clothes I stand up in and they wouldn't fit you, so I'm fairly safe."

"That's what you think," I said. I couldn't help grinning back at her. "Do I get to choose which half?"

"Will!" she exclaimed, batting at my arm. "And here I thought you were a gentleman." She laughed. "Though it might be worth it to see you in skirts!"

"You're not wearing skirts, idiot," said Vilkas dryly.

"Trust you to miss the point," she said, with a loud sigh. "But come, Will, your price?"

"The answer to a question."

"Ask."

I turned to Vilkas. "Why?"

"Why what?" he said, striding along unperturbed. "And I do not recall volunteering to pay your price, Aral."

"Oh, Vil, it won't kill you. I need a story badly."

"Very well," he said with a sigh. "Why what, Will?"

"Why did you not use your power back there?" I asked. "Berys obviously fears your strength, Aral tells me every few moments what a great mage you are—"

"Liar," came Aral's voice. We both ignored her.

"I've seen you doing things half-asleep that most of the Magistri couldn't do the best day they lived. Why did Aral have to do all the work when those demons attacked? You could barely defend yourself."

"Ah," he said. "You noticed."

"It was hard to miss, Vil. A bloody great horde of demons land on you like a flock of starlings on a seed store and Aral does all the work!" I said. I gazed steadily at him in the late-afternoon light.

"What is it, Vilkas? Why could you not disperse those demons?"

He turned away from my gaze. "You tell him, Aral," he said. "I need to stretch my legs. You both walk so damned slow." He changed his gait, and between one step and another he was walking twice as fast as he had been before, his hands behind his back, his face set in a scowl. I watched him distance himself from us with a certain surprise.

"Don't worry, Will. It makes him furious that there's something he can't do," said Aral softly. "In every other task we've ever tried his power is astounding, but he can't disperse even the least of the Rikti. Lady help us if we ever have to face the Rakshasa. More to the point, Lady help me."

"What happens when he tries?" I asked. I was amazed. I had thought Vil could do anything.

"I—um. I don't know," she said, worried. "He's never been able to do as much as try since I've known him. He just won't. When I asked him about it he didn't answer and he didn't speak to me again for a week. When I finally saw him again he tried to tell me, but he wasn't using words very well and what he did say didn't make sense."

"Vilkas not using words well?" I snorted. "That's not possible. When did this happen?"

"Not long after we'd met. About a year and a half ago, I'd say."

"Then he's had enough of a rest and it's time someone asked again," I said decisively, and took off after Vilkas. It took a bit of effort but I caught him up. Most of his height is in his legs, the man walks as fast as most folk run.