Seregil snorted softly. "I could say the same about you. I had some lean times and harsh lessons, wandering around Skala."

"The Rhiminee Cat."

"I was a lot of things before that. Ever wonder why I was so generous to whores, back when you first met me?"

"Not until just now." Alec's voice carried a note of weary resignation.

Seregil stared out a hole in the roof, watching the dark shapes of branches tossing in the wind. "Being back there, in Sarikali—it's like—I don't know, like being there clouded my mind. Considering the shambles we've left behind, I'm not sure how useful I've been to Idrilain, or to Klia." He took a deep breath, fighting down a surge of guilt. "We should have been able to learn more, do more."

Alec's arms tightened around him. "We would have, but Phoria cocked it up for us. And you're right about us being the only ones who could get to the coast. You're probably right about Emiel."

"Maybe, but I feel as if I've been sleepwalking since we arrived."

"I believe I pointed that out to you, not so long ago," Alec noted wryly. "It wasn't just you, though. Aurenen's a damn hard place for nightrunner. Too much honor."

Seregil chuckled. "Whatever happened to that honest Dalnan lad I took up with?"

"Long gone, and good riddance." Alec shifted his legs to a more comfortable angle."Do you really think Korathan will listen to you?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

"That's no answer."

"I'll have to make him listen."

They fell silent, and presently Alec's even breathing told Seregil that he'd fallen asleep. He shifted against Alec's shoulder, mind still racing.

Perhaps he had needed to get clear of Sarikali's powerful aura. The rhui'auros's convoluted words, his own strange dreams, his pathetic efforts to prove himself worthy—where had it all gotten him, except deeper into confusion? He was sick to death of the whole business and longed for the dangerous, straightforward life he'd left behind in Skala. Something Adzriel had said to him, when they'd seen each other so briefly in Rhiminee just before the war, came back to him. Could you ever be content to sit under the lime trees at home, telling tales to the children, or debating with the elders of the council whether the lintel of the temple should be painted white or silver?

His new sword lay close at hand, and he reached out, running his fingers over the hilt, thinking of how he'd felt, grasping it for the first time. Whatever the rhui'auros or Nysander or his family or even Alec thought, he was good at one thing, and one thing only— being a nightrunner. Courtier, wizard's apprentice, diplomat, honorable clan member, son—failed efforts, all.

Sitting here, with a sword at his side, Alec at his back, a dangerous journey ahead, and who knew how many of his former countrymen seeking his blood, he felt at peace for the first time in months.

"So be it," he murmured, drifting off at last.

The dream had altered again. He was in his old room, but this time it was cold and dingy, full of dust. The shelves were empty, the hangings tattered, the plastered walls peeling and streaked with grime. A few toys and his mother's painted screen lay broken on the floor. This was worse, he thought, overwhelmed with a grief that outweighed any fear. Weeping, he fell to his knees beside the sagging bed, waiting for the flames to come. Instead, the silence and chill increased around him as the light began to fail. Somehow, he knew the rest of the house would be just as empty and didn't have the heart to investigate. He sobbed on, so cold that his teeth chattered. Exhausted at last, he wiped his nose on the hem of the rotting comforter and heard the familiar clink of glass.

The glass orbs, he thought with a flash of rage that outmatched his earlier grief. Springing up, he raised his arm to sweep them off the bed, then stopped, stunned to see them arranged in an intricate circular pattern, like a sunburst. Some were black; others glowed like jewels. The whole pattern was several feet across, and at its center a sword had been driven to the hilt into the mattress. He hesitated, fearful of disturbing the design, then pulled the blade free and watched in awe as it began to shift form. One moment it was the sword he'd sacrificed the day he'd slain Nysander, the next it had a pommel like a dark new moon. But others followed, other swords, and strange steel tubes with bent handles of bone or wood, each one streaked with blood. It ran down onto his hand in an ever increasing flow, staining the lines of his palm, dripping onto the bed.

Looking down, he saw that the orbs were gone; in their place lay a square black banner stitched with the same intricate design. The blood droplets still falling from his hand clung to the material and turned to ruby beads where they fell.

"It is not complete, son of Korit," a voice whispered, and suddenly he was engulfed in searing pain and darkness —

Alec woke with a strangled curse when something hit him hard in the face. Momentarily blinded by the pain, he struggled frantically against the weight pressing down on his chest and legs. It disappeared, replaced by a blast of cold air against his sweaty skin. The bright, hot taste of blood at the back of his mouth made him gag. Touching his nose gingerly, he felt wetness. "What the hell—?"

"Sorry, tali."

It was still too dark to see Seregil, but Alec heard scuffling in the darkness, then felt a tentative touch on his arm.

He spat in the opposite direction, trying to get the blood out of his mouth. "What happened?"

"Sorry," said Seregil again. Alec heard more fumbling, then blinked at the sudden brightness of a lightstone. Seregil held it in one hand and was rubbing the back of his head with the other. "Looks like my nightmare woke us both up."

"You can keep yourself warm next time," Alec growled, trying with limited success to pull the remaining blanket around him.

Seregil picked up the other and used a corner of it to staunch

Alec's nosebleed. His hands were shaking badly, though, and Alec pulled back to avoid further damage. "How long were we asleep?"

"Long enough. Let's move on," Seregil replied, widened eyes betraying some of the confusion Alec could feel radiating from him.

They dressed in silence, shivering at the unpleasant feel of damp wool and leather. Outside, the wind was still blowing, but Alec felt a change in the weather. Emerging from the hut, he saw stars showing through long rents in the scudding clouds. "Only an hour or two before dawn, I think."

"Good." Seregil mounted and looped the lead rein of his spare horse around the saddle horn. "We should reach the first guarded pass about then."

"Guarded?"

"Magicked," Seregil amended, sounding more himself now. "I could get through it in the dark, but I wouldn't want you doing it blindfolded. It's a bit tricky in places."

"There's something for me to look forward to," Alec grumbled, dabbing at his nose with his sleeve. "That, and a cold breakfast on horseback."

Seregil raised an eyebrow at him. "Now you're starting to sound like me! Next thing you know, you'll be wanting a hot bath."

Nyal had made a show of checking the Skalan's stables and searching out hoofprints, though he already had a fair idea of where Seregil and the others were headed. He'd shadowed them long enough to see them change horses at the way station and continue up the main road. Later, at the Iia'sidra, he'd overheard the Akhendi khirnari warn Nazien i Hari of a certain pass Seregil was likely to head for, one Nyal knew well for reasons of his own.

He took twelve riders with him for the chase, young bloods from some of the more neutral clans, including several of his own kin. He'd chosen carefully, wanting only youngsters who could be counted on to do as they were told.