Voice of the Gods

37

Despite a week spent resting at the edge of the Si forest with plenty of food and water provided by the local tribe, Tyziss still had to fight a deep, unshakable weariness in order to fly. He craved rest, but his longing to reach the Open and his family was more powerful. Though news that he had escaped the Pentadrians must have reached them, he knew they would not stop worrying about him until he was home.

Sreil flew a short distance ahead. Their leader hadn’t rested more than one night in one place since being freed from the Sanctuary. He had refused to rest any longer, determined that he wouldn’t be the one to delay the return of the warriors to the Open.

He must be exhausted, Tyziss thought. Only half of the freed Siyee had made it back to the Si border. The water and food the Pentadrians had provided them with had not been enough for the journey, but then the Siyee couldn’t have carried more anyway.

Tyziss had decided to return home by a different route, following the coast of Sennon. He dropped into villages to ask for water and food, figuring that there was no longer any reason to fear that Sennonion Pentadrians would report the presence of Siyee in their land.

Only the warriors who had come to the same conclusion had survived the journey. It was a longer route, however. It had taken Tyziss four weeks to reach Si. Sreil had arrived a week later.

When the first Siyee made it to the edge of Si the local tribe had flown out into the desert with water for following escapees, but most of the Siyee who had died had probably perished of thirst within a few days of reaching Sennon. Some would have fainted and fallen from the sky, others were perhaps too weak to become airborne again after landing for the night, or might have lost their sense of direction. A few days before Tyziss had reached Si he had followed a trail of faint footprints in the desperate hope they’d been made by a landwalker who might help him. Instead he’d found a Siyee lying in the sand. He’d landed only to find the man was dead. It had taken so much energy to run himself into the air again he had nearly blacked out. Only a short distance later he’d seen a well in the distance.

Poor Tilyl. He didn’t know how close he was.

He pushed that thought aside and tried to think of home, but his mind moved to darker places. Thirst had not been the only killer of Siyee. When Sreil had ordered them to leave for the Open the day after he arrived, someone had asked about the priest.

“Teel is dead, and Auraya has been imprisoned,” Sreil told them heavily. “She spoke to me in a dream and told me of it.”

At least she managed to free all but one of us, Tyziss told himself. He could not imagine how the Pentadrians could keep her constrained. She was a powerful sorceress. But so were the Pentadrian leaders. And there were five of them.

The Siyee crested a ridge and a great scar of stone on a mountain slope appeared ahead. The Open. Tyziss felt a rush of emotion so powerful it left him weak and dizzy. His arm muscles began to tremble. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain rigid and in control.

I’m not going to fail now, so close to home.

It seemed to take forever for them to reach that distant stretch of exposed rock. Siyee flew up to meet them, whistling greetings. Tyziss started to shake again as he saw his wife. He saw tears in her eyes. His own were quickly dried by the wind.

At last they were circling down to land. When Tyziss’s feet met the ground he sighed with relief. Yissi embraced him tightly. He was home at last.

“The girls?” he asked.

Yissi smiled. “Well enough. I’ve left them with my sister.” A crease appeared between her brows. “Oh, Ty. Will you be leaving straightaway? You’re so thin. You look worn out.”

“Leaving?” he asked.

He heard Sreil’s voice growing louder.

“When did they go?” the young man demanded.

“At the last black moon,” an old man, who Tyziss recognized as Speaker Ryliss, replied.

Sreil glanced at the returned Siyee. “We must join them.”

“No,” Ryliss said firmly. “You and your warriors are exhausted. You haven’t the strength to catch up with them.”

“A night’s rest will do,” Sreil replied.

“No, Sreil. I forbid it. Too many have gone, leaving us vulnerable. We need some fighters to remain in case we are attacked.” The Speaker glanced at them and shook his head sadly. “Though we were hoping more of you would return than this.”

“There are too few of us to turn back an invading army,” Sreil said. “But we can help the Circlians fight the Pentadrians. There is no point in us staying—”

“Are you so keen to drag these men across the desert again?” the old man asked.

Sreil stared at him, then shook his head.

“They aren’t fighting in green Hania, Sreil,” Ryliss explained. “They are taking this battle to the Pentadrians. Crossing Sennon to the southern continent. You would not reach them in time. More likely you would never reach them at all. Stay here, where you are needed.”

Sreil’s shoulders dropped. He nodded and the Siyee around him sighed in relief. Tyziss turned to Yissi.

“The Circlians are invading Southern Ithania?”

She nodded.

He straightened and shook his head. “Another war so soon after the last?” He frowned as a suspicion dawned on him. “Where are my parents?”

“Gone,” she said, sighing. “They weren’t the only ones too old or too young to be going to war, and yet our army was half the size of the last.” Her hand slipped around his waist. “If I hadn’t been so sure you were coming back I would have joined them myself.”

He looked at her closely and felt a pang of affection at her serious expression.

“You? A warrior?” he asked in mock disbelief.

She poked him in the ribs. “A fine husband you are. I tell you I never lost hope and would have sought revenge for your death, and all you can do is laugh at me?”

He nodded. “Yes. Let me laugh. I haven’t had much reason to lately. Now, where are those girls of ours?”

She smiled and led him away.

The light of Emerahl’s magic-fed spark revealed an empty room. She ducked through the small doorway and moved inside, relieved to see that nothing had been disturbed. Her accommodation was a dome made of woven reeds secured to the sandy riverbank. Everything here by the river was made of reeds, from boats to furniture to houses, including these little domes for hire.

The walls gave an illusion of privacy, but there were plenty of gaps in the weave through which someone could look. So far she hadn’t caught anyone spying on her. The locals considered such an act a crime, but that would be no deterrent if anyone suspected she carried a fortune in treasure.

She opened the reed basket that held the freshly steamed fish and reed shoots she had bought. As she ate she eyed the patch of matting under which she had buried the bag of treasure.

It was proving to be more of a nuisance than a benefit. In the last two weeks she hadn’t encountered a town large or wealthy enough to sell any of it in. Even the smallest piece was obviously worth a lot. Anyone she tried to sell it to would assume she had stolen it. Even if they didn’t care about that, they might guess she had more and try to rob her. While she was confident she could stop them, she did not want to draw attention to herself.

According to The Twins, Raynora had been caught sneaking into Barmonia’s tent a few days after Emerahl relieved him of the treasure. He had convinced Barmonia that Emerahl had tricked and robbed him. Barmonia had sent out a warning to Thinkers in Glymma, telling them to look out for a woman of Emerahl’s description, who carried stolen artifacts.

That made selling the jewellery dangerous in Glymma. The Twins were searching for someone she might be able to sell it to in the city. She could take some of the uglier pieces of jewellery apart and sell gems and chains of gold separately, but she didn’t like the idea of pawning any of it to some lowlife who didn’t know its true value. They were more than just pieces of gold and gems; they were from another age, when there had been more gods than countries in Ithania.

It would be safer to sell the treasure in the northern continent, but that meant lugging the heavy bag around with her. She was tempted to hide it somewhere, but hadn’t yet found a place she considered secure enough. In the meantime, she was running out of money. There was little profit to be gained as a healer here. Dreamweavers were as common as blacksmiths and cloth merchants. Days before, she had been forced to sell her arem. The money she’d received in exchange should last her until she reached Glymma.

If she could sell some of the gems, she would buy passage to Karienne on a ship. If not, she would have to walk across the Isthmus or see if she could work in exchange for passage on one of the small boats sailing across to Diamyane, the town at the Sennon end of the Isthmus. Either way, she would go up to the Red Caves and The Twins.

The Twins. She smiled. They had been alarmed when they heard of the chance she had taken, leaving the Thinkers on the hunch that the secrets of the gods were among the treasure Ray had stolen. Now they were anxious to see the diamond themselves. Perhaps they would have more success with it than Emerahl had.

She decided she would get no more flesh from the bones of the fish and wiped her hands. Drawing the chain out from beneath her clothes she examined the pendant hanging from it closely. The diamond was held within two intersecting bands of silver. On each band were glyphs. The first or second of each set were upside down:

She looked at the diamond closely. The bands framed the four largest facets. When she held it up to her spark the light cast shapes against the walls. If these were part of a language, it was either so old or obscure she had never encountered it before. The trouble was, neither had The Twins.

As the pendant revolved at the end of the chain, the glyph shadows moved, some to the left, some to the right. The ones turning to the right were blurred and she recognized reversed versions of the shapes turning left. A dark line of shadow crossed the wall as a silver band passed. Lines and glyphs followed.

Then she suddenly recognized a glyph. A full Sorli glyph representing “light.” She turned to stare at the diamond. The facet facing her light was the one contained between the bands marked one light / and two lights / .

She turned the diamond between her fingers, keeping that facet facing toward her. If she read only those glyphs that were the right way up when positioned above the diamond the words were:

Emerahl smiled. Using the same rule, the rest read:

Taking hold of the chain, she let the pendant hang again. She moved her spark closer and watched as the lines and shapes on the wall grew larger. Finding the “light” glyph, she felt a thrill as she realized that what she had assumed were more of the unfamiliar symbols were the simple glyphs for numbers.

But the thrill quickly faded. She still couldn’t make sense of it. The unfamiliar glyphs on the reverse side overlapped and obscured the familiar ones. Moving her spark closer only made the effect worse.

If I could just get rid of these symbols from the reverse side... She blinked, then smiled. Of course, I can. I just have to get the light past them.

But that meant moving her light into the diamond. She wasn’t sure if she could do that without damaging it.

Dropping the pendant into her lap, she considered the risk. Maybe she should wait until she reached The Twins. Or at least ask them if it was possible to move a light into a diamond without damaging it. Perhaps they had tried it before.

She looked at the matting where the treasure was buried.

Perhaps I can try it on another gem first.

First she checked for minds close by. None were closer than the next reed dome, several paces away. She uncovered the treasure quickly and carefully, making sure none of the moist soil spilled onto the matting to hint that something might be buried here. Searching through the jewellery and trinkets, she was pleased to find a diamond set in a thick gold ring tangled among the chains near the top.

Freeing it, she sat back and considered the stone. There were no markings in it. In the past several weeks she had carefully checked all of the treasure and found nothing marked with glyphs or with other significant features.

Bringing her light close, she made it as small and cold as she could. Slowly, she moved it to the surface of the diamond. There was no resistance as, with a push of her will, she shifted it inside.

The effect in the room was quite pretty. The facets of the stone made patterns on the walls. They shifted, the slight movement of her hands magnified so that no matter how hard she tried to keep her hand steady the room looked like it was trembling.

Moving the light out of the gem, she put the ring down and picked up the pendant. Taking a deep breath, she held it as steady as she could and moved her light inside it.

The walls swirled with glyphs and lines, then steadied. She looked around and felt her stomach sink with disappointment. The glyphs still overlapped each other, forming a muddle of unrecognizable symbols. But as she turned to look behind her she felt a small thrill of relief and triumph. One section was clear. Lines and numbers surrounded the glyph she had recognized.

But now it was the curved dark weave of the dome wall that made it difficult for her to understand what she was seeing. She needed a flat wall. Or some other flat surface.

Looking around, she saw that the shawl she had draped over her pack hung relatively flat in places. Removing the light from the diamond, she put the pendant down and picked up her blanket. She hung the blanket from the roof using fishing hooks and twine.

She picked up the diamond and carefully introduced the spark again. Turning the pendant so the one light / one key side faced the blanket, she stared at the shape that appeared.

An octagon, marked with unbroken lines. At the center of this was the glyph for light. Lines of dots crossed the octagon, each marked by a number. The whole diagram shook from the slight tremble of her hands.

She had no idea what it meant. The word “light” within the octagon surely represented a light within the diamond. But what did the numbers and radiating lines mean?

I’ve never been much good with numbers and equations. This is one for The Twins, she decided. She stared at it until she was sure she had memorized everything, then drew her light from the diamond. Hanging the chain around her neck, she replaced the ring and buried the treasure again. Then, making sure the dome was well protected by a barrier of magic, she lay down to sleep.

:At first I thought it was unlikely this Elai child they rescued was a princess, Mirar told Auraya. Surely a princess would be too well-guarded to fall into the hands of raiders. But everyone I’ve skimmed believes it is true.

:So does everyone I’ve encountered.

:Then yesterday Nekaun told me of the treaty with the Elai. He sounded quite proud of the fact, even though he had nothing to do with it. It was all the doing of Second Voice Imenja and her Companion.

:I can’t see the Elai king making a treaty with landwalkers for anything less than the return of his daughter. It is quite a feat.

:And a surprise. I can’t see any great benefit to the Pentadrians in this treaty. The Elai are hardly a powerful or numerous people. They might eventually keep raider numbers down, but that won’t be a huge boost to trade since few Pentadrian traders bother travelling to Toren or Genria.

:But if they can sink ships, they may be a valuable ally in war. The White need to know about this. Auraya paused. Would you send them a message for me?

Mirar felt his stomach sink.

:They wouldn’t believe anything I told them.

:They don’t have to know who it came from. It would have to be an anonymous warning.

:I’m not sure that would be wise. What will the White do to the Elai? If they know the sea people have joined the Pentadrians they may attack them before the battle, in order to keep them out of it. This may be a matter best left concealed. I doubt the Elai will make much difference in the war, and if the White win at least there’s a chance of peace later.

:The White won’t attack them, Auraya assured him. They need to know their ships are in danger.

Mirar was beginning to wish he hadn’t raised the subject. It seemed wrong to be disagreeing with Auraya when she was trussed up in an underground prison for weeks while he was still an honored guest. And he hadn’t yet found a way to rescue her without his involvement being obvious and ruining the good will between the Dreamweavers and Pentadrians. But he couldn’t let guilt and pity stir him into doing something he didn’t agree with.

:Have you been able to skim minds as far away as the Circlian army? he asked, changing the subject. Have you overheard any of their plans?

:Not yet. I expect I’ll encounter the same problem I have with spying on Pentadrian war councils. Some of the gods will be there, and I’ll have to stay away in case they detect me.

Mirar felt a twinge of apprehension. He could only assume that if he couldn’t sense the gods when mind-skimming, as Auraya could, then they couldn’t sense him. Unfortunately, he was usually busy being shown about the Sanctuary or Glymma by Dedicated Servants whenever a war council was in progress so he never got a chance to spy on them anyway.

:You’ll just have to skim the minds of the Companions after the council, to see what they remember, he told her. And do the same for the advisers of the White.

:Yes, she agreed. Though Companion Reivan’s mind is nearly always on Nekaun.

:She’s completely infatuated, Mirar agreed. Yet I don’t think she actually likes him. I know her mistress doesn’t... Listen to us, gossiping like old women!

:It might be useful gossip, if we can bend the situation to our advantage.

:That’s true. Trouble is, I have no idea how.

:You’ll think of something. Or I will. Not much else to do right now.

Mirar’s heart twisted.

:Are you sure you’re all right?

:Yes. I’m fine. I can endure a bit of physical discomfort.

He did not point out that she was suffering more than that. Though she said nothing, he knew she must be living in constant fear. At any moment Nekaun might decide it was time to kill her. Mirar was not entirely sure why the Pentadrian leader hadn’t yet.

A sound caught his attention and he felt himself drawn out of the dream trance.

:I have to go, Auraya, he said. I will link with you tonight.

:You’d better, she said. Or I’ll...

But he didn’t hear the rest. The knocking at the door of his rooms was loud. Rising from the bed, he looked around and sighed.

I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to forge an understanding with these Voices, that they wouldn’t want me in their lands. Now that I find I’m welcome, I can’t enjoy the fact. If Auraya wasn’t here, I’d be delighted. But because she is their prisoner, I find myself thinking of them as our enemy.

It was a strange and complicated situation, and with the Circlians coming to wage war on the Pentadrians, it wasn’t about to get any simpler.

38

The squeak of the gate opening jolted Auraya’s attention back to her surroundings. She felt her stomach clench as she realized someone was entering the hall, then felt it sink as she saw that the visitor was Nekaun.

As always, questions crowded her mind. Would he free her? Would he kill her? Would he interrogate her, torture her, or ask for some terrible favor in exchange for her freedom?

She took a deep breath, pushed the questions and the fear they brought to the back of her mind, and straightened.

He stopped and regarded her silently, a faint smile curling his lips.

No, it looks like he’ll do the same as last time, she thought in answer to her earlier questions.

She almost longed for the solitude of her first days, when she had been left alone and unattended and the only indication that her presence was remembered were the Servants guarding the gate.

Chained as she was, she could not lie down to sleep. Instead she had to sink into a half-kneeling, half-hanging position. Feeling would slowly leave her arms, and her shoulders and knees would start aching. The cold in the hall didn’t help, but it was the least of her worries.

After a day the cycles of her body had begun to present unpleasant problems. First she grew thirsty, then hunger began to nag at her. Neither were pleasant to endure, but the consequences were less humiliating than the need to relieve herself. She could not remove her clothing or move far from her position. Eventually she had stretched her body as far to one side as she could so at least she would not be standing in her own urine and excrement.

Who’d have thought ordinary physical processes that one tended to every day and barely thought about could cause such distress? She had consoled herself that if they did not bring her food or drink these problems would not bother her for long.

When Nekaun returned after three days she was too weak to stand. He had said nothing but simply looked at her and the mess beside her, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Then his expression became thoughtful and a gleam entered his eyes. He turned to the Servants and spoke.

She nearly cried out a protest at his orders. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she told herself it would be more humiliating to beg and plead than to endure what he planned. And begging probably wouldn’t stop him anyway.

Domestics were brought. They cut away her clothes and threw buckets of cold water over her and the floor. They brought water for her to drink and a thin sludge she guessed was made of some kind of grain. She could not feed herself, so she had to let them tip the water and sludge into her mouth.

By then Nekaun was smiling. The gleam in his eyes intensified when she had been stripped, but disappeared as she was fed. It was clear he was enjoying her humiliation. She was tempted to spit the sludge at him, but she was too hungry to waste it.

That day she discovered she wanted to live. She wasn’t sure how badly yet, but she dreaded finding out what she might be willing to do in order to... and beyond that. At what point would she change her mind and long to die?

If Nekaun was curious to know the answers to the same questions, he was in no hurry to find out. All he had done so far was taunt her.

“Greetings, Auraya,” he said. “I trust you are finding your accommodation satisfactory?”

She ignored him. He asked something similar every time. “Are you enjoying your stay?” “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Seeing movement beyond him, she turned her attention to the domestics that were hurrying into the room. They scuttled past him hesitantly. The first two held buckets of water. She gritted her teeth against the cold of her daily dousing. The second bucket was thrown over the floor then a broom used to sweep feces off the dais.

A third domestic held a bowl of water to Auraya’s mouth. She drank it all, knowing no more would be brought until tomorrow. The last domestic lifted the usual bowl of grainy sludge.

“Stop,” Nekaun said.

Auraya felt her heart sink as the domestic lowered the bowl. She hoped she was managing to keep her expression bland and devoid of fear as Nekaun came closer, sure that any sign of apprehension would only encourage him to find more ways to torment her.

He took the bowl from the domestic, then lifted it to her mouth.

She paused only momentarily. If she refused to eat from his hands he would starve her until she did. Better to pretend it didn’t matter.

He watched her, smiling, as she ate. She did not meet his gaze, instead concentrating on a small scar on the side of his nose. She hadn’t noticed it before. She wondered what had caused it.

The bowl tipped higher, forcing her to gulp to avoid the sludge spilling over the lip and being wasted. When it was empty Nekaun stepped back. He held the bowl out to one side and the domestic hurried over to take it.

“Go,” he told the domestics. They scurried away, relieved. One of them wondered why they feared the First Voice here when they didn’t elsewhere. He concluded it was because he had no idea what to expect of the man in this situation. The sorceress was an enemy. Nekaun might order that something awful be done to her, and the domestic didn’t want to be the one to do it.

If Nekaun heard the domestic’s thoughts he gave no sign. He stared at Auraya. She fixed her gaze at the wall past his shoulder. Though she could not sense any thoughts from him she sometimes felt she knew what he was thinking. Like now, when his attention drifted below her face. She knew he was either pretending to be interested in her nakedness in order to intimidate her or... or he was excited by it.

He took a step toward her, then another. She felt her heart begin to race and breathed a little slower, willing herself to remain calm. A step away he paused, his nose wrinkling.

“Really, Auraya,” he said, shaking his head. “You should take better care of yourself. You smell terrible.”

Turning on his heel, he stalked away.

She watched him leave. The Servant guards locked the gate behind him. Footsteps faded to silence.

She sighed with relief.

Just trying to intimidate me, she told herself.

Leaning back against the base of the throne, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out into the world. This was how she spent most of her waking hours. Several times a day she checked on Mischief. One of the domestics had adopted him as her pet. He stayed because Auraya encouraged him to through dream-links and he was used to being left with a carer.

During the evenings she dream-linked with Mirar. The rest of the time she skimmed minds. Being chained up in a cold, empty hall wasn’t exactly stimulating for the mind. At least, not in a good way. Exploring the world kept her mind busy.

It was a secret source of pride to her that she was getting better and better at sensing other minds every day. Each time she reached out she managed to read minds further from her position than she had the previous time. In this way, she heard the rumors of war the day after her imprisonment. Nekaun’s breaking of his vow had made sense then. If the Circlians were invading he would not risk that his attempts to charm her had failed. He knew if he let her go she would probably return to the White to fight with them.

Would I have? she asked herself. Perhaps. I wouldn’t have liked it, but if the gods ordered me to I would have fought for them.

What didn’t make sense was that Nekaun hadn’t killed her. Why imprison her? Did he plan another bargain, with her as payment? Did he think he could persuade the White to go home in exchange for her return?

She smiled wryly. Huan would never agree to that.

But Chaia might. She thought of his message, sent through the dying Siyee priest. None of the domestics that tended her had spoken a word to her, let alone his “key” word. She doubted any message from Chaia would come through Nekaun. Nobody else had visited her.

Gods had, however. Saru, Yranna and Lore had hovered around her briefly. Their conversation told her that they had come to confirm that she was imprisoned here, but had revealed little else.

Did Chaia have a plan in place to free her? Or was he too preoccupied with preparations for war? There was only so much he could do here, in a land where nobody worshipped or obeyed him.

Maybe he intends for me to be freed once the Circlians are victorious. But I expect Nekaun will ensure I die if the Pentadrians lose. He’ll give my guards orders to kill me.

She opened one eye and looked at the Servants standing by the gate.

Unless someone stops them.

She thought of the hint the gods had given that they could get rid of Mirar, even though he had the Voices’ protection. If there was an assassin here, perhaps they could help her.

But they wouldn’t unless the White ordered them to, and she hadn’t been able to tell the White about her situation. Even if Nekaun hadn’t taken the priest ring, she could not have used it. The void would prevent it working. So instead she had tried to contact Juran via dream-links. None of her attempts had succeeded. She had tried calling to Mairae, and even Dyara, but neither had answered. This morning Mirar had given her an idea.

“You’ll just have to skim the minds of the Companions... And do the same for the advisers of the White.”

She couldn’t dream-link with the White, but perhaps she could reach Danjin.

Relaxing against the throne, Auraya slowed her breathing and sought the dream trance. Once there, she called out Danjin’s name.

There was no response at first, but after several attempts she heard a familiar but confused mental voice.

:Auraya?

:Yes, Danjin. It’s me.

:Auraya... I’m dreaming.

:You are and yet you are not. This is how the Dreamweavers communicate.

:A dream-link?

:Yes.

He paused and she felt both concern and guilt.

:I’m not supposed to talk to you.

A chill ran down Auraya’s spine.

:Why? Do the White believe I’ve changed sides?

:They... have to consider it a possibility. They haven’t heard from you in weeks.

:I can’t reach them. I was tricked. Nekaun has imprisoned me inside a... She paused as she realized Danjin didn’t know what a void was. Did the White know what voids were? She hadn’t until she’d met Jade.

:Auraya? Danjin asked, his tone full of concern.

:Nekaun took away my priest ring. I’ve tried to dream-link with Juran and the others but it doesn’t work. Maybe because they’re never asleep when I try; maybe because they can’t... or I’m being prevented. I need you to tell Juran I’m a prisoner.

Danjin didn’t reply.

:Danjin?

:Yes. I’m... not near Juran. I’ll tell Ella and she’ll pass it on.

She sensed wariness.

:You are not sure if you can believe me, she stated.

:No, he admitted. The White advised me to be careful.

She felt a stab of hurt, then annoyance.

:Then tell them carefully. It’s up to them to decide if they believe me or not.

:I want to believe you. I do believe you. He sounded tortured. I will believe you until I have evidence otherwise, but I must behave as if I don’t believe you until I have evidence otherwise.

And he wasn’t liking it much. Ah, Danjin, she thought. I miss you.

:I understand. Thank you, Danjin.

Breaking the link, she roused herself to full consciousness, looked around the hall and sighed.

Well, Chaia did warn me that Huan would use those I love against me.

The large, tiled room echoed with the chatter of Voices, Companions, Servants and Thinkers. Standing beside Imenja, Reivan looked down at the floor. The mosaic map glinted softly, reflecting the light of lamps brought in to supplement what daylight reached the room from the entrance. Pottery figurines of Pentadrians and Circlians had been placed on the floor. They looked like toys left behind by a child. A rich child, too, as the figurines were finely detailed. Reivan saw that there were little Siyee men among the Circlians. Unlike the winged people depicted in the mosaic, they were accurately represented right down to the bones visible within the membranes of their wings.

“Nekaun comes,” a voice murmured from the direction of the entrance.

All fell silent and turned to wait. As Nekaun stepped into the room many hands sketched the symbol of the star. A strange expression was on Nekaun’s face, but it vanished at the greeting. He looked around the room, meeting gazes and nodding.

“Forgive me for my lateness,” he said. “Another matter delayed me.” He moved to the edge of the map and looked down at the Circlian figurines. “Is this where the enemy army is?”

“According to our spies,” Dedicated Servant Meroen replied. The man was only in his thirties, but had proven himself an intelligent strategist during the previous war.

Nekaun paced around the map. All eyes followed him. Reivan heard Imenja’s barely audible snort and guessed what her mistress was thinking. The First Voice didn’t need to circle the map - he just liked to be the focus of attention.

“Has the Sennon emperor responded to my message?” Nekaun asked, this time looking at Vervel.

The Third Voice shook his head. “No.”

Nekaun must know this, Reivan thought, but he had probably asked for the benefit of the others. He nodded and looked around the room.

“Can anyone suggest a way we might change his mind?”

When no answer came, Nekaun frowned and his gaze returned to the white figurines.

“How large is the Circlian army?”

Now several people began to speak. Meroen spoke of thousands gathered so far, then others began to debate how many more might join them. The Dunwayans had yet to join the army. Then there was the question of whether the Sennons would, or if they would remain uninvolved except to allow passage of the Circlian army.

“There are fewer Siyee this time,” he added.

“How fast is the Circlian army travelling?” Nekaun asked. “When will they reach the Isthmus?”

“At a steady pace; if no sandstorms delay them, one cycle of the moon,” Shar said. “They travel through desert and will have to take water and food with them. The town of Diamyane will not be able to sustain them, so they will need to transport supplies from the north.”

“So we attack their supply caravans.”

“Or ships.”

Nekaun smiled. “Our Elai friends may prove useful after all.” He looked at Imenja. “Have they replied to our request?”

“I doubt it has reached them yet,” she answered.

Nekaun looked around the room. “What are our strengths and weaknesses?”

“We have few weaknesses,” Vervel said. “The Isthmus is an effective barrier. The Circlian army cannot cross in large numbers. We have plentiful supplies of food and water and fight on familiar ground. We should be able to raise an army to match theirs. Our fleets are equal and our crews are better trained.”

Dedicated Servant Meroen shook his head. “Why do they attack us if they have no obvious advantage?”

“They must have been relying on Auraya’s help,” Shar said.

Nekaun smiled. “Perhaps. But they won’t have it.”

“Will they turn back once they know she has been captured?” Genza asked.

Several spoke in response.

“Surely they already know.”

“If they don’t we should make sure they know.”

“Send them her corpse.”

Nekaun was still smiling, but in a distracted way. It was the same strange expression he had been wearing when he had arrived. For some reason it sent a shiver up Reivan’s spine. There was something unpleasant in that smile.

“When the Circlians reach the Isthmus they will be stalled,” Meroen said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard. “But remember: the Isthmus is a barrier to us as well. We may find ourselves caught in a protracted war. Crops will go unplanted, traders will be unable to dock, and Voices will not be able to leave the Isthmus lest the White take advantage of their absence.”

The room had quietened. Nekaun frowned at Meroen then his gaze shifted from face to face.

“So what do we do to avoid a stalemate?”

A murmuring began as the question was discussed.

“We could hide our army behind the Sennon mountains,” a Thinker suggested. “When they arrive at Diamyane we attack them from all sides, and drive them into the sea.”

“Siyee scouts would see us.”

“And we lose our best advantage,” Nekaun said quietly. “The Isthmus. No. Let them settle in Diamyane. We will cut off their supplies. Let them starve a little before we break them.”

He smiled again, his gaze shifting to some distant place for a moment. Reivan shivered and looked away. When she turned back she found him watching her. Suddenly she felt foolish. He was only anticipating victory. It was just disturbing to see a hint of bloodlust in the eyes of a man she had taken to bed. It ought to make him more exciting. Powerful. Dangerous.

But it didn’t.

He turned away, an entirely different expression on his face. She felt her insides turn cold.

Unless she had imagined it... and she knew she hadn’t... it had been an expression of unconcealed contempt.

39

The Dunwayan army was an impressive sight.

Warriors marched ten abreast along the road. At the head of each clan walked a man bare of all clothing but a short leather skirt and carrying a brightly painted spear. Members of the tribe took turns at the position, each stripping to reveal the tattoo patterns of their clan. They shared the role not to avoid enduring long hours of bad weather, if it came, but because all members of a clan would fight for the honor otherwise.

Every other man in the army carried half or more of his body weight in weapons. Even the sorcerers carried them; having more than average Gifts did not excuse any warrior from proper war training. Two-wheeled war platten pulled by reyna bred and trained for battle followed behind the troops; warriors would not suffer the indignity of tramping through reyner manure - except that left by the beasts pulling the platten of their leader. Behind the cavalry were arem-drawn four-wheeled supply tarns and the clans’ servants.

Danjin had a fine view of the column of fierceness. The platten he rode in had no cover. Ella and I-Portak sat facing the front, while Danjin and Dunwayan advisers rode facing the White and the Dunwayan leader.

They did not have to look behind to know the army followed; the rhythmic pounding of boots was a constant background to their conversations. If Danjin looked past Ella and I-Portak he found himself easily hypnotized by the near-flawless rise and fall of heads and shoulders beyond.

Watching the army make camp was even more fascinating. Everyone knew their task and worked without need for consultation or orders. All was done with practiced ease, a credit to their training. If any Dunwayans were anxious about the coming confrontation they didn’t show it.

I wonder what happens to the failures. The boys who don’t grow up strong. The men who suffer injuries, illness or melancholy. Are they hidden away, or cast out of the tribe to become servants?

He thought back to the day the army had left Chon. Women had lined the streets and thrown a tart-smelling herb onto the road for the warriors to march over. Some had looked stricken, others relieved.

I hope my letters make it home. He suppressed a sigh. I wish I could have seen Silava and the girls. And even my father, though I’m sure he’ll outlive me even if I survive this war.

He had dreamed of his family every night since hearing of the villagers’ fate. It had been bad enough witnessing the executions of the Pentadrians, though it was the reaction of the villagers that he would find hardest to forget. Some had cheered, some had cried, but most had huddled together silently, their faces white with fear. They’d had reason to fear. Dunwayan justice was harsh. Later, in Chon, those villagers who had been the most welcoming to the Pentadrians had been executed. Those who had simply not protested were sent to work in the mines. But to Danjin’s relief, I-Portak had been more lenient on those Ella had listed as being powerless to object to the Pentadrian presence. They, the old and the children, had been sent back to their village. Danjin imagined the village was now a sad place, populated by so few people.

In his dreams of his own family, he had ridiculous conversations with his wife and daughters. Occasionally they were unaware that he was there, no matter how much he tried to get their attention. Thinking of those dreams now, he felt a familiar mix of fear and resignation. And sadness. If he didn’t return...

Don’t think it, he told himself. If you think it, you’ll make it happen.

But at some point between leaving Chon and now, the thought that he would not survive this war had taken hold of him and he’d been unable to shake it. Where is all the confidence I had during the previous war? He grimaced. It was not confidence, but ignorance.

Or maybe Auraya had given him hope. To see her fly... it had been hard to imagine anything defeating her.

He shivered. Last night, in a dream, she had told him the Voices had imprisoned her in Glymma. There had been no vision of her, just her voice, but the dream had seemed so real he had been certain that she had truly spoken to him. The next day he had told Ella of the dream and asked if she thought Auraya might have been communicating with him. Ella had said it was possible, but she hadn’t heard such news from the White or the gods.

After the dream Danjin lay awake thinking about Auraya. He worried what might happen if she was a prisoner. If the Voices were powerful enough to hold her captive they were powerful enough to harm her - even kill her.

But if they were, why hadn’t they?

Now he worried that Auraya was, as Ella had warned, trying to trick him. He considered reasons why she might want him to believe she was a prisoner. To make me, and the White, believe she’s still on our side when she isn’t. Why would she do that? He sighed. To trick us into a confrontation that we can’t win.

Sometimes he was sure it had been a dream, and he had nothing to worry about.

:If it wasn’t a dream, Auraya is a prisoner, Ella’s voice said in his mind. If it was, we still have much to worry about. We haven’t heard from Auraya in weeks.

Startled by the voice in his head, Danjin looked up at Ella.

:Careful, she added. One of the advantages of mental conversations is that others aren’t aware of them. It kind of spoils things if you jump like that every time I speak to you.

He looked away.

:Do you have any idea where she is? he asked.

:No. And no, the gods do not either.

:What will happen if she has changed sides?

:The gods are confident that they can prevent her fighting us.

:Prevent her... they didn’t arrange for her to be imprisoned, did they?

Her amusement was like a tinkle of glass.

:Maybe. It would be quite a feat, wouldn’t it? Convince the enemy, without alerting their gods, to imprison someone who was willing to join them.

She was right. It was a silly idea.

:If she is a captive, then she hasn’t turned on us.

:Not necessarily. She may have turned on the gods in her heart, but still was not willing to join the Pentadrians. And she may not be a prisoner at all.

:She might not even be in Southern Ithania, he added, mostly to himself. She could be anywhere.

:Then why doesn’t she contact us, or the gods? she asked.

He couldn’t answer that. Glancing at Ella, he saw her lips twitch into a sympathetic smile. Then her expression suddenly grew serious. She stared into the distance and her face relaxed.

“Juran informs me he has passed the last town before the pass. We should meet them within the week.”

I-Portak turned to regard her. “Or earlier, if the weather holds.”

She smiled. “Your warriors never cease to impress me with their stamina, I-Portak. Leave them a little strength for the journey across the desert.”

His shoulders lifted slightly. “I am. We are not unfamiliar with desert conditions. Don’t tell the Sennon emperor this, but we have been sending small warrior groups into the desert to train for centuries.”

She laughed quietly. “I’m sure the Sennon emperor is quite aware of that.”

Danjin suppressed a smile as I-Portak regarded her with barely concealed dismay.

“Do you mean all the secrecy we have practiced has been for nothing?” he eventually said.

“Practice is the only route to perfection,” she said, quoting Dunwayan tradition.

He chuckled and turned away. “And perfection only exists in the realm of the gods.” He shrugged. “So long as the emperor pretends ignorance, we will pretend that our forays into his land remain unknown.”

Far out at the edges of the city was a training ground for warrior Servants. Auraya skimmed over the minds there, glimpsing practice bouts both physical and magical. When she found what she was looking for she smiled. Two Dedicated Servants were sharing a meal and discussing the size, strengths and weaknesses of the Pentadrian army.

A loud clang of iron interrupted their conversation. For a moment she wondered why the man and woman hadn’t reacted. Then her stomach sank and dread clutched her heart as she realized her own ears were hearing the sound.

Her awareness snapped back to her surroundings. Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out. The same four domestics hurried toward her. Nekaun strolled after them.

The smell of flowers came with them. It sent her pulse racing though she wasn’t yet sure why this should bother her. Looking at the domestics, she realized they were all carrying buckets. Bags were slung over their shoulders. Obviously they were planning to do more than just wash and feed her.

She resisted the temptation to look at Nekaun.

The first domestic swung the bucket toward her. She braced herself for the chill water and nearly gasped as she was battered with warmth instead. Before she had recovered from the surprise the second domestic tipped more water over her head. This, too, was warm.

Setting aside their empty buckets, the domestics drew objects out of their bags. Pottery jugs were uncorked. Hands drew out fistfuls of something resembling very fine wet sand.

She flinched as the first spread the substance onto her arm and began to rub it against her skin. It was sand. This, she remembered, was how the locals preferred to clean themselves. The rich used a fine, rare sand from some distant place. The two domestics scrubbed her arms, neck and scalp then, to her embarrassment, worked ever lower. Their touch was efficient and their faces expressionless, but she gritted her teeth and tried not to show how much their touch unsettled her.

All the time she felt Nekaun watching.

Finally the domestics had scrubbed her all over. The other two approached with their buckets and carefully washed the sand off her skin. This rinse water held the perfume she had noticed earlier. It was cooler, but not cold.

When they had stepped away Auraya’s skin tingled all over. It would have felt good to be clean, if Nekaun hadn’t been there.

He hasn’t asked me any of his stupid questions yet, she realized. The domestics swept the dais and then hurried from the hall. None had brought any food. Perhaps because there’s no point. Why bother feeding me if I’m about to die. But why clean me? Does he prefer to kill clean people?

She nearly giggled at the silliness of that thought. But all humor vanished as he moved closer. Her skin felt too sensitive. Her body felt too exposed. She resisted the temptation to curl up as much as the chains would allow.

“That’s better,” he said quietly. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like a bit of sweat and dirt. But not utter filth.”

He stopped a mere step away. He’s just trying to intimidate me, she told herself. And he’s in the void now. He’s vulnerable too.

Now that she would have to go out of her way to avoid looking at him, she met his gaze with what she hoped was a blank stare.

He stared back.

That’s different, she thought. He usually smiles and says something snide and ridiculous to point out that he’s in control.

When he spoke next, it was in Avvenan. The two Servants guarding the door paused, then walked away.

That sent a shiver of pure terror through her. Why send away the guards unless he was about to do something he didn’t even want his own people knowing about?

“There,” he said. “A little privacy.” She resisted the urge to shrink away as he moved a hand toward her, then tried not to flinch as his fingers touched her throat. His hand curled around her neck, warm and firm.

“So thin. I could throttle you right now,” he murmured. “But I don’t gain any pleasure from killing.” His gaze shifted lower. “Did I ever tell you that I was the Head Servant of the Temple of Hrun before I became First Voice?”

His hand slid downward to her breast. Her mouth went dry. Intimidation, she repeated. Don’t react. Be boring. Give him nothing and he’ll lose interest and go away.

“Hmm. How tense you are.” His breath was sickeningly warm. She tried not to breathe it in. “So am I. Here, I’ll show you.”

He pressed his body against hers, pushing her against the stone wall. Smothered by black robes, revolted by his breath, she felt herself shudder in horror at the hardness of his groin beneath his robes.

He really means to do this...

No. Stay calm. He wouldn’t dare. It’s just intimidation.

His hand left her breast. Her relief was brief. She felt knuckles dig into her belly as he pulled at his robes. His breathing was fast. Despite herself she looked up. He bared his teeth.

“Yes. That’s right. Where are your gods now, Auraya? They can’t help you.”

Her mind spun in increasingly frantic circles, then abruptly she saw, with awful clarity, that he did mean to do what he threatened. This is going to be revolting and humiliating and painful but I can bear it. I will have to... But she had glimpsed the wounds and scars in the minds of women who had been used by men. He has, too. He knows he’ll leave me with more than his... oh, gods. She had no magical means to prevent conception. But he won’t want to sire a child, she reasoned. But he’s in the void too. His magic won’t work either. Gods, no! She bit back a scream as she saw herself, chained and bloated with his child, in this place. Imprisoned without and within. But if he’s in the void he’s vulnerable too. I can hurt him. I can kill him. She felt her jaw tense. I will bite out his throat. I will...

“Nekaun.”

The voice was unearthly. It echoed and whispered around the room like wind. Nekaun whirled around. Looking over his shoulder, Auraya saw a being of light. She felt her mouth go dry. She had seen this god before.

“Sheyr!” Nekaun gasped.

“Come here.”

Nekaun hurried off the dais and threw himself to the floor before the feet of the glowing figure.

“Do not harm Auraya,” the god said. “Revenge will come, but not in this way. What you wish to do may disadvantage us.”

“But...” The word was barely audible.

The being straightened. “Do you dare to question me?” he boomed.

“No, Sheyr!” Nekaun shook his head, his whole body quivering at the movement.

“You would take unnecessary risks for a moment of gratification.” The god’s head rose and he stared at Auraya. “Be satisfied that she is alone and friendless, with only her shadow for company.” His head snapped back to Nekaun. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

Nekaun scrambled to his feet and fled. The glowing figure looked at Auraya again.

He winked, then faded away.

In his place stood a Servant. The man blinked and glanced around the hall, then backed away from her. She looked into his mind and realized that he had given his will over to the god. Otherwise Sheyr would not have been able to see her, or speak with a real voice.

He saved me. She shook her head. How could she feel such gratitude toward one of the Pentadrian gods when they had ordered Nekaun to break his vow and trap her here? “... with only her shadow for company.”

And the significance of his last words came to her. Shadow! She quietly began to laugh, not caring that there was a hysterical edge to her voice.

It was Chaia! And Nekaun fell for it!

40

At the first opportunity, Reivan slid out of bed. Her legs were shaking and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Seeing her robes on the floor, she decided she would feel better dressed. Those were torn now. She moved to a chest and drew out another set.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked back at Nekaun. Lounging naked on the bed he was so beautiful it was painful. It took her breath away, but she made herself straighten her back. Stand up to him.

“That was unpleasant,” she told him.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

“No.”

“You usually like it. Aren’t I welcome here any more?”

“Not if it’s going to be like that. You... you nearly choked me.”

“Some women like that. They say a little fear makes it more thrilling.”

She turned away and drew the robe around herself. “I don’t.”

“Don’t be angry. How could we know that until we tried it?”

She felt her anger weakening. “You should have asked me first.”

“Then you would be expecting it. Surprise is part of the pleasure.”

“It wasn’t. And the rest wasn’t much fun either. It was like...” She grimaced. Her insides felt bruised.

“Like what?”

She frowned. There was something in his voice. Almost a smugness. Almost as if he liked seeing her discomforted.

Turning to face him, she held his gaze. “It was like you were punching me with your... Surely, with your background in the arts of lovemaking, you would know that is not pleasant for a woman?”

He laughed. “You’re hardly the goddess of love. You’ve got a lot to learn. I think you could come to like a bit of rough play.”

“I don’t think so.”

He grinned. “Oh, I think you found what we just did more than a little exciting.”

She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. It was nice at first, but later... what part of ‘Stop, you’re hurting me’ didn’t make sense to you?”

He laughed. “You didn’t mean it.”

“You know I did.” She shook her head. “I think you enjoyed hurting me. You had that same look in your eye you’ve had since you chained Auraya up. I almost expected you to call out her name.”

His smile faded, then his eyes narrowed. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he stood up. She watched as his robes rose from the floor to his hands and he began to dress, his movements quick and angry.

She felt her anger ebb, leaving her numb. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes. If my efforts aren’t appreciated,” he said, “I’ll go where they are.”

Stung, she felt tears spring into her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. Stop being a fool. He meant to hurt you, so don’t let him see he succeeded.

He marched out of the bedroom. The sound of the door slamming echoed through her rooms. The silence afterward thundered in her ears. His words repeated over and over in her head. “You’re hardly the goddess of love.”

I’m not good enough for him. That’s why he was rough. He got impatient with me.

She moved to the bed, thinking only to curl up and give in to her misery. Then she saw the bloodstains. Her blood. A few drops only, but enough to remind her of his body slamming against hers, the manic look in his eyes, the hand about her throat and the way he had laughed when she had protested. Anger flared again. She rose and stalked to the bathing room.

I will scrub every last bit of him away, she told herself. He can bed every woman in Glymma. He can bed Auraya for all I care. If that’s what it takes to satisfy him he can find it elsewhere. I’m done with him.

If it weren’t for the constant nagging thought that Auraya was suffering in her prison under the Sanctuary, Mirar would have considered the day to have been particularly satisfying and enjoyable.

He had met with over a hundred of Glymma’s Dreamweavers to discuss their role as healers after the coming battle. Dreamweavers were travelling to the city from all over the continent, and Arleej had asked him to oversee all accommodation, food and travel arrangements. Though most of this work was organized by Dreamweaver House leaders, they all needed someone to make decisions where there was disagreement, and mediate with the Voices and Servants.

The Dreamweavers had joined together in one large mind link, and he had learned much from them. He let his mind shield slip only long enough to confirm his identity. He wanted to tell them of his “death” and survival, but Auraya featured too much in the story and he couldn’t afford chancing that the Voices would read their minds and discover that he didn’t dislike her as much as they believed.

From the Dreamweavers he had learned that they had suspected that he wasn’t really Mirar, that the Voices had recruited a Dreamweaver willing to pose as Mirar in order to influence Northern Ithania. Arleej had assured them this wasn’t true, but some were still shocked to discover, through the link, that he was their legendary, immortal founder.

After dining with Glymma’s Dreamweaver House leader, Mirar had returned to the Sanctuary late and immediately received an invitation to meet with Second Voice Imenja. A Servant escorted him to a balcony overlooking a courtyard, where a fountain glittered in the light of several lamps. Imenja was sitting in a reed chair and rose to greet him.

“Dreamweaver Mirar,” she said. “How did your meeting with your people go?”

“Very well,” he told her. “I still can’t get used to seeing Dreamweavers living without the constant fear of persecution. I’m heartened to see that they can exist in harmony with a religion of dominant power.”

She smiled. “Just like old times?”

He shook his head. “Yes and no. In the past there were so many gods that few dominated as completely as yours do. A single god might rule in small nations like Dunway, but never an entire continent. And never united with other gods.”

“I would like to hear more about those times. What do the Circlians call them?”

“The Age of the Many.”

“Yes, and now we live in the Age of the Five. Or should that be the Age of the Ten?”

Mirar shrugged. “At least when I tell you tales of the past, it won’t be your gods’ evil deeds I tell of.”

She chuckled. “No. I gather Circlians aren’t aware of their gods’ past, then?”

“No. Only Dreamweavers know, passing down experiences and stories through mind links.”

“So perhaps that is the reason your people are badly treated there and well treated here. Our gods have no need to fear the stories Dreamweavers might tell.”

Mirar looked at her, impressed. It made sense, though he was sure he would have come to the same conclusion eventually.

Imenja looked out at the courtyard. “I have to warn you, the closer war comes the more we will want you to commit to helping us in some way.”

As she turned to look at him he met her gaze steadily.

“Dreamweavers do not fight.”

“No, but there may be other ways you can assist us.”

“We heal the wounded. What else can we offer?”

She shifted in her seat to face him. “If someone attacks a patient you are healing, what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

“Protect them,” he answered.

“If someone attacks a friend - or a stranger - what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

He frowned, suspecting he knew where this was leading. “Protect them.”

She smiled and turned back to regard the courtyard. “Nekaun might be satisfied with a compromise.” Her smile faded and she sighed. “I can’t promise that he won’t punish you or your people if you don’t offer him something. That something doesn’t have to involve your people. He wants it to appear that we have you, the legendary Mirar, on our side.”

Mirar shook his head. “That may endanger Dreamweavers in the north.”

She looked at him, her expression sad. “I know. It is a choice I don’t envy you for.” She stood up and smiled. “But if you join us, there’s a good chance we’ll win, and that will probably be a better result for Dreamweavers than the alternative.”

He nodded. “You have a point.”

“Consider what I’ve proposed,” she told him. “But it is late, and even Voices need to sleep now and then.”

“And immortals,” he said, rising. “Good night, Second Voice Imenja.”

“Good night.”

The Servant who had escorted him to the meeting appeared and guided him back to his rooms. Mirar stared out of the window for a while, thinking about what Imenja had suggested.

A compromise. One that doesn’t involve my people, just me. I protect the Pentadrians with magic. That frees the Voices to put more of their magic into fighting. With Auraya locked up below the Sanctuary, surely the Pentadrians will win this time.

How would his people feel about that? Would they lose respect for him for choosing a side? They might, but the southern Dreamweavers would feel betrayed if they knew he could have prevented the Circlians conquering the southern continent and subjecting them to their habitual prejudice.

Sighing, he retired to bed. As soon as he reached a dream trance he sought Auraya’s mind, but the only response he got was disjointed and reluctant, and he decided to let her sleep. He called another name.

:Emerahl.

:Mirar, she responded without hesitation. I was just talking to The Twins. How is life in Glymma?

:Good for me; no different for Auraya.

:Poor woman. Have you found a way to free her?

:No. She is too well guarded, as am I, but I am hoping that may change as the war begins to distract everyone. If I show any interest in her Nekaun starts asking if I want to be present when he kills her. When I ask why he’s delaying he just says “when the gods decide.” Imenja made a suggestion to me tonight. He told her what the Second Voice had proposed. What do you think I should do?

:Don’t get involved. But since you’re already involved then don’t take sides. But since these Voices probably won’t let you, then do what she suggests. But not straightaway. If you give in now they will start asking for more. Wait until the last moment. And if you can, make Auraya’s fate part of the deal, even if it only means delaying her execution.

As always, she was a source of good advice.

:That sounds like a good plan. How is the Quest for the Scroll of the Gods progressing?

:We haven’t figured out what the symbols mean yet. I haven’t had much time to work on it. The Twins want me out of Southern Ithania, in case the Thinkers track me down. I’ll be coming through Glymma. She paused. Could we meet safely? I’d like you to look at the diamond.

:I’d like to see it, but I think it would be too dangerous. Though I’m free to come and go from the Sanctuary, I don’t know where we could meet safely and I’m certain they have someone following me when I do go out.

:The Twins probably wouldn’t like it. Not only would we risk the Voices finding us, and then taking and destroying the diamond, but the last thing we need is the Pentadrians blackmailing me into joining them, too.

:No, Mirar agreed. The Circlian gods would just love that. According to Auraya, they’ve been hanging around the Sanctuary quite a bit.

:The Pentadrian gods don’t chase them off?

:She hasn’t said anything about sensing them.

:That’s odd. Maybe they fear the Circlian gods.

:Maybe they are so different in nature that Auraya can’t sense them, Mirar suggested.

:Maybe they know she can overhear gods, and are avoiding her. I guess we’ll never know.

:Not unless they decide to tell us.

:I can’t see that happening any time soon. Any other news?

:No.

:Good luck, then. I will let you know when I’ve reached Northern Ithania.

:Good luck.

Her mind faded from his senses. Fighting off a niggling weariness, he embarked on his last task for the night: sending his mind out to skim the thoughts of the people around him.

41

Three days had passed and Nekaun had not returned. The domestics continued their routine of dousing Auraya with cold water and feeding her the grainy sludge. The cold water left her shivering and she almost wished they would leave her grimy. It was bad enough that she was cold all the time, but the chill that came after her dousing seemed to drain all strength from her.

She craved real food and sometimes found herself dreaming about it. When she skimmed the minds of people eating, her own body ached for sustenance. She longed to lie down. Her arms hurt. Her legs sometimes cramped painfully despite her efforts to flex and stretch them. Most of the time she was so tired she slumped against the wall.

Exploring the minds of the world kept her consciousness away from cold, hunger and pain. Through other people she saw the sun rise and set, felt happiness, love and contentment. She began to avoid the minds of those in pain or misery. The thoughts of those preparing for war no longer seemed so important to watch.

What difference does it make if I know what they’re planning? I can’t do anything to stop them. I can’t even reach the White and tell them what I’ve learned. Danjin doesn’t trust me. Chaia...

Chaia had saved her. But questions had been forming in the back of her mind. If Chaia could impersonate another god, then could other gods do so too? Could Pentadrian gods impersonate Circlian ones? That must be why he had given her the code word “shadow.”

But thinking about Chaia’s visit was too close to thinking about what Nekaun had been about to do to her, so she turned her mind away.

Which did not work all of the time. Sometimes something would jolt her back into a memory of smothering black robes and exploring, unwanted hands. Her skin crawled and her heart raced.

She hated that she had been so affected by the incident. It’s this weariness making me feel so weak, she told herself. If I were stronger I would feel less affected. She grimaced. If Chaia hadn’t interrupted I’d be in an even worse state.

“Auraya.”

For a moment she thought the voice was a memory, but when it repeated her name she opened her eyes and found herself staring at a glowing figure. The Pentadrian god, Sheyr, smiled at her.

“Come out of the shadows, Auraya,” he said.

“Chaia,” she breathed.

“Yes.”

Remembering the Servant that had been revealed when he had vanished last time, she looked closer.

“Who is...?”

“Another loyal mortal,” he replied. “He will not remember this conversation. He has put aside his will for me.”

“For Sheyr.”

He shrugged. “Some mortals are easily deceived.”

She glanced at the Servant guards. The pair were watching intently, their expressions awed. They must have opened the gate to allow the god-possessed man into the room.

“But what of the Pentadrian gods?” she asked.

Chaia’s smile widened. “I have ensured their attention is elsewhere.”

“They must know you deceived Nekaun. Will they counter your orders?” Will Nekaun come back to finish what he started?

The god shook his head. “To do so would reveal they can be impersonated.”

She let out a sigh of relief, then frowned. “Are you here to release me?”

“I cannot. If this mortal enters the void I can no longer possess him.”

“But you could order him to release me.”

He shook his head again. “I cannot interfere, and I cannot explain why I cannot interfere.” His lips twisted into a crooked smile. “You already know we gods have agreements to keep.”

She felt a sudden flash of insight. “Huan wants me to stay here.”

“Not exactly.”

Auraya narrowed her eyes at him. “Ah. I see. She wants me dead. This is a compromise?”

“Leaving you here is, for the moment.”

“So you all want me out of the way.”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want my help in this war.”

He frowned. “How did you learn about the war?”

A chill ran over her skin. He still doesn’t know about my mind-reading.

“I think Nekaun told me. You didn’t want me to know about it?” she countered.

“I came here to tell you.” He looked away, his expression thoughtful, then took a step closer and smiled. “I love you still, Auraya. I will do what I can to get you out of here. Then... in return I want you to promise me you will stay out of the conflicts of this world - even those of the Siyee. Keep yourself apart from it, or Huan will find an excuse and a way to kill you. I...” His gaze slid from hers to a place to his left and he scowled. “I must go.”

Auraya caught the presence of another god before it flashed away. The figure of Sheyr vanished. In his place stood a Servant barely past boyhood. The young man glanced around the room, then his eyes snapped to Auraya. His gaze dropped and he turned a bright red.

A voice called from the gate. The youth spun around and, seeing the Servants guarding it, hurried toward them. One of the guards patted him on the back. He stayed a short while, talking to them excitedly of his experience, then hurried away.

Auraya sighed and leaned against the throne base. Chaia may love me, she thought tiredly. But not enough to defy Huan and free me. How much of recent events had been arranged by the gods? Had they ordered for her to be imprisoned to keep her out of the way?

She thought of Nekaun’s reaction to Chaia/Sheyr’s orders: “But...”

But what? Had he been ordered to rape her? By a god?

She shivered. It was impossible to know, and she was beginning to feel uneasy again. Closing her eyes, she sent her mind out in search of a distraction.

Standing at the stern of the boat, Emerahl watched as the city of Glymma slowly shrank to a line of lights in the distance. She felt relieved and disappointed. The last few days had been full of tedious delays. After buying a ride on a reed boat down the river to the city, and selling a bracelet to a collector The Twins had recommended, she had discovered Glymma’s wharves were full of Servants anxious to know who was arriving and leaving their city. It took several bribes and a few veiled threats in order to find herself a captain willing to take her across the Gulf of Fire to Diamyane.

Now that she was leaving she felt a wry disappointment that she’d had no chance to explore the city. Looking back at the glittering lights, she also felt a niggling guilt. Somewhere under the sprawling Sanctuary was Auraya, trapped in a void.

If I could free her, Mirar wouldn’t have to risk his life trying to. She shook her head. But if he can’t manage it, I doubt I could.

She had come to respect Auraya during the weeks she’d spent teaching the former White. She had even liked her a little. I hope the Pentadrians aren’t treating her too badly. She snorted quietly at the thought. Of course they were treating her badly. She was their enemy. She’d killed their former leader. They’ll be making her suffer in as many ways as they can make a woman suffer. This is a war, after all.

She shook her head, sighed and turned away. That doesn’t stop me hoping she won’t lose any of that spirit and optimism she had before. Or wishing I could help her - without putting myself at risk of ending up in her position, or dead. The two lamps of the boat cast shadows of the masts across the deck. She, too, cast a pair of shadows, and where they crossed they formed a comically skinny silhouette of herself. She smiled at it, then at herself for noticing at all. Staring at the shapes the diamond cast for days had made her all too aware of shadows. At least the diamond needed only one light source to work...

She caught her breath. Or did it?

What would happen if she used two, or three, or several? Suddenly the glyphs on the sides of the pendant had a possible new meaning. And the diagram...

The diagram could be seen with one light, and it was the key to the rest.

It was so simple! Two lights might make the shadows overlap in a way that created different shapes. Possibly even glyphs.

She cast about. The ship was a simple merchant vessel. Its wide hull was used to carry cargo, not passengers. All the crew were on deck. They didn’t sleep at sea as the journey across the Gulf could be made in a night or a day. She doubted they went below except to check the cargo or take up food or fresh water.

There was a way she could go below and ensure she would not be disturbed. Moving to the captain’s side, she waited until he turned to look at her.

“I need a little private time,” she said to him, smiling wryly. “Is below decks suitable?”

He nodded once. “I’ll make sure no one goes below. There’s a pot down there.”

“Thank you.”

He gestured to the hatch. A few of the crew nodded to her as she passed them. She nodded back, sensing that curiosity had replaced anxiety over her presence now that they had left Glymma. The story she had told the captain was that her husband had come to Glymma a few months before, hoping to find a trading partner. He had left her behind while he returned to settle business in Sennon. The war had prevented him returning for her so she had to flee on her own.

Reaching the hatch, she climbed down a ladder into the dark. She created a spark of light and looked for the pot. The captain might suspect she’d been stealing or snooping through their goods if she didn’t use it. She found it not far from where they had stowed the travel chest she had bought for the treasure.

Taking a length of string from her pack, she tied it to hooks for securing goods on either side of the hull then folded her shawl over it. If someone did come below they would assume she had hung it up for privacy.

Checking that the pot was clean, she turned it upside down, sat on it and drew the pendant out from beneath her clothes.

It was not easy holding the diamond steady in a rocking ship. Eventually she used magic to suspend it in the air. Creating a spark, she moved it within the diamond and turned it so that the “key” face cast shadows onto her shawl.

Examining the diagram she felt a thrill of excitement. One dotted line crossed one side of the octagon, two the next, three the following and four the last. The numbers might relate to angles. She wouldn’t be sure until she tried.

Turning the pendant so the two lights / two truths side faced the shawl, she introduced another light. She moved the two lights around in the center of the diamond. As they drew further apart she saw the shadows on the shawl passing each other. Suddenly she glimpsed recognizable glyphs. She halted the movement of the sparks and drew them a little closer again.

There! That’s it!

Normal Sorli glyphs covered her shawl. Whispering a cheer of triumph, she began to read.

When Surim had first come to the swamp he had thought it an ugly, smelly place. After a few thousand years of living in luxury, the muddy, constantly damp, wild surroundings had seemed like a place out of his worst nightmare.

But as he had learned to live there he had grown to appreciate its beauty. So much life, he thought as he guided the boat through the water. All this variety in plant, animal and insect, all in one unique place. The local people appreciated this to a point. They adapted their lives to fit the swamp as much as they adapted the swamp to fit their lives. Outsiders did not understand it - did not try to understand it. They cut down the trees, dredged out deeper, wider rivers and tried to drain the waterlogged land.

The swamp was beautiful during the day, but eerie at night. Without his light to illuminate the way, Surim would have been lost in utter darkness. He ducked under a web stretched across the river, then turned back and saluted the enormous spider waiting in the middle.

“Have a care where you weave your webs or you will be my dinner,” he told the spider. Turning back, he looked up at the rock wall ahead. Guiding his boat along this, he listened to the sounds of the swamp. Each chirrup, buzz and cry brought its owner to his mind’s eye. A rainbow flier buzzed past his ear. A distant honk of a randy swamp bogger was answered from somewhere close by.

Guiding the boat around a bend in the river, he steered it toward dark holes in the base of the rock wall. As it drifted inside, the shadows appeared to shrink away from his light.

“Flee, shadows!” he whispered. “Flee as fast as you can!”

The boat emerged into a cavern. Another light and a figure drew him toward the far side. Tamun’s arms were crossed.

“You’re late.”

“Am I?” He smiled. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be anywhere at any particular time.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what I mean. You usually return before dark.”

“I do,” he agreed. “It was an unusual night. Or the usual unusual night.” He guided the boat up to the ledge and rose. “How many times does it have to be unusual for it to be a usual unusual night?”

She sniffed. “A lot less than the number of times you’ve asked such ridiculous questions. Hurry up. Emerahl has deciphered the secrets.” Turning away, she walked through the ledge into the caves.

A rush of excitement went through Surim. He leapt out of the boat and quickly tied it up, then hurried after her.

Gods were notoriously unwilling to discuss their own limitations, to mortals or immortals. When he and Tamun had seen hints that there might be a scroll full of secrets of a dead god somewhere in Southern Ithania the knowledge had been painfully tantalizing. He had considered leaving the cave to seek it himself. It was almost worth the risk he might be discovered by the gods. Almost. What had stopped him wasn’t the thought that the gods might notice him and arrange for him to be killed, but that Tamun would be left alone for so long. For the first time in two millennia. He liked to think he could survive without her. Of them both, he had changed the most in the last century. He didn’t want to risk that she couldn’t survive without him.

Our strength is our weakness. Our weakness our strength. Separating our bodies was hard enough to accept. Death is unimaginable.

Then Emerahl had come along and happily taken up the Quest for the Scroll of the Gods. Tamun thought she had taken too great a risk in leaving the Thinkers and gambling that the secrets were among the treasure. Surim didn’t care. Only someone willing to take a few risks would have undertaken the search in the first place. And Emerahl had been right.

He followed Tamun up to their favorite cave. They both lay down in the nest of cushions Tamun had made. He heard her take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Closing his eyes, he slipped effortlessly into the link trance and entwined his mind with Tamun’s.

:Emerahl? they called.

:Tamun. Surim. At last.

:Greetings, Surim, another voice said.

Surim felt a mild surprise.

:Gull?

:Yes. It is I.

:I thought he might want to hear what she has to say, Tamun explained. And The Gull agreed that it was time Mirar knew of his existence.

:And I am still getting over the surprise, Mirar added.

:Save that for later, Emerahl said. I have worked out how to see the glyphs within the pendant.

As she described her discovery Surim felt a wry amusement.

:It is so simple, Emerahl finished. I can’t believe I didn’t see it at first.

:Most puzzles are simple once you know the answer, Surim told her. So what do the glyphs say?

:I started with the side marked “two lights / two truths.” The glyphs read: “All gods were born mortal. They learned to become immortal first. They learned how to become gods last.” There is a gap, then: “All gods love/hate/need as mortals do. All gods need mortals to see/connect/change the world.”

The five immortals remained silent. As the silence lengthened Surim began to wonder if they were still linked.

:That explains a few things, he said, when he couldn’t stand it any longer.

:Indeed it does, The Gull agreed.

:So the gods were immortals, Mirar mused. Does that mean we could become gods? That would explain why they fear us so much.

:They fear we will discover how to become gods, Surim agreed.

:Though would we want to? The Gull asked quietly. It says the gods feel human emotions, yet need mortals in order to affect the world.

:To feel desires, but not be able to satisfy them, Mirar said. No wonder the gods have no sense of humor.

:Does the pendant explain how to become a god, Emerahl? Tamun asked.

:No, she replied.

:So you have read the other sides?

:Yes.

:Tell us what it says.

:Three lights gives us three secrets, Emerahl told them. They are: “No god can be in two places at one time. No god can exist where there is no magic. No god collects and preserves souls of mortal dead.”

The silence that followed the list lasted longer than before. This time Surim was too caught up in the implications to be bothered by it.

The gods don’t take souls! The lie they had maintained for thousands upon thousands of years was so enormous Surim felt giddy. They need mortals to affect the world, he thought. So they need mortals to believe they need gods.

:Your Dreamweavers will be reassured by that, Mirar, Emerahl said.

:Reassured? I don’t know. They know they give up any chance of their soul continuing after death when they become a Dreamweaver. But how will they feel knowing it is no special sacrifice?

:I think most of your people don’t believe in souls anyway, Tamun said.

:What of the other two secrets? The Gull asked.

:We knew that gods couldn’t exist in voids, and suspected they couldn’t be in two places at once, Surim said. What of the last side of the pendant, Emerahl?

:I thought you’d never ask, she said smugly. The fourth, if you recall, is death. Listen to this: “All gods are equally powerful. None can affect the other but in position.” There is a gap, then: “Six surround one results in immobilization. Six surround one and take magic results in capture or death.”

:Six surround one? Surim repeated.

:One above, one below, one on all four sides, Mirar said. The victim within. If the six draw away all magic the god within can’t exist.

:The voids! The Gull exclaimed. I’d wager that is how the voids were created.

:Of course, Emerahl said. Hmm. I wonder how that will make me feel the next time I’m in one, knowing that a god died there.

:Depends on the god, Mirar murmured. If I knew where a few particular gods died, I’d be tempted to go there and have a little celebration.

Something wasn’t right. Surim repeated the secrets to himself a few times before he saw it. So if six gods had to surround another to kill him/her...

:There are only five gods, he pointed out. Where is the sixth?

:Sorli was the sixth. She killed herself, Emerahl reminded him. Remember the story on the Scroll. She felt guilty about what they had done and killed herself.

:How? Mirar asked. Ah, of course. The voids. She must have entered one.

:Thrown herself into oblivion, The Gull agreed. She must have felt very guilty indeed.

:Would you? Emerahl asked. Would any of you?

:Once again, it depends on the god, Mirar said. I wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt if I could get rid of the lot we have now.

:But you’re a Dreamweaver. You don’t kill, Surim pointed out.

:I don’t kill humans. I think I can make an exception for the gods, even if they were once human.

:Why do you ask, Emerahl? Tamun asked.

:I have been wondering, Emerahl said, her mental voice tense with excitement, if immortals can create voids.

Surim felt a chill run over his skin.

:We could give it a try, Tamun said.

:Perhaps between us, Mirar added.

:If there were six of us, The Gull finished. We are only five.

:Auraya might— Mirar began.

:She won’t, Emerahl pointed out. She still thinks she serves them.

:She might have changed her mind about that recently, he countered.

:We can’t take that risk, Tamun said firmly. If she knows we can do it she might warn the gods. Unlike gods, we can’t fly away to the other side of the world in an instant if it doesn’t work.

:She should be told the rest - all we have learned, apart from how the gods were killed, Emerahl said. She needs to know the true nature of the gods she serves.

The others murmured agreement.

:So what do we do without her? Mirar asked. Wait until another immortal comes into his or her powers? That could take a thousand years.

:If we have to, Tamun replied. Or until the gods have hurt and offended Auraya so much that we are sure she hates them as much as we do.

:Whichever comes first, The Gull agreed. Though if Auraya’s current situation ends badly, we may have no choice but the former.

:Not if I can help it, Mirar said.

:Now, Mirar, Tamun began. Don’t take any foolish risks. We will have a long wait before us if we have to wait for two immortals to come into their p—

:I have to go, Mirar said abruptly.

As Mirar’s presence vanished from their link, Surim sighed.

:I do wish you’d stop encouraging him like that, sister.

42

The ache in her shoulders had become a sharp pain, while her hands had lost feeling some time ago. Auraya opened her eyes and forced her legs to straighten. Her knees popped and her thigh muscles began to tremble.

This isn’t good, she thought. I’m getting weaker. I must exercise. She flexed her muscles, moving her weight from leg to leg. As feeling came back to her hands it seemed as if a thousand needles were piercing her skin. What I wouldn’t do for a chair...

Suddenly the pain increased tenfold as something touched her arm. She gasped and looked up, then gasped again in surprise as two round eyes stared into hers.

“Mischief!”

The veez was on the seat of the throne, leaning over to regard her. He dropped down and she winced as he landed on her sore shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered. “I told you to stay with the nice servant.”

“Owaya,” he said, his whiskers tickling her ear. “Bad man. Chase.”

He was radiating fear and agitation. Concentrating on his thoughts, she picked up flashes of memory. A man he recognized. One who had been with her a lot. Shouting. Dodging magic. Fleeing.

“Nekaun,” Auraya hissed. “He tried to kill you.” She sent the veez a feeling of sympathy and pride. Clever Mischief.

He nudged her ear. “Scratch.”

“I can’t,” she told him, demonstrating by pulling against the chains. “Auraya caged.”

“Free Owaya,” he said decisively. Running up her arm, he sniffed the cuffs. She felt a thrill of hope and looked toward the Servant guards. They appeared to be absorbed in conversation. Mischief’s whiskers quivered, then his ears suddenly lay flat. She sensed his confusion, and she suddenly understood.

“No magic,” she explained. “No magic here. You use magic to undo locks.”

The veez did not understand. He leapt up onto the throne seat and crouched at the edge. His fur stood on end and she sensed he was deeply unhappy.

She could say nothing to reassure him, so she said nothing at all. Sighing, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out into the world.

By habit she brushed the minds of the two Servants guarding her. They were in the midst of discussing the two times Sheyr had possessed mortals and entered the hall. It hadn’t occurred to them that the god might not have been the one he appeared to be. They didn’t know that one of the men had gone mad, and that the other now woke several times each night screaming. She knew this from skimming their minds.

Moving beyond, she picked up the thoughts of other Servants. Their minds were full of their daily tasks, petty grievances, gossip, friends and family, and war. She skimmed through these looking for anything unusual. Nekaun’s name caught her attention several times. A few women, Servant and domestic, contemplated with unease his visit to their bedchamber. Auraya shied away from these recollections, then stumbled upon the domestic who had been caring for Mischief. She was heartened to see that the woman was upset, both by Nekaun’s attempt to kill the veez and that the creature hadn’t come back.

Leaving the Sanctuary, Auraya flitted through the mind of Glymma’s citizens. Their thoughts were on the usual concerns: work, family, love, hunger, food, ambition, pain and pleasure. War was on everyone’s mind.

The previous day she had managed to reach beyond the city limits to some of the riverside villages. Today she stretched her senses out in a different direction. There were fewer minds, which was unsurprising since all appeared to be surrounded by desert sands. Most were focused on using magic and physical skill to control some kind of vehicle. Looking closer, she slowly came to understand these were boats driven by the wind that slid over the desert sand.

Looks like fun, she thought.

:Auraya!

At the call her mind shifted automatically into a dream trance.

:Mirar?

:How are you?

:Tired. Sore. Nekaun tried to kill Mischief. He’s here now.

:The bastard. It’s a shame these people are ruled by such a man. The rest of them seem a lot nicer.

:Even Shar, the one who had his vorn kill innocent people in Toren?

:Well... I haven’t spoken to him much so far. Anyway, I have to tell you something. The other immortals said you should know.

:The other Wilds?

:Yes. Emerahl, and a few others who managed to avoid being killed by the White.

:Emerahl?

:The woman who taught you to hide your mind.

:Oh! Jade.

:Yes. Jade. Emerahl. The Hag. He paused. They’re very concerned about you and have been helping me try to find a way to free you.

:They have? Even though I’m a White?

:You’re not a White any more, Auraya.

:Oh. That’s right. But still. Me, an ally of gods and all that.

:Are you sure you’re okay?

:Yes. Just tired. What did these Wilds want to tell me?

:I can only tell you what the others feel you can be trusted to know, he said.

She forced herself to concentrate.

:So there’s more that they don’t trust me to know?

:Yes.

:And you agree?

:Let’s just say I know which secrets you can be burdened with, and which you can’t.

She considered his words and found herself liking him for them. He wants to tell me something, but he doesn’t want to put me in a difficult position.

:So what are these secrets you can trust me with?

:There’s a story to it. I can’t name all involved, but since you’ve met Emerahl I can safely describe her part in it.

He explained briefly about the rumors of a Scroll containing secrets about the gods, and that Emerahl had found it.

:This is the task she had to delay in order to teach me?

:Yes. Now, this Scroll was made by Sorli’s last priest... He went on to relate the story on the Scroll. There were six gods at the end of the war, he told her. Sorli killed herself after having the secrets of the gods preserved for others to find.

:And you found the secrets?

:Emerahl did, and she deciphered them. This is what the others agreed I could tell you: all of the gods were born mortal, became immortals like us, then transformed themselves into gods.

:They were Wilds first?

:Yes. And they were once ordinary mortals, with powerful Gifts. There’s more. You’re not going to like it. I don’t think anyone’s going to like it. The gods certainly aren’t going to like anyone knowing. I could ch—

:Get on with it, Mirar.

:The gods can only exist in one place at any time and no god can exist where there is no magic.

:I knew that.

:But I’d wager you didn’t know this: the gods don’t take people’s souls. It’s a lie they’ve been using for millennia to give mortals a reason to obey them.

Auraya felt her curiosity turn to disbelief.

:That can’t be true. I don’t believe it.

:You don’t want to believe it. These are the words of Sorli herself. The sixth god, who helped the Circle kill all the other gods. How did she put it? “No god collects and preserves souls of mortal dead.”

:She was lying. She was probably mad. After all, she killed herself. She may not have even existed at all, and this is all some trick someone set up centuries ago in revenge against the gods.

:You don’t believe it because you don’t want to. And I can hardly blame you. I—

:No, you’re believing it because you want to. It suits your view of the world very well, Mirar. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you? If I wanted to trick you, this would be how I’d do it. Feed you what you want to hear so you don’t question what comes with it. She paused as an unpleasant possibility occurred to her. What did come with it?

:I can’t tell you that.

:Then... just be careful. If it is a trick, that other part may be the trap.

He paused a long time before answering.

:I will keep that in mind. There is something else I think I can tell you.

:Oh?

:Voids were created when a god was killed.

She felt a thrill of mingled alarm and excitement.

:Did this Scroll tell you how the gods killed each other?

He paused.

:Is there a god you’d like to kill? he asked.

:Maybe.

:Who? Ah! The Pentadrian ones, of course. What have they ever done to you?

:Had me chained up in a void.

:A reasonable, if personal, grudge, he conceded.

:And they encouraged their people to invade Northern Ithania, she added.

:Yes, that wasn’t very polite.

:I suppose you’re going to tell me the Circlian gods are guilty of worse?

:I could. But I won’t. So you don’t have any personal grudges against them?

:Just a small one. It seems fair that if Huan wants me dead then I can wish the same of her.

:Sound rea—... Wait. Huan wants you dead?

:Why are you surprised? You warned me the gods would try to kill me.

:But they didn’t.

:Chaia keeps coming to my rescue. Well, as much as he can when there are “rules” and such to make it difficult for him. He says he can’t set me free.

:Does he? I had assumed none of the Circlian gods could venture into the Sanctuary without attracting the attention of the Pentadrian gods.

:So did I. She briefly told him that Chaia had impersonated Sheyr twice, though she did not mention why. He says Sheyr won’t alert the Pentadrians to it because it means admitting it can happen.

:And then nobody will know whether they can believe it is him or not when he appears. How frustrating for him. The others... Ah. I must go, Auraya.

:Whatever you do, don’t endanger yourself or the Dreamweavers on my account.

But his mind had slipped from her perception and she heard no answer.

Sighing, she let herself drift for a while, but her mind returned to Mirar.

He’s so much more confident than Leiard, she thought. Though Leiard was like that when he was in the forest. He was only fearful in Jarime and around the White. Except... he wasn’t fearful when we were lovers. He was more like...

The recognition was like a jolt of energy. When Leiard was being her lover he had been more like Mirar. Mirar had been with her all the time she had been with Leiard, even if in a diminished, half-forgotten form.

Perhaps it was only her weakened, vulnerable state that was heightening her feelings, but she was overwhelmed by a longing to be with him. And it was followed by an equally powerful terror.

I must be careful, she told herself desperately. I think I could fall in love with anyone who got me out of this place, and I would never know if it was real.

For the last few days the Dunwayan army had marched between the Hollow Mountains on the right and the sea on the left. The road had been all gentle curves, the weather had been mild and the smell of the sea gave the air a clean, fresh tang. The forest of Dunway gave way to rocky land covered in tussocky grasses and wind-twisted bushes and trees.

The thinner vegetation allowed frequent glimpses of white sand and blue water. Danjin felt a wistful disappointment every time he saw another seemingly idyllic stretch of beach. He could hardly stop to enjoy the beauty of the area; he was part of an army, and that army was hurrying to meet another.

Traders taking goods to Dunway occasionally used this road, but for most of the year the weather favored ship transportation. I-Portak scanned the horizon from time to time, no doubt looking for his own people’s warships. After several hundred years of peace in Northern Ithania, only the Dunwayans kept a fleet of warships and trained their warriors in the art of sea warfare. According to spies, the Pentadrians had their own small fleet and some skill in using it. During the previous war, Danjin had asked Lanren Songmaker, the White’s war adviser, why the Pentadrians hadn’t sailed into Jarime instead of invading through the mountains. The man had explained that sailing the long way around the west side of the continent would be slow due to unfavorable winds, and the east side was guarded by the Dunwayan warships. The Dunwayans would have relished the chance to practice their skills on an enemy.

Nothing prevented the Dunwayans sailing south, however. Not when Sennon was supporting the Circlians. The Dunwayan warships were to meet the rest of the army in Karienne, the Sennon capital, then defend ships supplying the army as they travelled south to the Isthmus of Grya.

But we have to get to Karienne first, Danjin thought. Across the Sennon desert. Relying on Sennon help to supply us with enough water to keep an army from dying of thirst.

The land was growing steadily drier. Thinking back, Danjin realized it had been at least a day since he’d seen a tree bigger than a man. The tussocks of grass were smaller and thinner. The soil was so dry and dusty it may as well have been sand. Looking past Ella and I-Portak, Danjin noted the water carriers striding up and down the column of warriors, filling cups from large skins whenever a fighter called for a drink. Their services would be in high demand over the next few weeks.

I-Portak straightened in his seat. Looking at Ella, Danjin saw her expression become intent. They were both gazing over his head. He felt the platten tilt and realized it had just topped a ridge and was descending steeply.

“The desert begins,” I-Portak murmured.

Danjin turned around, as did the other advisers. A pale, flat land lay before them, its surface disturbed by the ripples of dunes. At the base of the ridge the road continued on to the horizon, as straight as a Dunwayan spear. At the horizon wisps of sand or dust curled into the sky. A windstorm, perhaps. Danjin had heard about desert storms so ferocious the sand in them flayed the skin from travellers, or buried them alive.

“That is the army,” he heard Ella say. “They have made good time.”

Danjin felt a surge of excitement and relief. No storm. Just the Circlians.

“We should reach them tonight,” I-Portak replied. “Or sooner, if you wish.”

Turning back, Danjin was relieved to see Ella shake her head.

“Tonight will be sufficient. Let’s not tax ourselves until we need to.” Her shoulders rose and fell, betraying a sigh. Danjin suppressed a smile.

This was proving to be a boring journey. Though Ella had spent a good deal of the trip to the Pentadrian village with her attention on the fleeing servant’s mind, she had “surfaced” often enough to make conversation - or to watch Danjin and Gillen play counters. Even Yem had been a more interesting companion than I-Portak and his advisers.

Ella’s gaze shifted to his and he saw a small smile curve her mouth. She leaned forward.

“Have you packed that little travel set of counters, Danjin?”

He nodded.

“Let’s have a game to pass the time, then.”

Surprised, he pulled his pack out from under his seat and drew out the game box. Opening the drawer, he began to take the pieces out and slot them into their holes. I-Portak watched with interest.

So it was with some embarrassment that Danjin found he couldn’t get to the last piece. The drawer, as always, wouldn’t open fully. The piece was somewhere at the back, but he couldn’t tilt the box or shake it without dislodging the pieces already set up. Digging inside with a finger, he found that the piece had wedged itself between the back of the drawer and the inside of the box.

Sighing, he tipped the pieces into his lap and began to work on the one wedged in the drawer. When he closed the drawer and shook the box he could hear something rattling inside.

No, he thought suddenly. There are two things inside.

Opening the drawer again, he found that the game piece had moved to the front. He removed it, then reached inside again.

Something was still there. Something just a little too wide to allow the drawer to open. Something smooth.

Taking hold of it, he gently prised the top of the box upward. The object slipped through and the drawer fell out completely. Opening his hand, Danjin stared down at a white ring.

Ella leaned forward and took it from him. “That’s a priest’s ring.”

“Yes,” Danjin agreed. “But how did it come to be inside my counters game?”

She shrugged, then frowned. “Unless...” Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him suspiciously. “What happened to Auraya’s link ring?”

Danjin felt a rush of realization followed by guilt. He felt his face warming.

“I, ah, well...”

“You didn’t return it, did you?”

He spread his hands. “Nobody asked for it. I put it aside and forgot about it.”

“You put it in here?” She pointed to the game box.

“No.” He looked at the box and frowned. “Someone must have. Someone who wanted me to find it, perhaps.”

She looked at the ring again. “Someone who wanted you to be able to contact Auraya?”

“I can hardly use it for any other purpose.”

To his surprise, she handed it back to him. “Put it on.”

“Now?”

“Yes. I want to see if it works.”

To speak to Auraya... he felt mingled eagerness and doubt. He looked up at Ella.

“What if she...?” He caught himself and managed not to look at I-Portak.

“You’re also wearing my ring,” she pointed out. “I should hear everything she says to you.”

Taking a deep breath, he slid the ring onto a finger. Nothing happened. Ella frowned.

“Call her,” she suggested.

He pictured Auraya in his mind.

:Auraya!

Silence followed. He called again and again, wondering if she was ignoring him, was asleep or - and he started to grow alarmed at the thought - was dead.

“Danjin.”

He looked up. Ella was staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Give it to me.”

He took off the ring and dropped it into her outstretched hand. She smiled, then slipped the ring under her circ.

“I had better keep this for now,” she said.

“Do you think...?”

:I don’t know what to think, she told him. I won’t speculate until Juran examines it.

Leaning forward, she looked meaningfully at the tile game.

“It’s been a while, but I used to play a mean game of counters.”

He managed a smile, then held up the box and started arranging the pieces again.

43

Diamyane was still the same dry and ugly place Emerahl remembered from her previous visit, on the way to the Red Caves. Panic had set in since the news of the advancing Circlian army had arrived. The previous day, Pentadrians had taken control of every ship in the area in order to prevent the Circlians using them. Now people were fleeing the city by any means - mostly on foot and carrying their possessions.

In their place came Dreamweavers. Today it seemed as if every third or fourth person she walked past was a Dreamweaver. Little wonder they were called harbingers of war, Emerahl thought. It was said when a battle was imminent Dreamweavers and carrion birds were sure to appear. The former healed the wounded, the latter dealt with the dead.

She had always kept away from battlefields in the past, until the previous battle between the Circlians and Pentadrians. Battles were dangerous places to be. Now she felt a strange reluctance to leave. Was it curiosity that tempted her to stay and witness the battle?

No, she decided. It is more than that. It is this nagging thought that an opportunity might present itself for us immortals to use the information in the diamond. No matter how unlikely that is, if we’re not here to take advantage of it we will wait a long time for another chance.

Where the Circlians and Pentadrians clashed, and the White and Voices fought, the gods were sure to be. All ten of them. In one place. That didn’t happen very often. In fact, it would probably only ever happen during a war.

We need six immortals. It all hinges on Auraya. If she were free, do I think she would help us kill them?

She shook her head. No, but if Mirar believes there is a chance maybe we should be here in case he is right.

She turned to regard her room. The furniture was old and there were few comforts, but it had a view of the main road into the town. The occupants had departed hastily, leaving most of their belongings behind. She felt only a little guilt at taking them as her own, since she had chased off looters every night. With the markets closed she had little choice but to start eating the small store of food. I suppose I could buy supplies from the Dreamweavers, but they’ll need all they have and what’s here will spoil if someone doesn’t eat it.

Looking back out of the window, she watched another pair of Dreamweavers passing. Her mind returned to the problem of how to kill the gods.

Six attackers, she thought. One above. One below. One on each side. How are we to do that?

Unlike gods, immortals were subject to gravity. They could take positions on all sides, but that relied upon the gods being near the ground. The places above and below still presented a problem.

Except to Auraya, she reminded herself. She can fly. The place above is obviously hers, if she decides to take it. So what of the one below?

Gods, as non-physical beings, could pass through solid objects. Immortals obviously couldn’t. Whoever took the place below would have to hope there was a handy cave or tunnel in the right position.

And where is the right position likely to be? She pursed her lips. The White and the Voices will probably face each other before the battle and exchange the usual threats and bluster. She smiled as she realized where this meeting would probably take place. On the Isthmus.

Thinking back to her last visit to Diamyane, she considered the tunnel she had passed through with the family travelling north to hear the Wise Man of Karienne preach. It had been controlled by thieves, but that could be remedied.

They might have fled, along with the locals. Or more likely they’re looting houses, which is probably a more lucrative activity now. Her smile broadened as she recalled them fleeing from her magic as she melted the gate they had used to control travellers passing through the tunnel.

The only trouble with this tunnel was that it cut through the Isthmus, not along it. And it was positioned close to the Diamyane shore. That meant she and her fellow immortals had to hope the meeting would take place right on top of the tunnel, which was unlikely. More likely it would happen in the center.

Then she remembered what the father of the family had told her. He said there had been several tunnels through the Isthmus in the past, but they had been filled in. Perhaps some could be opened again.

But which ones? Ah, it’s all a nice daydream, she thought wryly. And it’ll probably stay that way. Standing up, she moved to the bed and lay down. I had better find out what Mirar is up to.

Closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing and steered her mind toward sleep. When she reached the right state she called Mirar’s name. There was no answer, so she stretched out to skim the minds around her. Most were predictably involved in thoughts relating to the coming conflict. She reached toward the wharves and found a few Pentadrian spies. Then she followed the few traders, travellers and Pentadrians allowed on the Isthmus. Searching along it, she found no thoughts of men or women beneath the land bridge.

:Emerahl!

She let her awareness of the minds outside fade.

:Mirar. How are things in Glymma?

:The same. Where are you?

:Diamyane.

:When are you leaving?

:I... I don’t know, she admitted. I’m beginning to think we all ought to be here, just in case. If no opportunity comes to kill the gods we lose nothing, but if one does and we aren’t here...

:We’ll curse ourselves, he finished.

:Yes. She told him of her ideas about the positioning of the immortals around the gods, and the tunnel.

:It’s worth investigating. But you do realize that if we are to attack while the White and Pentadrians are meeting, those of us not underground will be in full view.

:Yes. If you agree to protect the Pentadrians, you’ll be there anyway. As for the rest of us, we’ll have to hope the gods’ attention will be on the meeting. I could disguise myself... actually, there’s an idea. Would you mind if I pretended to be a Dreamweaver?

She felt his amusement.

:Why ask me? You didn’t last time.

:I didn’t know you were around to ask, she retorted.

:Fair enough. You’re welcome to join my people. Perhaps if I can find some excuse for Dreamweavers to follow the White out onto the Isthmus, you could go out with them.

:Then Surim and Tamun will have to approach from the sides. In boats.

:Yes. I just have to free Auraya.

She caught a hint of desperation.

:No ideas yet?

:I’ve skimmed the minds of several Servants, but all I’ve learned is that it would be impossible to sneak in and free her. My plan so far was to insist that I get to tell Auraya of the White’s defeat. That will keep her alive until after the battle. I’ll slip back to Glymma while the Pentadrians celebrate their victory and free her then.

:A bold plan. She’ll hate you for helping kill the White.

:And blame herself for it, too. Still, I’d choose for her to live over the White any day. And I get the feeling she already blames the Circlian gods for her predicament. She seems to hate Huan, who she says arranged for the Siyee to be captured and is intent on killing her. Chaia has admitted he could free her only if the other gods would agree to it.

:So she’d kill Huan, but not the others. I don’t see how we can arrange that.

:No. And we still need to free her before the battle if your plan is to work.

:Yes. Hmm. Something just occurred to me. We need Auraya for more than just to be our sixth immortal. She’s the only one of us who can sense if the gods are actually where we need them to be.

:You really are taking this seriously, aren’t you?

:Just trying to work out how to make it work in case the opportunity comes.

:Then you ought to test the theory first. I want to be sure if I can draw enough magic to create a void before I put myself near both the White and the Voices and try to kill their gods.

:Yes, it would be sensible to confirm that it works. One of us needs to attempt to make a void. One of The Twins, maybe, since using that much magic would attract more attention than you or I need.

:Yes. So go chat to them. I’ll talk to Arleej. And see if I can find a way to free Auraya before the battle.

She felt a pang of concern.

:Be careful.

:I’m always careful. After all this time I’ve become rather fond of being alive.

After his presence had faded, Emerahl turned her thoughts to The Twins.

:Surim. Tamun.

They responded with their usual promptness.

:Greetings, Emerahl.

:I have a few ideas and suggestions for you.

:Oh?

:How long would it take for you two, and The Gull, to get to Diamyane?

:Now, Emerahl, Tamun said sternly. You agreed with us. You didn’t think Auraya would ever turn against the gods.

:I did. But if there’s a chance she will, I think you should be here. Listen, I have been thinking...

Since being doused with cold water, Auraya hadn’t been able to stop shivering. She longed for a blanket, or just a tiny bit of magic with which to heat the air around her. Mischief had curled himself around her neck. His breath smelled bad and she didn’t like to imagine what he had caught and eaten for it to be so foul. She was grateful for the little warmth he gave her, but he was too small to make much difference. Her chest hurt and her shoulder ached...

Think of something else, she told herself.

It was hard to think. She was tired and her mind seemed to work slower every day. But she had plenty of time. Puzzling over the “secrets” Mirar had told her kept her occupied from time to time. These secrets had apparently been told by a goddess who had killed herself. How did a god commit suicide? She frowned, sure the answer was important. It might be a clue as to how the gods had killed each other.

“Voids were created when a god was killed.”

That was another clue. A void was a place lacking in magic. The gods were beings of magic, which was why they couldn’t venture into a void. What would happen if they tried? Would they die? If so, then perhaps that was how this goddess had killed herself.

Could a god be forced into a void by other gods? Perhaps. But Mirar had said voids were created when a god was killed. That meant voids were made deliberately. Perhaps in order to kill.

So how was a void made? How did a god create a lack of magic? Well, that is obvious. Draw away all the magic in one place.

She blinked. Was it really that simple? Did a god draw all the magic away from where another was in order to kill him or her? What prevented the other god from doing the same in return? Why wouldn’t they simply dodge?

She shook her head. These questions made her head spin. She let her thoughts drift for a while, too tired to bother skimming minds. Her senses had become dull and she hadn’t the energy to concentrate.

Some time later she heard footsteps, but couldn’t be bothered opening her eyes to see who approached. Only when Mischief uncurled from her neck, letting cold air chill her, did she rouse herself.

“Auraya.”

A glowing figure stood at the edge of the dais. Sheyr.

“Chaia?” she croaked, surprised.

“Yes. I have come to offer you an escape, Auraya.”

“The other gods finally agreed, did they?” Speaking brought the need to cough. She resisted it. “How did you convince Huan?”

He smiled. “I didn’t. They don’t know and wouldn’t approve of what I am about to offer you.”

She straightened and felt a surge of hope. Would he defy the others for her sake? Then a fit of coughing took hold of her. When it had passed she felt dizzy and her lungs burned.

“So what’s the offer?” she whispered.

“I can’t free you,” he said. “The others will not allow it. But they said nothing about teaching you. I could teach you something that would allow you to free yourself.”

She stared at him. He smiled.

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“It has been clear to me for some time that your Gifts surpass those of any sorcerer. You are immortal, but you are more powerful than immortals. You can read minds. You can sense the presence of gods. You can hear us speak to each other. It would take but a little instruction from me for you to join us.”

“Join... you?”

“Yes. To become a god yourself.”

He must be kidding me, she thought. But why would he? It would be a poor joke. Maybe this is Sheyr. He’s come to torment me.

From somewhere at the back of her mind she heard Mirar’s voice. “All of the gods were born mortal, became immortals like us, then transformed themselves into gods.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through her, painful in its intensity. I could be a god!

But Mirar’s voice continued in her memory. “The gods still feel human emotions and yet they can’t perceive or affect the physical world except through mortals.”

Well, there had to be a price, she thought. And it’s got to be better than being dead.

“The gods don’t take people’s souls.”

She frowned and shook her head. The movement made her dizzy. She drew a deep breath to steady herself but only ended up coughing again. When she had her breath back she looked up at Chaia.

“Why?”

He smiled.

“I don’t want to lose you, Auraya. You’re sick. Your body will die if you do not have a chance to heal it. If you were a god, you would never be sick again. We could be together always.”

“But if I died we would be anyway. You will have my soul.”

His smile vanished. “It would not be the same, Auraya. The dead cannot touch the living. I want you to rule the world by my side.”

“And Huan’s?”

“Not if you do not wish it.”

“If we were enemies, it would hardly be good for mortals.”

“You would let her frighten you out of fulfilling your full potential?”

She looked away. “No.”

He held out a hand. “Will you join me, Auraya?”

She sagged against her chains. I don’t know if I want to become a god. To be separated from the physical world. To only know it and other people through their minds... and the other immortals would be invisible to me. Would Mirar consider me his enemy? The implications piled upon one another, too many for her exhausted mind to think about.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m too tired to think about it. I need time to consider.”

Chaia nodded. “Very well. I will tell you what you must do. You are sick, and I fear by the time I return it will be too late.”

Auraya nodded. She closed her eyes and concentrated all her strength on listening to Chaia describe what she must do to become a god.

44

Mirar had pieced together the route to the underground cavern from the memories and thoughts of the Servants and domestics that guarded or attended to Auraya. There were three gates blocking the route, each guarded by two magically powerful Servants.

As he approached the first gate, the two Servants guarding it watched him warily. Mirar smiled at them.

“So this is where the famous Auraya is being held?” he asked casually.

The two men exchanged glances, then one looked at Mirar and nodded.

“Can I go in?” Mirar asked.

“Only in the company of a Voice,” the other said.

Mirar looked beyond the gate, then shrugged. “Maybe another time, then.” Turning away, he walked back up the corridor.

He had expected nothing different. The Voices must have a reason to keep her alive, so they wouldn’t want him killing her. Yet.

The Voices would hear of his visit to the gates. That was deliberate, too. He wanted them to know he was thinking about Auraya, and that she might feature in any deal he made with them.

Turning a corner, he stopped and blinked in surprise. Nekaun was strolling toward him.

News certainly travels fast in the Sanctuary. He must have concealed people watching all the corridors approaching the underground area.

“First Voice Nekaun,” Mirar said. “What a coincidence. I was just wondering who I should ask to take me to see Auraya.”

Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “You would like to speak to her?”

Mirar grimaced. “No. I just want to see her. Our conversations were amusing when she was free, but now I fear there’d be no fun in crossing mental swords with her.”

Stepping past him, Nekaun looked back. “Come on then. Let’s enjoy the view instead.”

The two guards did not appear surprised when Mirar and Nekaun appeared. They held the gate open in readiness. Beyond, the walls were unplastered stone. Dust covered all surfaces.

“I get the feeling this place hasn’t been used in a long time.”

Nekaun smiled. “No. This is the old Shrine.”

“Shrine?”

“This hill has been a sacred place for thousands of years. The Sanctuary was built over the ruins of an ancient place of worship: the Shrine of Iedda.”

“Iedda? One of the dead gods?” Mirar asked in surprise. “I’d have thought your gods would choose a new site. Somewhere that wasn’t associated with old gods.”

“Why? The evil of the old gods died when they did.”

Mirar looked up at the ceiling and nodded. “I suppose building over the Shrine is like replacing the old ways. If it still existed, even in ruins, memories would last longer.”

“It still exists,” Nekaun assured him. “Come in here.”

They passed through another gate. The corridor descended further, then turned abruptly. Two Servants stood before the third gate. Beyond was a large hall. The first thing that attracted Mirar’s attention was an enormous, oversized throne.

Then he saw the figure chained to the throne. Naked, streaked with grime, and thinner than he remembered, Auraya sagged against the base. He could see her brow was shiny with sweat, and he could hear the faint sound of labored breathing.

She did not appear to be awake.

“What’s keeping her there?” he forced himself to ask.

“She is in a void. Do you know what a void is?”

Mirar nodded. “I’ve encountered them before.” He could not tear his eyes from Auraya, though he knew Nekaun was watching him closely.

“You pity her,” the Pentadrian leader said.

Mirar sighed and nodded. “I pity anyone the gods - the Circle - use and manipulate. I can’t help wondering what she might have become, if she hadn’t been raised by their priests and taught to hate. It is an unfortunate habit of mine to pity my enemy.”

“Do you think you could undo the damage?”

“No.” Mirar shook his head. “She would never give me the chance. At the first opportunity, she would kill me.”

Nekaun made a satisfied sound. “She won’t get that opportunity. But, of course, if the White are victorious it won’t be Auraya you have to fear.”

Mirar turned to meet Nekaun’s gaze. “I can’t fight for you,” he told the First Voice frankly. “Nor can my people. It would break a thousand-year-old law.” He looked down. “But I can use my powers in defense. I can protect you, your fellow Voices or your army. I have only one small favor to ask in return.”

Nekaun’s eyes narrowed. “And that is?”

Mirar turned to look at Auraya. “I want to be the one who tells Auraya that the White have been defeated.”

The corners of Nekaun’s mouth twitched upward. “Ah.”

When he said nothing more, Mirar turned to regard him.

“Will you accept my offer, and terms?” Mirar paused and frowned. “I guess you must consult the others.”

The First Voice glanced at Auraya, then shook his head. “No need. We have discussed all options and possibilities. This one is acceptable.”

He held out his hand, palm upward and fingers splayed. Mirar paused, then did the same. Nekaun grasped his hand.

“A deal, then.”

Mirar nodded. “A deal.”

Letting go of Mirar’s hand, Nekaun turned away and started back along the corridor. Mirar looked at Auraya one last time, then followed.

“I should also add that, in my expert opinion, your prisoner looks to have a fever,” he said quietly. “And I don’t much like the sound of her breathing. I’d rather she was alive and well enough to comprehend the news that her world has ended, when the time comes.”

Nekaun glanced at him and nodded. “It would be a shame if she missed the end of the story. I will get some of my healers to look her over.”

Mirar nodded. “If you need Dreamweaver advice, I’m sure one of my people would agree to help.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, if my Servants find it beyond their abilities.”

There was something about Chaia’s offer that didn’t make sense, but Auraya couldn’t gather the strength to think about it closely enough.

So much for taking time to consider. Why am I bothering anyway? I might not like the idea of having no physical body, of having to perceive the world through mortals, but that’s got to be better than being dead.

Especially if Mirar was right, and the gods had been lying about taking people’s souls. But Chaia had denied that, hadn’t he? He had said something about the souls of the dead not being able to interact with the world of the living. A god could, so wasn’t that the better choice?

She thought about that for a while, but her mind wandered. Then suddenly a shock of cold jolted her awake. Water. She began shivering again. A domestic moved close and lifted a bowl of slush to her mouth. She took a sip then began coughing and couldn’t stop...

Something slapped against her face. She realized she had fainted. She struggled to wake up. I must eat. Open my eyes...

The face before her was unfamiliar. A man. Frowning. There were others. Why are they here? Then she saw Nekaun standing at the edge of the dais and suddenly she was more alert than she had been in days.

From the minds of the Servants around her she read that they had been ordered to heal her. She read their assessment of her state: her lungs were clogged with infection, her body was dehydrated and weakened by lack of good food. She also read their distaste at having to treat her. They’d rather let her die.

The cures they rubbed her chest and arms with smelled painfully familiar. At least they were using the right ones. They produced a large shirt. One of the Servants approached Nekaun, who dropped a small object into the man’s hand. The Servant returned and moved to Auraya’s left arm. She felt her heart skip as she felt the chain loosen - Nekaun had given the man the key to the locks. She stared at it and could see nothing else. This one small object kept her immobile. Such a simple thing. Anyone could use it. No magic involved...

Then her arm fell to her side and pain ripped through her shoulder, and she forgot all else.

The Servants massaged her arm and shoulder until the pain eased, then dropped the shirt over her head and pushed her arm through the sleeve. Her arm was stretched out to be chained again, then they released her right arm and manipulated her into that side of the shirt. The cloth was rough and didn’t warm her hands or feet, but she could still relieve herself without soiling her “clothes.”

The Servant returned the key to Nekaun, then helped the others give her more water and feed her plain bread. When they were done she leaned back against the throne, exhausted but free of hunger and thirst for the first time in weeks. Through half-closed eyes she watched Nekaun and the Servants leave.

Let me out of the void, she thought at them. All I need to get well again is magic. She closed her eyes. Or to become a god.

Then she frowned. How can I become a god if I’m in a void? Gods are beings of magic. They can’t exist in a void. As soon as I become a god I’ll cease to exist.

She shook her head. Chaia must intend to free her first. But that wasn’t what he’d said. He’d said she could do it herself, while he was away.

Suddenly she felt a chill rush over her, colder than the water that had set her shivering before.

Unless this is a trick.

Was Chaia trying to get rid of her?

But he loves me.

There was no way she could become a god and survive.

A soft chirrup brought her attention to the throne seat. Mischief was staring toward the entrance.

“Bad man,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Gone now.”

Slowly possibilities entered her mind. If she truly had the ability to become a god he might be trying to prevent it by encouraging her to make the change in the one place where doing so would kill her, rather than risking that it would happen somewhere else.

If he wanted her dead, then something had happened to change his mind about her. Huan claimed she was dangerous. Had something happened to convince Chaia?

Suddenly she remembered Mirar telling her that the other Wilds had important secrets. Ones he did not trust her to know. She thought of his question: “Is there a god you’d like to kill?” She had assumed he was being flippant, but what if he hadn’t been? What if the Wilds could kill a god?

Then he is the threat, not me. Chaia should know that I’d never... But then again, I would if it was a choice between me dying or Huan...

She grimaced. Obviously he didn’t feel the same. Or he just couldn’t trust her not to kill the rest of the gods. He couldn’t see into her mind any more, and she had become, as he’d said, more powerful than an immortal.

He didn’t trust her. He had tried to kill her. For a long time she stared at nothing, feeling only a terrible loss and betrayal. She was too tired for anger, too tired to make up excuses. All she had energy left for was acceptance. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the last shred of her loyalty to the gods slip away.

45

:Danjin.

The voice was dreamy and sad. Danjin slowly became aware that he was no longer asleep, yet not fully awake either.

:Daaaaanjinnnnn.

He knew the voice. As recognition came, he felt a mild surprise.

:Auraya?

:Yes, it’s me. How are you?

:Asleep.

:Not quite. We’re dream-linking again.

:Are we? He felt alarm and his thoughts sharpened. Where are you?

:Still locked up. I feel better. I was sick. I think I nearly died. Obviously that’s not part of Nekaun’s plans. He had them bring me clothes and better food.

Clothes? Danjin felt a pang of horror and concern as he realized what that meant.

:I bet you didn’t expect to march into another war again so soon, she said.

A tingle of warning ran down his spine. How did she know about the war? Had the Voices told her? Of course they had.

:No, he said warily.

:I’ve been watching the army, she told him. Watching you all marching across the desert. Watching the Pentadrians preparing to meet you. I wish I had something I could tell you.

:Tell me...?

:A secret about the Pentadrians. Something vital to help you win the battle. But the White’s spies and advisers already know everything.

:How did you...?

:Mind-skimming, Danjin. There’s nothing much else for me to do - except talk to Mischief, and you know what a great conversationalist he is. I wish I could talk to you more often. We all know the Voices will kill me before they set off to meet the White. It would be nice to have someone to talk to during my last days who didn’t constantly demand scratches or shower me with bits of whatever he’s managed to catch and eat.

Danjin felt as if he were choking. How could she speak so casually of her death? Maybe that was because she was making it all up?

No, he thought. There’s something else. She’s making light of it, but really she’s desperate. He felt a wave of grief and pity. She’s alone. She knows she’s doomed. How can the amazing woman I knew end like this? I suppose the only alternative is to die in some spectacular magical battle.

:Danjin?

:I’m here.

:In case you think this is a dream, I’ll tell you this. There’s a messenger from the Sennon emperor about to enter the camp.

And then the sense of her presence vanished. Danjin opened his eyes, sat up and looked around. Grabbing his blanket to protect himself from the chill night air of the desert, he rose and left his tent.

The thought that Auraya was watching them was both disturbing and reassuring. He had to know if it were true, and the best way to do that was to go to the White’s tent and see if a messenger from the emperor arrived.

Under the light of the moon the tents of the Circlian camp looked like a great ghost army of myth. They spread in all directions, lit by lamps from within or fires from without. The army was no larger than the one that had met and defeated the Pentadrians a few years before - in fact it was smaller - but from where he stood it appeared to have no end.

The stretch of desert the army had settled onto for the night was relatively flat. With no features like rivers or hills to consider, the tents, supply carts and platten had been set down in a circular pattern: a wheel in which the White and leaders of their allies gathered at the hub and the gaps between the armies of each land formed spokes. Danjin didn’t know if there was any tactical advantage in this. Perhaps only in that many would feel reassured by such a powerful use of the symbol of the gods.

Reaching the war-council tent, he asked the guard to request permission to enter.

Do we need reassuring? Danjin asked himself. We won last time. But having gods on one’s side does not make victory sure. The Pentadrians are proof of that. The Pentadrians know us better now. They won’t make the same mistakes.

“Here’s my ever-doubtful Danjin,” a familiar voice said from inside.

The flap of the tent opened and Ella beckoned him in. He saw that Juran and Dyara were standing beside a table covered in a map Danjin recognized from the last war. Mairae and Rian were absent.

The Circlian leader met Danjin’s eyes and nodded. Danjin made the sign of the circle.

“Now, Danjin. Why can’t you stop worrying?” Ella asked.

“Somebody has to,” he replied. “Consider me your personal worrier.”

Her eyebrows rose and she glanced at Juran, who returned her look with a half-smile.

“Did I say something wrong?” Danjin asked.

Ella laughed. “No. Juran was saying something similar just a moment ago. He says you are my conscience and common sense.”

“Am I?” Danjin looked at Juran. He couldn’t help wondering if that meant Juran thought Ella had too little conscience and common sense.

Juran chuckled. “You do not blindly trust that events will turn out as the gods would have them,” he said. “Ella cannot comprehend anything but victory.”

“Why send us to Southern Ithania if they can’t ensure victory?” she asked.

“There is always the risk of failure,” Juran replied. “Even if it is a small one.”

“Why do we bring an army with us if the gods’ power, channelled through the White, is all that is needed?” Danjin asked.

Ella shook her head. “We all know the army is only needed in order to control the land one takes. The real fight is magical. Magic is the province of the gods, so victory is sure.”

“Unless the Pentadrian gods are stronger,” Juran pointed out.

“If that were so, the Circle would not send us to war.”

Juran smiled and waved a hand in her direction. “Enough of that. Danjin came here to discuss other matters.” Danjin felt his heart skip as the Circlian leader looked at him earnestly. “I see you have spoken to Auraya again.”

Danjin nodded, then related what he could remember. When he had finished, the White silently exchanged glances, communicating in their unique way.

“She is alive; she has been sick but is better,” Dyara summed up. “Can she really see us?”

Juran shrugged. “We can only wait and see if this messenger turns up.” He turned to Danjin. “Ella has told me you found the link ring Auraya made for you among your possessions. Do you know why it was there?”

Danjin felt his face warm. “I am not sure... but I have a suspicion my wife may have put it there.”

“Why would she hide it?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have meant to hide it,” Danjin explained hastily. “When she packs for me she often puts things in odd places in order to fit more into my trunk. She probably intended for me to find the ring when I opened the game, and didn’t realize it would get stuck in the drawer.”

Juran nodded. “So why pack it at all?”

“A precaution, I suppose. I’ve found a lot of strange items in my trunk over the years, and when I ask her about them she usually says she put them there ‘just in case.’ ”

“Just in case of what?” Juran said thoughtfully. He said it as if he were wondering aloud, not expecting an answer. Danjin shrugged. The Circlian leader took something from within his robe. A white ring. Danjin guessed it was the ring in question.

Juran held it out to him. “Put it on.”

“But...” Ella stared at Juran, who returned her look with an unreadable expression. She bit her lip and watched as Danjin took the ring.

The small signs of concern her face betrayed negated any eagerness Danjin had felt at the chance to communicate with Auraya. He considered asking if using the ring was dangerous. But so what if it was? Juran had ordered him to, anyway, and he would not refuse.

“What should I say?” he asked.

Ella shrugged. “Tell her we are relieved that she is alive.”

He nodded. Taking a deep breath, he slipped the ring onto his finger and closed his eyes.

:Auraya?

No answer came. He called several times more, then looked at the Voices and shrugged.

“Perhaps it isn’t working any more.”

“Take off the ring, Danjin,” Ella said.

Juran held out his hand. Danjin removed the ring and handed it over. The three White were frowning.

“That’s not it, is it?” he asked tentatively.

Juran looked at him thoughtfully. “The ring may not be enabling us to speak with Auraya, but it has not lost another quality. While you wore it I could not read your mind. Ella could, as you are wearing her link ring, so I had to watch through her mind.”

“Is it the same ring, then?”

“Yes, it definitely is. We knew about the flaw, but had no time to make another at the time, as Auraya had to leave for Si.”

Juran regarded the ring speculatively, then looked at Ella. “This could be to our advantage. So long as Danjin wears this ring, his mind will be hidden to all but us.”

“And Auraya,” she pointed out.

His lips thinned. “I wish I knew she could be trusted.” Curling his fingers around the ring, he let his hand fall to his side.

The entrance to the tent opened and a guard stepped inside and made the sign of the circle. “A messenger from the Sennon emperor requests an audience with the White.”

Juran looked at Danjin, but his smile was forced. “Thank you for alerting us to this, Danjin. You had best get some sleep.”

As Danjin moved toward the tent flap Ella touched his arm gently. “She is alive, at least,” she said quietly.

He sighed. “Yes, but for how long?”

“That is in the hands of the gods,” she said.

Nodding, he stepped out into the desert night and headed for his tent.

The Gull felt the power of the wave gather behind him. As it reached him he stretched out and rode it forward. The rock wall of the stack rushed toward him. He twisted at the last moment, his body moving automatically to lessen the impact, his fingers catching familiar cracks and protrusions. As the wave retreated he began climbing.

He had done this so many times he didn’t need to think about where the next handhold was. Reaching the cave, he hauled himself inside and stood up.

Looking back out, he regarded the dark waves that surged around the stack. He could see no sign of the shipwreck. Even had it been a bright, clear day he wouldn’t have been able to see that far. But he stilled his mind and reached outward.

Silence.

The Gull shook his head and sighed. They had probably all drowned. The irony was, he had intended to sink the raider ship himself, but at the right time. Once he’d had time to get to know the crew, to sort the ill-fated from the ill-natured.

He hadn’t had time. If he hadn’t been asleep he might have sensed the approach of the Elai and been able to warn or help those of the crew who were worth saving. But he needed to sleep, just as any mortal did.

Yet he didn’t waste effort in annoyance at the Elai. Their attacks on the raider ships were justified after all they had suffered. He did worry where their newfound confidence and taste for killing would take them, but he wouldn’t try to steer it. Though he and the Elai were both famous for their relationship to the sea, they had no other connection. For millennia he had been a legendary figure of the folklore of landwalkers, whom the Elai hated. The Elai were a young race created by a goddess who hated immortals.

Huan, he thought darkly. He frowned as he remembered the strange distorted creatures, dead or barely alive, that he had chanced upon long ago. They kept appearing, for over a century. Only when the early ancestors of the Elai appeared toward the end of that century had he found an answer to the mystery. The twisted creatures had been the experiments and failures of the sorcerers fulfilling Huan’s great ambition to create a people adapted to living in the sea. She and her followers didn’t suffer as the animals and people did. At least the people chose their fate, though I’m sure they didn’t expect to be cast out to sea or left to die when the work failed.

Eventually Huan had succeeded. Out of a goddess’s vision and mortals’ willingness to do her bidding had come two miraculous peoples, the Elai and the Siyee. Out of cruelty had come beauty. This was the way of the ocean, too. Sometimes the most beautiful creatures were the most deadly. Starfan fish were brightly colored, but so venomous one prick of their spines could kill in a few breaths. The doi was a playful, intelligent creature, loyal and affectionate. Sailors believed that doi swimming in the prow wave of their ship was a sign of good luck. But The Gull had seen doi treat their own kind with a cruelty he had otherwise only observed in humans.

He shrugged. The gods had once been mortals. They were driven by the same emotions and needs. Therefore it was no surprise they could be as cruel as humans. The trouble was, while the occasional human was inclined to behave badly, all of the gods had dealt cruelly with humanity at some point.

No, not all, he corrected. The old gods weren’t all bad. Is it so strange that those remaining are cruel? They were the ones willing to murder the rest.

His mind was beginning to wander in old and familiar circles. He didn’t mind that, but he had agreed to contact The Twins tonight. Moving to the back of the cave, he lay down on some old blankets. He closed his eyes and sent out a mental call.

:Gull, Tamun answered. You’re late.

:Ignore her, Surim added. She’s grumpy.

:Oh? Why is that?

:Everything is happening too fast. It scares her.

:I am not scared! Tamun protested.

:Not a bit, Surim agreed unconvincingly.

:What is happening too fast? The Gull asked.

:Emerahl wants us to go to Diamyane, Surim explained. And you, too.

:She wants to attempt to kill the gods?

:Only if an opportunity arises. She has rightly pointed out that it would be a shame if one does and we are not there to take advantage of it.

:That is true.

:Are you willing to go to Diamyane, hang about in the middle of a battlefield with all the risks of being discovered that it entails, just in case Auraya somehow manages to escape and decides to help us kill her precious gods?

The Gull considered. He could see the advantages of being in the place where the White and the Voices clashed. The gods were sure to be present. They might be able to kill several at once.

Yet he could also see that the chances that everything would fall into place were slim.

But if there was even a slim chance...

:Yes, he said. If I remain hidden in the water, discovery is unlikely.

Tamun cursed.

:Sorry, sister, Surim said. Emerahl wins this time. We had better start packing.

:And I have a long way to travel, The Gull added.

:Will you make it in time?

:Yes, if I leave tonight.

:Then travel well. We will speak to you again tomorrow night, Surim finished.

Opening his eyes, The Gull stared up at the roof of the cave. He rose and moved to the cave entrance. Closing his eyes again he sent out his mind, seeking a familiar pattern of thought.

It did not take him long to find it. Slow, male and calm, the mind roused at his familiar presence. He posed a query; it answered with an affirmative.

Pleased, The Gull waited.

Some time later he felt the same mind’s anticipation of arrival. Looking down, he saw the great head of the roale, as large as a fishing boat, surge up out of the water, turn and crash down again. One eye glinted in the starlight.

:Thank you, he said to it. We will swim south together, where the water is warm and full of fish.

:Yes, the roale replied. Food.

Stretching out his arms, The Gull leapt from the stack and dived into the sea.

Every time the Voices gathered without Nekaun present Reivan felt uneasy, yet she no longer felt comfortable in his presence either.

The other Voices weren’t conspiring against him, yet in his absence they were more likely to voice their opinions. It didn’t help that they often discussed ways to lessen the impact of his mistakes, or verged on complaining about his methods.

Today they were discussing the Sanctuary’s remaining honored guest, the Dreamweaver Mirar. Though Reivan had seen him several times now, she found it hard to believe this man was over a thousand years old. It wasn’t that he looked no older than thirty - Imenja was far older than she appeared as well, but she had a bearing that suggested the confidence and wisdom of an older woman. Mirar lacked the aura of power Reivan had expected. He seemed too humble to be a great sorcerer of legend and the founder of a cult as old as the Dreamweavers.

The Voices were concerned with more important matters.

“So can Mirar read minds or can’t he?” Shar asked.

“He can’t,” Genza replied.

“But your test worked. He reacted.”

“He sensed a threat to himself, but not its nature,” Genza explained. “If he had known what the threat was he would never have stepped into the alcove. That indicates he has an ability to sense the mood of those around him, not read minds.”

“If I’d been observing people for a thousand or so years I would be able to sense moods too,” Vervel said. “Is it a magical ability or good observation?”

“The assassin was out of sight,” Genza reminded him. “This isn’t observation, it’s a Skill.”

“There is one final test I’d like to make,” Imenja said. The others turned to regard her. “A test that would surely betray his ability.”

“What is that?”

“Allow our Companions to know the true nature of the relationship between Mirar and Auraya.”

The other three Voices exchanged glances.

“If he can read minds, he will know we know,” Vervel pointed out.

“Yes. But he will also read that it only improves his position. That we have something to offer in exchange for his help in the battle. So long as he knows we are willing to make that offer, we will have his cooperation.”

“But we may lose it if Auraya dies,” Genza added.

“Most likely,” Imenja agreed. The Voices exchanged long looks, then she nodded. As she spoke her gaze moved from one Companion to the next.

“The gods have told us Mirar and Auraya were once lovers. It is more likely that he wishes to rescue her than kill her.”

Lovers? Reivan straightened in surprise. Surely not!

“She worships the gods who want him dead!” Vervel’s Companion, Karkel, protested.

Reivan remembered something else. “Mirar said Auraya tried to kill him. Was that a lie?”

“Probably,” Shar replied.

“Does this mean he is a spy for the White?” Vilvan, Genza’s Companion, asked.

“The gods did not say so.” Imenja spread her hands. “They just warned that he would try to rescue her.”

“By asking if he can deliver the news of the White’s defeat to her, he ensures she lives a little longer,” Genza said.

“By suggesting we’ll give her to him, we ensure he does help us during the battle,” Shar added.

Genza frowned. “We’re not actually going to give him Auraya in exchange for his help, are we?”

Imenja sighed. “If we want to stay on good terms with Mirar, we must consider it. I don’t like the idea, but once the White are gone Auraya would be of little threat to us. Nekaun does not agree. He’ll keep her alive only so long as Mirar is useful.”

Vervel chuckled. “I feel a bit sorry for Mirar. He seems a good man.”

“If Mirar is a good man, he will not want to endanger his people through his actions,” Shar added darkly.

Vervel grimaced. “If he still loves Auraya, incredible as that may be, he has a difficult choice ahead of him. He may have to choose between his lover and his people. Now I feel even more sorry for him.”

Shar snorted. “I can’t feel sorry for anyone who has such bad taste in women,” he muttered.

Imenja’s lips twitched into a smile, then her expression grew serious. “I don’t think we should force such a choice on Mirar. Dreamweavers are a people of great usefulness who are of little threat to us. We should not risk spoiling our friendship with them because of a personal dislike of Auraya or our desire for revenge. Then we would be no better than the Circlians.”

“I agree with you,” Vervel said. “This may be why the gods want her alive.”

“For now. If Auraya proves a nuisance, we can get rid of her later. And she is, after all, only mortal,” Shar said.

“But what of Nekaun?” Genza asked. “We all know how much he wants to kill her.”

Imenja paused, then lifted her head and looked at each of them in turn. “If we are in agreement on this, we can persuade him otherwise.”

The room fell silent. Reivan’s heart was racing. Imenja was suggesting they unite against Nekaun. Until now the others had never been willing to stand against the First Voice.

“I will at least try,” Vervel said.

“And I,” Genza added.

Shar shrugged. “He would not defy the gods, but if he tries, I will give you my support.”

Silence followed. Imenja bowed her head.

“Thank you.” She drew in a deep breath, then stood up. “Reivan and I will now test whether Mirar can read minds. If not, I should still be able to ensure Mirar doesn’t attempt to rescue Auraya and spoil our plans.”

“How will you do that?” Genza asked.

Imenja smiled. “I will merely let him know that if he helps us win this war, we will give him Auraya to do with as he wishes afterward.”

Shar chuckled. “He’ll think we’re playing right into his hands. Unless, of course, he can read minds.”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Genza concluded.

46

As Auraya woke she recalled where she was, and groaned. The trouble with regaining some strength was that she was able to feel and think with more energy. Mostly she felt boredom and frustration. She had returned to her mind-skimming, but it seemed the only subject on the minds of people outside the hall was war.

War, war, war, she thought. I can’t blame them for being so caught up in it, but I so wish they could think about something else or at least get it over with. This waiting is unbearable.

Yet every moment brought her death closer. Was she so keen to die?

It would be much more comfortable than this, she thought wryly. And perhaps then Mischief would leave me and find his way to a safe place. She felt a pang of anxiety. He hadn’t appeared since Nekaun’s last visit, when the Servants had first treated her with their cures. Reaching out with her mind, she called his name.

:Mischief?

A familiar mind touched her own, sending a formless reassurance, and she sighed with relief. Wherever he was, he was not frightened or hurt.

:Mischief doing what?

:Hunting, he told her.

She smiled. He had become proficient at it, dragging birds and small creatures down into the hall. Sometimes he offered them to her, but even if she could have brought herself to eat them it would be almost impossible to do so without her hands. She might have managed to swallow the smaller of them whole, but the thought made her stomach turn.

Satisfied that the veez was well, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out. First she searched the minds in the Sanctuary for signs of Mirar. She saw news spreading among the domestics awake at this early hour. Mirar had agreed to join the Voices in the battle. He would lend his strength to their defense, but as Dreamweavers abhorred violence he would not join any attack on the enemy.

How clever of you, Mirar, she thought.

:Auraya?

Surprised, she slipped into a dream-link.

:Mirar? Did you hear me thinking?

:No. What were you thinking about?

:You.

:Really? I hope they were good thoughts.

:I just heard the latest gossip. The legendary Mirar has agreed to help the Voices, but only in defense.

:Ah. Yes. A compromise. I’m... sorry. If I could do this without harming your former colleagues I would.

She paused as she realized what he was referring to. If he helped the Voices, the White would probably be defeated. Juran, Dyara, Mairae and Rian would die - and the new White, Ellareen.

I can’t blame him for deciding to take this path, she thought. He must stay on good terms with the Voices for the sake of his people. And if the White win, Dreamweavers in Southern Ithania will be treated as they are in the north. Even though the situation is improving in the north, it will take years for people to come close to respecting Dreamweavers like the Pentadrians do. And they may never do so.

Yet she did not want the White to die. Or for Northern Ithania to be taken over by the Pentadrians. The thought of Nekaun ruling the north made her feel nauseous.

:We are leaving Glymma today, Mirar told her. It will take less than a day to reach the Isthmus. Last night Second Voice Imenja promised me that they would give you to me in exchange for my help, after the battle. I have no idea how long this battle will last. The Isthmus will lessen the numbers of soldiers that can face each other at once. The Dunwayan fleet and Pentadrian warships don’t have that problem, of course, so maybe it will be a sea battle. Then there’s the White and the Voices. Will they fight at the same time on the ships or Isthmus, or wait until later?

:If the Voices have the magical advantage, they will force the White to fight them from the start, Auraya said. Fewer of their own people will die.

:True.

:If your help brings about a quick conclusion, at least you will be saving mortal lives.

:I hope so. He hesitated. I have sent out a message to my own people subtly suggesting they use their magic in defense of whichever side they wish to support, Pentadrian or Circlian.

:How will the Voices react to this? They will suspect you ordered it!

:I will point out that while I can’t give them orders, I also can’t prevent my people emulating me. I could hardly forbid them to do something I am doing. And the advantage is still the Voices’ because I and the Dreamweavers here are stronger than those of my people defending the Circlians.

:You are too clever for your own good, she told him.

:Am I? You must tell Emer—... wait. Someone is knocking on my door. I must go.

:Good luck.

:You too.

Then he was gone. Auraya stared at the floor and felt her heart twist.

I hope he knows what he’s doing. If he dies... She swallowed hard. I think I’d actually regret it. And not just because the last of Leiard dies with him. Or that I’ll probably die, too. I think I’d actually regret knowing Mirar the Wild no longer existed.

The wide Parade outside the Sanctuary was well-suited for assembling an army. Thousands filled the space. Servants dressed in black robes stood in neat, disciplined rows on one side, soldiers in black uniforms with shining armor stood in rigid formation on the other. Highly decorated litters for the Voices and their Companions and advisers waited before the stairs. Larger four-wheeled tarns laden with supplies were lined up at the distant rear of the assembly.

It was an impressive sight. If Mirar hadn’t seen entire armies perish before handfuls of sorcerers, he would have thought the Pentadrians sure of victory.

If it weren’t for a handful of sorcerers, urged on by their gods, would these people even be here? he asked himself. It was an impossible question to answer. The world had never been free of gods, so who could guess how mortals would behave without them? He had seen wars waged for reasons as flimsy as revenge for an insult, or simple greed. Mortals did not need gods to order them to kill each other. They were quite capable of finding reasons to do so themselves.

First Voice Nekaun stepped forward to address the crowd. Mirar stopped listening after a few sentences. He had heard it all before.

“What are you thinking about?” a voice said softly at his shoulder.

He turned to find the Second Voice regarding him.

“The futility of war,” he replied.

Imenja smiled. He found her likeable, but she had lived long enough to have refined her skill at putting others at their ease so well it was undetectable.

“You think this war is futile?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Even if you kill the White and defeat the Circlians, the Circle of Gods will still exist.”

She nodded. “That is true. What comes after this confrontation will be as important as the battle itself. We hope that, in time, the people of the north will see our ways are better and kinder, and will embrace the Five. There will always be those who continue to worship the Circle, but the Circle’s power over Northern Ithania will be diminished.”

“So not entirely futile, in your view,” he finished.

She smiled again. “No. But I would understand if you wished we could kill the Circlian gods as well. It would make the world much safer for you. What are you smiling at?”

Mirar chuckled. “Just the thought of you killing the Circlian gods for me.” And that if we immortals allowed the Voices and the White to “discover” how to do it, we might only have to sit back and watch them both rid the world of our problems.

Which might not be a bad fallback plan if no opportunity to free Auraya came, or she refused to help. He had not been able to find a way to free Auraya except forcing his way into her prison himself, which would certainly spoil the goodwill between the Voices and himself, and perhaps for his people too. The best option for Dreamweavers was to hope Imenja kept her promise.

However, if the Voices won the battle there might be no White left to attack the Pentadrian gods. Still, the Voices could kill the Circlian ones, and that might be all the Wilds needed. The Pentadrians ones didn’t seem too bad so far.

Nekaun fell silent and the crowd cheered. Making an expensive gesture, he indicated that Imenja and the other Voices should follow him down to the litters. Imenja’s smile altered slightly, and Mirar was sure it was now forced.

As the Voices descended he followed a few steps behind, among the Companions and advisers. A few steps from the vehicles Genza glanced back at him, her eyes narrow and thoughtful.

“Would you mind if the Dreamweaver travelled with me, First Voice?” she asked. “You know I find long journeys tedious.”

Nekaun paused to regard her, his eyebrows high. “It’s hardly a long journey,” he said. Turning to Mirar, he smiled politely. “Dreamweaver Mirar, would you honor me with your company as we set out?”

“The honor is mine,” Mirar replied smoothly.

Genza shrugged. “Perhaps later, when all the talk of violence and strategy begins to bore him.”

They settled onto the litters, which were each lifted by several muscular slaves dressed in finery. The army could see their leaders clearly. And me, Mirar thought grimly. He had explored the dreams of Dreamweavers last night. Their reaction to his deal with the Voices was mixed. Some disliked it, some did not. All but a few believed he had been forced to make the deal, probably by circumstances, perhaps by a more direct threat.

“Don’t let Genza make you feel... obligated,” Nekaun said to him as the litter moved forward.

“I won’t,” Mirar replied, smiling. Genza had stopped flirting with him when they’d arrived at the Sanctuary; Nekaun must not know that.

“I feel I should warn you. She can be persistent. The more you resist her, the more interesting she will find you.”

“I know the type,” Mirar assured him dryly.

Nekaun chuckled. “I’m sure you do. You would also know that she would leave you alone once her curiosity was satisfied. She only wishes to see if your reputation is deserved, as I’m sure many women do.”

“I am not a slave to my reputation,” Mirar replied.

“No, you are not. I respect that.” Nekaun’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “You are a man who knows when to be flexible, and when to be unbending.”

Mirar stopped himself from grimacing at this reference to his agreement to help the Voices. He smiled slyly. “I thought it was only women who spread such rumors about me.”

As the litter began to move between the columns of Servants and soldiers, the Parade echoed with Nekaun’s laughter.

Looking up at the prow of the boat, Tamun smiled. Her brother stood straight-shouldered, his hair whipping in the wind. The boat was speeding through the water, propelled by magic, guided by his will. Water sprayed out from either side of the prow and the hull shuddered every time it struck a wave.

She noted the muscles in his arms, earned by many hours of rowing and poling through the swamp. He had grown more masculine since they had taken up residence there. Her sister had become quite a handsome brother. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

Perhaps she spent so much time with him that she never stepped back and looked at him. But the changes were not only physical. And Surim had changed himself slowly to give her time to get used to it. He had become more adventurous, too.

I guess he couldn’t before, she thought. They had been connected physically as well as mentally. She ran a hand over the scar on her side. As always, the memory of their separation brought pain and sadness, but it had been a relief as well. More for him than me, she admitted. We may be twins, but we are different in many ways. I sit in our cave and resent him for leaving me alone, afraid that if anyone sees me the gods will find me. He explores the swamp, and mingles with the people there sure that the change prevents the gods from recognizing him.

And now she was far from the Red Caves, far from the swamp, speeding across the water to the very place where thousands of mortals, and perhaps a few immortals, would see her - and the gods were sure to gather. She shivered. It was madness. But it was also inarguably sensible. If they were ever going to kill the gods, they had to be close to them.

That the opportunity would arise in the next few days was doubtful. If she thought about that too much she felt unpleasantly giddy. Closing her eyes, she stretched out in search of other minds.

She found some fishermen first. They were returning late from their morning’s work. Next she encountered the crew of a trader ship heading south to supply Diamyane. Several Sennon fighters and a Circlian priest were aboard and Dunwayan warships sailed close by. They were anticipating attempts by Pentadrians to stop supplies reaching the Circlian army.

Moving further away, she was drawn to the hum of many minds. The Circlian army now marched along the coast. They knew they were a day’s journey from Diamyane. The more experienced priests, priestesses and soldiers looked ahead to the battle with both dread and determination.

Another shift brought her to their destination. Diamyane was populated by scavengers, Dreamweavers and Sennon troops sent ahead to prepare for the army’s arrival. She sought the minds of the Dreamweavers, then searched for Emerahl in their thoughts. Or the woman Emerahl was pretending to be.

There she is.

Tamun smiled at the thoughts of the woman regarding the red-haired stranger. Arleej, official leader of the Dreamweavers, was not sure what to make of Emmea. Mirar had told her to include Emmea in all discussions and plans. The woman was likeable enough, if a bit impatient at times.

Arleej was relating to Emerahl what had happened when she told Juran of the White of Mirar’s decision that he and all Dreamweavers could use their Gifts to protect whichever side they chose.

“He turned white,” Arleej said.

Emerahl chuckled. “What did he say?”

“He accepted our offer of help. I suspect he wanted to refuse. He must have suspicions of treachery, but since the Circlians are weaker already with Mirar joining their enemy, he has to take that risk.”

“You aren’t tempted to turn on the Circlians, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Arleej was amused by the question. “Juran also agreed with my suggestion that some of us follow behind the White when they walk down the Isthmus to meet the Voices, as Mirar is sure to be with the enemy.”

“I’d like to be a part of that group,” Emerahl said. “Mirar sent me to you because I am strong, and I can help redress the balance of power he’s been forced to upset.”

Arleej considered, then nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The conversation turned to practical matters and Tamun wouldn’t be able to dream-link with Emerahl until the woman was asleep, so she moved southward to another mass of minds. The Pentadrian army marched toward the Isthmus. They were half a day from the beginning of the land bridge, but didn’t intend to cross it. It took her longer to find Mirar, as there was only one unshielded mind in his proximity. The woman’s name was Reivan, and her role was as a Companion to the Second Voice, Imenja.

Reivan regarded Mirar with wary respect. She liked his ideals and dislike of violence, but didn’t think they were practical. Knowing she was in the presence of a man over a thousand years old had her more than a little awed. When she regarded the Pentadrian leader her mind filled with conflicting emotions and thoughts: the lingering remains of infatuation, worry, anger and a slowly but steadily growing hatred.

:Tamun? Surim?

Tamun recognized The Gull’s mental voice. Drawing reluctantly away from the Companion, she focused on her fellow immortal.

:Greetings, Gull. Where are you?

:Nearing the Gulf of Sorrow. I shall reach the Isthmus tonight.

:Do you know of the tunnels Emerahl described?

:Yes. I used them often when they were open.

:We just have to hope there’s one underneath the place the White meet the Voices.

:I have thought of a solution to this problem. If I were to collapse a small section of the Isthmus, they would be forced to stand on either side in order to face each other.

:Ah. Doubts crept in as she considered this. But they will wonder who collapsed it and why. It might make the gods suspicious.

:It might, he conceded. I could make it look like a natural occurrence.

:But it would still seem too much of a coincidence.

:Then I can think of only one other solution.

:Oh?

:I will have to carve out a tunnel along the center of the Isthmus, underneath the road.

:That will take time.

:A day or so. I will begin at the center, where the White and Voices are most likely to meet. There is only one drawback.

:What is that?

:It may cause the Isthmus to collapse anyway. Hopefully in a few years’ time, not while I am inside it.

:Then you should be careful, Gull. We will find you if it does. We will dig you out, if we must.

:Then I had best seek lessons on surviving burial from Mirar, he said wryly. I had better go. The roale will forget he is carrying me if I don’t remind him from time to time. I won’t arrive by tonight if he decides to dive.

As his mind faded from hers, Tamun took a few deep breaths. What they were doing was dangerous in more ways than one. It might not even work. But she would try again and again if it meant freedom from the gods.

Some risks were worth taking.

47

The sun had slipped beneath the horizon a short time ago, sinking with steady purpose as if it patiently went through its paces knowing that tomorrow’s battle would come in good time. A glow filled the western sky, in parts strangely colored. As Reivan walked toward it she wondered if a Thinker somewhere knew why the sky at these times could be such improbable colors like green and purple.

Then she reached Imenja and stopped. The Second Voice was staring at the Isthmus, which was bathed in the eerie light of the glowing sky. It stretched away into the gloom toward a barely visible shadow.

Sennon. Northern Ithania.

“They haven’t arrived yet,” Imenja told her.

“Will we cross and take Diamyane?” Reivan asked. The possibility had been discussed in several meetings.

“No. Our advantage lies in remaining here. The Circlians can cross only a few at a time, so we can pick them off easily.”

“And if the White come at the front of the army?”

“Then we Voices will fight them.”

“Making the soldiers unnecessary,” Reivan observed.

Imenja smiled crookedly. “Yes. Which is not a bad thing. War is not kind to unSkilled mortals.”

Reivan shivered. She was an unSkilled mortal. Imenja turned and placed a hand on Reivan’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You will be protected.”

“I know.” Reivan nodded, then sighed. “But I will also be useless.”

The glowing sky had dimmed and Imenja’s face was in shadow. Reivan could not see her expression.

“Not to me,” Imenja said, squeezing Reivan’s shoulder. She looked back. “The tent is up. We should join the others.”

They walked back into the camp. What had been a dry, dusty stretch of land was now covered in black pointed shapes, fires flickering like orange stars scattered between. Reivan had regarded the tents in dismay when she first saw them being erected. The five-sided design was an unnecessary complication that some of the domestics were finding hard to work out and the black cloth would trap the heat of the sun. Sometimes she wondered if the Pentadrians took their symbolism too far.

When the sun rose the army wouldn’t be huddling in their overheated tents. They would be spilling blood. Or watching sorcerers throw deadly magic about and hoping they wouldn’t happen to be in the wrong place when it went astray. She thought about what Imenja had said. A fight between only Voices and White sounded too good to be true. But the Servants and priests would not remain out of the battle. They would assist their side with extra magic. Once the Voices defeated the White, or, gods help them, the White defeated the Voices, there would be no point in the Servants or priests continuing the fight. But they might anyway. Just out of loyalty to their gods.

And what then? Reivan asked herself. Once one side is defeated, what will happen to the armies?

She doubted that the Voices would just let the Circlians go home, as the White had done with the Pentadrians after the last battle. She also knew that this would be a fight in which the Voices or White would not let their counterparts live.

Imenja checked her stride, then sighed. Looking up, Reivan saw that they were approaching a large tent. This one was not the plain five-sided shape of the rest, but a star shape. The entrance to the tent was a gap between two of the star’s arms. As she followed Imenja inside she found herself in a five-sided room. In each wall was a door flap. They probably led to the private rooms of the Voices.

A huge carpet covered the floor and several woven reed chairs had been arranged upon it. On small, low tables were bowls of nuts and dried fruit and jugs of water. A Servant traced the symbol of the star as Imenja turned toward him. He lowered his eyes and gestured to a door flap.

Imenja pushed the flap aside, then held it open for Reivan to catch as she moved inside. Carpet covered the floor and trunks lay beside a large bed.

“Where will I sleep?” Reivan asked.

“There should be a tent for you nearby.”

Reivan nodded.

“Are your accommodations to your satisfaction?”

They turned to find Nekaun standing in the doorway, smiling. Reivan’s skin crawled at the sight of him.

“I hardly know I’ve left the Sanctuary,” Imenja said dryly.

Nekaun’s smile widened. “You will tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Food has arrived. Come and eat.”

He retreated from the door. Reivan turned back to Imenja and found the woman smiling.

“Good to see he no longer has a hold on you,” she murmured. “Though I wish that hadn’t come about in such a painful way.”

Reivan blinked in surprise, then nodded as she realized Imenja was right. She no longer felt a thrill of admiration and weakness when she saw Nekaun. She no longer craved his attention. Ever since...

She shuddered as she remembered that last time. He had revealed a cruel, malicious side that she was both glad and a little worried that she would never forget. Now when she saw him she felt repulsed.

Imenja moved past, patting Reivan on the shoulder as she did.

“Let’s eat.”

Following her mistress out, Reivan saw that the other Voices and their Companions had arrived. Domestics were carrying platters of steaming food into the room, filling the air with delicious smells. She sat down beside Imenja and began to eat. Dedicated Servants and even a few Thinkers entered. Nekaun made a small speech, telling them that while they feasted the Circlians were wearily making their final march of a long and exhausting journey, only to be defeated tomorrow.

Talk circulated around war. A Dedicated Servant reported that several Circlian supply ships had been sunk. During general chatter Reivan overheard the Thinkers discussing a giant sea creature that had been sighted swimming in the Gulf of Sorrow. They wanted to kill and examine it.

“If you do, we will withdraw our support in this war,” a loud, deep voice with a thick accent boomed.

All turned toward the entrance. Reivan’s heart leapt with recognition. Looking around, she could see the effect the imposing figure of the Elai king was having on those who had never seen an Elai before.

Even if King Ais had been a landwalker, his height, the size of his chest and the gold jewellery he wore would have made him an intimidating figure. His blue-black skin, complete hairlessness, double-lidded eyes and webbed hands and feet just added a strangeness that some might find fascinating and others repellent. The king moved into the room, his eyes narrowing at the Thinkers.

“The ru-al is an ancient and benign creature of the sea, and though we would gain enough food from one creature to feed many, many families we Elai do not hunt them. To kill one for the sake of curiosity would be...” The Elai king shook his head. “It would be both wasteful and cruel.”

“Nobody is going to kill the creature,” Nekaun assured him. He moved forward to meet the king. “Welcome to Avven and the Pentadrian war camp, King Ais. I hope your journey was not difficult.”

As the two leaders continued with formal pleasantries Reivan looked away again. People were listening to and staring at the Elai king in fascination. Nekaun glanced away from the king and frowned, and those who were staring quickly turned away and struck up conversations.

“King Ais has learned Avvenan well,” Imenja noted. Reivan nodded. The Second Voice looked around the room, then turned to Vervel.

“Where is Mirar?” she asked quietly.

Vervel shrugged. “He retired to his tent.”

“The trip wore him out?” Shar asked, smiling. “Or was it Genza? He spent a long time with her.”

Genza regarded the Fifth Voice with one eyebrow raised in disdain. “On a litter. In full view of the army.”

“Lucky for him.”

“Can an immortal get tired?” Vervel asked thoughtfully. Nobody answered.

“Maybe he’s snuck back to the Sanctuary,” Genza said. She turned to face Nekaun as he left the king and moved over to join them. “Is Auraya securely locked up?”

The First Voice smiled nastily. “She is. Don’t worry. Mirar is being watched. And her guards have orders to kill her if anyone tries to interfere.” Imenja looked at him sharply. He returned her gaze, his smile widening. “I’m tempted to tell them to anyway, then bring her body back here to present to the White. That might make them pause.”

The other Voices exchanged glances, but said nothing.

“But you won’t,” Imenja said quietly. “Because she is the reason he is helping us.”

Nekaun shrugged. “Mirar won’t risk spoiling the pleasant relationship our people have with his.”

“And neither should we.”

The First Voice made a disparaging noise. “We don’t need the Dreamweavers.”

The room was quiet. All were listening and watching the two Voices intently. Reivan realized her heart was pounding. Imenja had never challenged him publicly before.

Imenja pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should consult our people before we make such a broad-reaching decision for them. I wouldn’t want us to cause an unnecessary division among them, or deny them access to the Dreamweavers’ superior healing skills. Perhaps we could put it to a vote.”

She looked at the other Voices. They nodded and turned to regard Nekaun expectantly.

His eyebrows lowered and Reivan thought for a moment he would scowl. But he suddenly smiled and spread his hands. “Of course we shall. After the war. For now, let’s concentrate on the matter at hand. Come and meet the Elai king, Ais.”

As the Voices followed him, Reivan remained where she was. She watched Nekaun. Something nagged at her.

Then she saw it. After the war there would be no point in consulting the people about Dreamweavers. Nekaun would already have killed Auraya, or Mirar would have attempted to rescue her and forced Nekaun to carry out his threat.

The Second Voice looked across the room, met her eyes and nodded. It was clear her mistress had read Reivan’s mind, or come to the same conclusion independently. Nekaun knew about Imenja’s promise to Mirar that Auraya would be given to him after the war. Was Nekaun teasing the other Voices with his talk of killing Auraya? Or would Nekaun kill Auraya in defiance of his fellow Voices’ one attempt to interfere in his rule?

Reivan shivered. These days she couldn’t say which was more likely.

Endless days of riding in a platten hadn’t done anything to improve Danjin’s fitness. Sweat ran down his face and soaked his tunic. The rings on his fingers dug into his hands as he gripped the oars. His shoulders ached and he longed to just lie down and pass out.

“Take your time,” Ella had said, patting him on the shoulder. “Take all night if you need to. Just make sure you’re well away by dawn.”

Then she had propelled him and the boat out as far as she could. He had estimated from the twinkle of lights on either side that she had driven him halfway across the Gulf. Once the boat had drifted to a halt he had taken up the oars and begun rowing.

Every hundred or so strokes he paused to catch his breath. Finally reaching the hundredth stroke again - he had lost track of how many hundreds long ago - he turned to look behind. To his relief he had managed to continue in the right direction. The lights of the Pentadrian camp were all to his left. Darkness spread to the right. Behind him he could just make out a thin, pale line: the beach.

And as he watched a tiny blue light appeared and died.

The signal at last! Turning away, he started rowing again, spurred by a dubious excitement. Part of him took some satisfaction that he had been chosen for a task more suited to a younger, more adventurous man.

“Why me?” he had asked Ella.

“You know Auraya well enough to resist if she contacts you through the ring and tries to lure you away. You’re also smart enough to avoid heroics.”

“Like trying to rescue her?”

She had smiled. “Yes. Even with your mind hidden, you’d never get into the Sanctuary or overcome her guards.”

Of course he had considered the possibility. Given the chance to free Auraya, he would have. Not just out of concern and loyalty to her, but for the sake of the Circlians. They needed her strength to tip the balance back in their favor.

But the White hadn’t sent Danjin to free Auraya. They had sent him to meet the other cause of the imbalance of power.

The underneath of the boat scraped against sand. Danjin pulled in the oars and braced himself to stand, then nearly fell into the bottom of the boat as something began to pull it toward the shore. He grabbed the sides and twisted around, expecting to see someone hauling on the prow.

But there was nothing. He was heading toward a man-shaped shadow. The boat stopped a few strides away. Standing up, Danjin stepped over the side. Water chilled his feet and ankles. He looked down and frowned, but not at the soaking of his trousers and boots.

I had better leave on good terms. I’m not sure I could drag this boat back out into deeper water.

He looked up at the figure, took a deep breath and splashed toward it. That he had been betrayed and this was a Servant was the worst possibility, but not the only source of trepidation. Even if this was the right man, and although Danjin had worked with him before, there was much to fear and resent about him.

Stopping a few paces away, Danjin stared at the shadowed face.

“Welcome to Southern Ithania, Danjin Spear,” Mirar said dryly.

A chill ran over Danjin’s skin. The voice was all too familiar, but the tone was something he had never heard before. Leiard had always been dignified and reticent. When he had said anything, it was in a quiet, almost apologetic way.

Though spoken quietly, these words boomed with confidence. But not arrogance, he realized. There was great age and experience in them. This was the voice of Mirar the immortal.

Or maybe I’m hearing what I expect to hear, he thought wryly.

“Thank you, Mirar,” Danjin replied. “Though I have to wonder if you have permission to welcome me on the Pentadrians’ behalf.”

“What they don’t know won’t bother them,” Mirar replied.

Was there a hint of contempt there? Danjin wondered.

“But the sooner I return the less chance my absence will be noticed and wondered about,” Mirar added after a pause. “What have you come to tell me?”

Danjin straightened. “The White have sent me to make you an offer. I am linked to them so if you have any question or request—”

“They want me out of the battle,” Mirar interrupted. “I can’t agree to that.”

Danjin swallowed. “Not even in exchange for the freedom of your people?”

Mirar was silent for a moment. “So are they making an offer or threatening me?”

“Not a threat,” Danjin said hastily. “They will promise to allow your people to practice all their Gifts, including mind links, if you desist from helping the Pentadrians.”

“And in return for abandoning the Pentadrians my people here will suffer. Which side is more likely to win this war if I take the White’s offer, Danjin Spear?”

“It would be impossible to guess.”

“And which side if I remain with the Pentadrians?”

Danjin sighed. “Yours.”

:Ask him if Auraya would forgive him for the deaths of her friends and people. Ella’s voice was a whisper in Danjin’s mind. He resisted the urge to touch her ring.

“How will Auraya regard you if you help bring about the deaths of her friends, family and her people?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

“Oh, she’ll be in raptures of delight,” Mirar replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But at least there’s a small chance that she won’t be dead. If the White win, she will die.”

“Is that why you’re doing this?” Danjin found himself whispering. Why am I whispering? Do I think the White won’t hear me?

Mirar didn’t reply. His silence might suggest he was unwilling to admit to something. That he still feels something for Auraya? Danjin considered Mirar’s responses. He hadn’t given away anything. Perhaps he doesn’t want to admit that his reasons are less than noble. That he’s doing this out of revenge.

“Is there anything the White can offer you?” Danjin asked.

He was surprised to hear Mirar sigh. “No. But be assured that I will not compromise my people’s stand on violence. It is a pity your people have not remained as consistent. Only a few years ago they were outraged at the Pentadrians’ willingness to invade another land. Now they seek to invade in turn. Tell the White that if my assistance disadvantages the Circlians, perhaps they should abandon their plans of invasion. It would be better for all.”

Danjin felt a flare of anger. How dare this heathen sorcerer think he could change the course of a war as if he were a god. But then an idea came to calm his indignation.

“So if the White agreed to abandon the invasion, would you also withdraw your assistance to the Pentadrians?”

Mirar paused. “I would consider it.” He turned abruptly to look behind him. “A patrol is coming. You should go.”

A stab of fear went through Danjin. “How far?”

“You have enough time to leave if you go now. I will push your boat out as far as I can.”

Danjin nodded in gratitude, then realized he was probably as hard to see in this darkness as Mirar.

“Thank you,” he said.

Turning away, he hurried to the boat and climbed aboard. Hearing splashes, he turned to see that Mirar had followed him.

“I will do what I can for Auraya,” Mirar said quietly. “But be warned. If she returns you will find she is not the same woman you knew. The gods have betrayed her and used her like a piece in a game of petty revenge between themselves. One does not live through that and remain free of bitterness.”

Danjin shivered. This time there was definitely the sound of great age and experience in the man’s voice. He gripped the sides of the boat as it jerked free of the sand and slid rapidly toward the water. Once it floated freely, it turned about. Danjin found himself facing the shore, just able to make out the figure standing there. Then the boat abruptly shot forward. It gathered speed, moving ever faster, until spray began to shoot up on either side. Danjin gripped the sides of the boat tighter, his heart racing. He began to worry that it would smash into something, but was too terrified to look around.

Relief washed over him when the boat finally began to slow. The lights from the Pentadrian shore were reassuringly distant. He turned and drew in a quick breath. The lights of Diamyane were unexpectedly close.

Mirar sent me much further than Ella did. He frowned. Does this mean he is stronger?

He sat there pondering this for a few minutes. Surely that wasn’t possible. Ella had replaced Auraya, so they must be about equal in strength. The gods wouldn’t have sent Auraya to kill Mirar if she was weaker than him.

A splash close to the boat brought his attention back to his surroundings. He peered over the edge, not expecting to see anything. Instead he found a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Paralyzed by surprise, he stared back. Then two dark hands shot out of the water toward his throat.

He jerked back and shoved them away at the same time, getting an impression of cold and slippery skin. The hands grabbed hold of the side of the boat. They were extraordinarily large and there was webbing between the fingers. He heard a slap and turned to see another hand appear over the other side of the boat, holding a strange weapon.

:Ella!

:I see them! Give me a moment to find you!

Heads appeared. Black, bald heads with strange filmy eyes. Terror rushed through Danjin. Grabbing an oar, he swung it at one. It ducked. He reversed the swing and jabbed the paddle of the oar at the other. It connected with a satisfying crack.

The man dropped into the water, then the first disappeared. Danjin wondered if he had caused a fatal injury. If he had wounded the man, his companion might have to take him away. If he hadn’t, or had killed the man, he’d have either one or two men coming back for revenge.

To his dismay, two heads appeared in the water nearby. One’s nose was bleeding profusely, dribbling into a mouth caught in a snarl of hate. The blood was a livid red against the man’s white teeth.

But a moment ago it was too dark for me to see this well...

The two men looked up and toward the shore, and their expressions changed to fear. They vanished underwater. Turning, Danjin saw a spark of light rushing toward him. He waved his arms, then tumbled into the bottom of the boat as it jerked into motion. Sighing with relief, he decided to stay there.

The journey to the shore was mercifully short. When he felt the boat slow he began to pull himself back onto the seat. Ella stood on the beach ahead, a white glowing figure of goodness. As the boat slid up onto the sand she strode forward, her dress and circ dipping into the water. He felt a sudden rush of affection for her.

“Are you all right, Danjin?”

He stepped out and looked himself over. “Fine. A bit bruised in places, but otherwise happy to be alive.” He glanced behind. “What were those creatures?”

“Elai,” she replied, frowning. “Several of our supply ships and a Dunwayan warship have been sunk tonight. That wasn’t a weapon you saw. It was a tool for drilling holes.”

Danjin nodded. Of course. Now that she had pointed it out, he recognized the tool as one used for ship repairs. In the hands of the creature it had taken on an exotic menace.

“We’ll have to work out a way to fight them, or we’ll never survive a protracted battle here,” Ella added.

“Well, I’m glad he didn’t get a chance to drill any holes in me,” he said.

She smiled. “And I am, too. I wish I hadn’t needed to send you over there, but the only other way we could have talked to Mirar was through Arleej, and there may have been something he’d agree to so long as his people didn’t know of it.”

“Did anything good come of it?” he asked.

She looked at him, then shrugged. “Maybe. We will have to discuss it. You should get some sleep in these last few hours before the army arrives.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“No, but you will try,” she said firmly. “I’ll need you alert and at your best tomorrow.”

Putting a hand on his shoulder, she steered him toward the town.

48

As Auraya grew aware of her aching body again she nearly groaned aloud.

At least when I’m asleep I’m oblivious. I don’t feel pain or frustration or boredom or worry or... What is that?

Something snuffled at her ear. She opened her eyes and turned her head. Round eyes and a pointed nose filled her vision. A narrow pink tongue licked her nose.

“Owaya,” Mischief said quietly.

“You’re back.” She nearly sobbed with relief.

“Msstf hunt. Msstf find.”

He moved something from his hand to his mouth and scurried up her arm.

Shifting position, she went rigid with the pain that shot down her arms. Breathing steadily, she waited for circulation to return.

The weight of the veez and the prodding of his feet didn’t help at all. As feeling returned his every movement sent shocks of agony along her arm.

“Ow! That hurts!”

He ignored her. Bending forward, she tried to see what he was doing.

And a wave of giddy, dizzy hope took her breath away.

Mischief was holding a key in his mouth. He was trying to insert it into the lock of the cuff around her wrist. Auraya gaped at him, but as she saw that he was trying to put the wrong end in the keyhole her wits returned in a rush. She glanced at the Servant guards. They were both leaning against the wall beside the gate, their heads lowered. Reaching out with her mind she saw that they were sulking about being left behind.

The strongest Dedicated Servant in Glymma and I end up a prison guard, one thought. I must have done something wrong. What did I do wrong?

Turning back to Mischief, Auraya touched his mind and sent the idea of turning the key around. He paused, then flipped it over, using both paws and his mouth.

It seemed to take forever for him to insert it in the keyhole. Once there she sensed he was unsure what to do next. Then he remembered how he normally undid locks with magic. There was usually something inside that turned. He tried to twist the key, but his paws weren’t used to the action. Hearing a noise, Auraya glanced at the guards again. Her stomach lurched as she saw one was peeing at her.

“You’d better hurry,” she told Mischief. “Or they’ll be eating veez stew tonight.”

As the guard reached toward the gate she felt a surge of desperation. Mischief must have sensed it, as he suddenly ran down her arm and licked her face.

“No, no, no!” she muttered.

He scurried back to the lock, to her relief. He paused to sniff at it. She heard the gate open and the voice of the second guard raised in query. Turning away she watched Mischief anxiously as he stared at the key. In the corner of her eye she saw the guards step into the hall.

Mischief took the key in his mouth and twisted.

The lock snapped open and Mischief leapt up onto the throne. Gritting her teeth against the pain of moving a wrist long held in one position, she slid her hand out of the cuff and twisted it around to take hold of the key.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, then more rapid as she pulled out the key and forced her arm around so she could insert it in the cuff around her other wrist. She twisted it. The lock opened.

She glimpsed a flash of light from the guard and threw herself to one side. Magic scorched the base of the throne. She darted behind the enormous chair, panting with exertion, her heart racing.

I have to get out of the void! She could hear two sets of footsteps drawing closer on either side. The Servants were coming around the throne.

She tentatively reached for magic and found it. The area behind the throne wasn’t in the void! Drawing magic greedily, she created a shield around herself just as the Servants stepped around the throne and attacked. She knocked one down with a blast of power, then turned to face the other. He stared at her, eyes wide with surprise and horror.

Fixing him with what she expected was a look of utter fury, she took a step toward him.

He fled.

Smiling to herself, she straightened and drew more magic, sending it into her body to heal it. But even as she did she sensed the source diminishing. Moving further away from the throne, she felt a growing puzzlement as she entered magicless space again.

Then she remembered that the void in the cave in Si had magic at its center. A ring of void around a magic core. This was the same - or had been until she had used the remaining magic inside it.

The sooner she left the void the better. She strode out from behind the throne to the edge of the dais, then stepped off. Magic surrounded her again. She drew it in, feeling pain retreat as she healed herself.

“Auraya.”

Her heart froze as she recognized the voice. Turning, she felt her mouth go dry.

A glowing figure stood nearby, eyes blazing with anger and hatred.

Huan.

Auraya hastily strengthened the barrier around herself.

“Sorry to spoil your escape attempt,” the goddess said.

“No you’re not,” Auraya found herself saying. Dismay had turned into a strange mix of defiance and resignation. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to kill me and now you have it.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Huan told her. “But I will, if I have to.” She took a step toward Auraya. “I will make a deal with you.”

“A deal?”

“Yes. I ask for one small thing: that you open your mind to me. For that I will let you live.”

Auraya regarded the glowing figure. Behind the goddess’s features the vacant expression of the Servant who had given over his will was just visible. It was the Dedicated Servant who had been sulking about guarding her. The most powerful Dedicated Servant in Glymma. His powers would be enhanced by the goddess, but by how much? Not as much as the Voices, surely.

At the same time she considered Huan’s request. What harm would there be in unveiling my mind? Huan would know Auraya had become immortal, but she probably suspected that anyway. She would know Auraya had learned from Jade - Emerahl. She would know that other Wilds existed and knew how to kill a god.

I know how to kill a god. She’ll kill me anyway, if she sees that.

She would also know that Auraya was strong enough to become a god, but then if Chaia knew that then Huan probably suspected it, too.

If I am, then I must be stronger than this Dedicated Servant.

The thought brought a smile to Auraya’s face. “I don’t think you can stop me leaving.”

Huan’s eyes flashed. “You are wrong. But if you need convincing...”

The glowing figure opened a hand. White light flashed out and struck Auraya’s barrier. Staggering backward, Auraya drew more magic to her defense, then flung some back at the goddess.

Instantly they became locked in a deadly exchange of ferocious strength and speed. She felt the magic around her thinning as they both tapped into it. She felt the air vibrating between them. She deflected heat, lightning and crushing, hammering strikes.

She’s matching me blow for blow. The realization was worse than the crushing force of Huan’s attack. The Dedicated Servant must be more powerful than I thought. I guess if the Pentadrians vote to decide who become their Voices, it’s possible that there are Dedicated Servants as powerful or even more powerful than the Voices were before the gods enhanced their powers.

Huan moved closer, blocking her escape and forcing her to one side of the hall. Auraya could not get past her. Slowly the magic Auraya could reach dwindled, forcing her to back away to reach more. Huan watched, smiling.

I have lost. It is just a matter of time.

But Auraya fought on, refusing to give up. She used the columns of the hall to shield herself. Pieces of stone were blasted from them, and one after another they crumbled until Auraya feared the roof would collapse. She felt herself faltering. Huan beat at her barrier and it finally collapsed.

A force enveloped Auraya. It drew her forward until she stood a few steps from the glowing figure.

“Now,” Huan sneered. “Open your mind to me.”

A flash of stubborn defiance went through Auraya. She’ll kill me anyway, whether I do it or not.

“No,” she replied.

Huan’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to think you have a choice. I shall convince you otherwise.”

Magic flowed from the goddess and wrapped around Auraya’s body. Into her body. Pain ripped through her, pulsing up and down her limbs, tearing at her insides. She saw white and her eyes burned. Agony was all she knew.

Then it stopped. Vision returned. Auraya realized she was lying on the floor, but could not remember falling down. Her body felt bruised. She was gasping for breath and suspected she had stopped breathing during Huan’s attack. Her mind began drawing in magic from the thin and depleted source around her to begin healing.

So, she thought. It’s going to be torture then. She felt her determination waver. Then she thought of Mirar, and Jade. I can’t betray them. From somewhere she drew up the resolve to stay silent.

“See?” Huan said. “It doesn’t take much magic. I can do it for years, if I want to. And I can do much, much worse. I can make you die of pain. Slowly. Very slowly.”

Once again Auraya considered what was in her mind that the goddess might want to see. Jade’s identity came to mind. The secrets Mirar had told her. The realization that the Wilds were up to something. They knew how to kill gods. Were they going to try it themselves?

I could let Huan see that and die quickly. All I gain from resisting is pain.

But the Wilds will lose any chance of killing the gods if I do.

And the gods deserve to die.

She thought of the stories Jade had told her, of the lies the gods had told, of Huan’s manipulations and the Siyee’s doomed mission. Anger suddenly boiled up inside her.

I can endure this. It won’t be easy... and the Wilds had better succeed. She glared at Huan. I don’t want to die knowing I spoiled any chance of someone killing this bitch.

At Auraya’s glare, Huan straightened and magic flowed from her again. For a long time all Auraya was conscious of was the agony that moved through her body, the realization that pain could be a burning, an intolerable cold, a crushing ache, a multitude of terrible sensations.

When it stopped, she found herself lying face down. Her nose was bleeding. Her forehead throbbed as if someone had kicked it repeatedly. She tried to move, then tried harder. Finally her body obeyed her desire and she rolled onto her back. A thousand hurts made themselves known and for a long moment she could not breathe.

Huan peered down at her from a few paces away.

“You’re dying,” Huan told her.

Gods I wish I could smack that smug expression from her face - or pluck out her eyes! But... Huan can only see me through the eyes of a mortal, Auraya found herself thinking. If I can lure her out of that Servant at least she won’t see me die. Ha! If I could get her out of the Servant she couldn’t harm me at all!

“Too bad,” Auraya said between gritted teeth. “Even when Chaia takes my soul I won’t tell you what I know.”

Huan laughed. “Chaia isn’t here. And I don’t want your soul. You are going to cease to exist.”

Auraya laughed. “If the gods have to be where a person dies in order to take their soul, they can’t possibly take all souls. They’d have to be in so many places at once...” She paused to catch her breath. “But you don’t take souls, do you? It’s all a lie.”

Huan’s glowing eyebrows rose. “Oh? What makes you so sure of that?”

“Chaia told me,” Auraya lied.

“Did he?” Huan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think he likes you as much as he claims. He’s always giving me more excuses to kill you.”

“Then kill me.”

Huan shook her head. “Hmm. Do you really think I’ll let you die without seeing into your mind? I have to know what else he has revealed.”

Auraya had only a moment to enjoy the bitter triumph of knowing Mirar’s “secret” was true before the pain began again. This time it was worse, and when the attack stopped the pain continued. She felt a warm dampness behind her head, and when she moved her skull creaked disturbingly. Shooting pains in one of her arms told her a bone had broken. Her heels were afire. Her whole body was bruised. Her jaw ached and her teeth felt loose.

Huan smiled down at her.

“Open your mind, Auraya.”

If I do, she’ll have to leave the Servant, Auraya thought. That’s my lure. When she comes to me I’ll shut my mind again. But I can’t stop her returning to the Servant...

She groaned. The pain in her head was growing. She drew magic and began healing the damage, and the pain began to lessen. It’s lucky I’m not in the void.

The void! If she could trick Huan into going inside the void... no, the goddess would never fall for that.

“Open your mind and the pain will end,” Huan crooned, bending closer.

I need a void. She remembered her guess at how they had been created. Draw away all the magic in one place. If Huan senses it, she will move away. And then I’ll have no magic to heal myself. Except the magic I draw in...

“Just let me see, and it’ll all be over.”

Lure her out... make a void... stop her returning to the Servant. Suddenly it all came together. Auraya opened her eyes and stared at Huan.

“All right,” she croaked. “Look then. Look and see how much I hate you.”

Huan’s eyes blazed with triumph. Her glowing features vanished and the Dedicated Servant’s face appeared. He blinked with surprise.

Auraya reached out with her unbroken arm and grasped his ankle. At the same time she pulled into herself all the magic she could sense. All at once. Power flowed into her. Senses attuned to the magic of the world, she felt a presence forced away, then fleeing. She felt the magic around her part like torn fabric, leaving a sphere of nothingness.

It was a rent in the world, a terrible thing. She cried out in horror. Another voice joined hers and she felt hands around her arm. Pain snapped her back into an awareness of the world as the Dedicated Servant pulled her hand away from his ankle.

He will alert others, if Huan hasn’t already, she thought, and felt a stab of panic. Magic burst from her. Still in the void, he had no chance to shield himself. She heard his bones crack as the blast hit him. He flew backward and sprawled on the floor, twitching.

She spared him one small moment of pity, then the urgent call of her body drew her attention back. Using the magic she had drawn, she healed as much damage as she could before crawling out of the void and drawing more. Slowly bones mended, swelling eased and bruises faded. She got to her feet. Pinpricks of pain assailed her all over, as nerves taxed by Huan’s torture protested.

She walked toward the gate. Stronger magic surrounded her. A small surge of it broke the lock. Turning back, she looked around the hall. The thought came that she could destroy it easily. But then she remembered that there was someone in it that she wouldn’t want to see harmed.

“Mischief,” she called softly. “Mischief!”

A small furry shape leapt off the throne and bounded over to her. He shot up the bloodied sack she wore onto her shoulders. Auraya scratched him between the ears and walked out of the hall into the passage.

And came face to face with a handful of Servants. They formed a line across the passage. A moment later she sensed Huan join them.

Gods curse her! she thought. Then the irony of what she had just thought occurred to her and she choked out a crazy-sounding laugh.

She can only attack me when she has possessed a Servant, but these Servants probably aren’t as powerful as the last one. The strong ones are at the battle.

As the Servants attacked, Auraya was relieved to find she was right. But more would join them as she tried to fight her way out of the building.

Do I even have to?

Once more she felt the itch to destroy this place. She knew that there was a thick layer of rock above the hall, then the buildings of the Lower Sanctuary. Backing away to the side she knew was not depleted of magic. From the Servants, she retreated into the hall. They followed. When she was just within the gate she turned to face the room. Drawing in magic, she loosed it at the ceiling.

There was a deafening boom and the floor shook. Cracks appeared where she had struck. Rubble piled into the hall. The Servants’ attack faltered. Glancing behind, she saw that they were backing away, exchanging terrified glances.

It took three more blasts, each more powerful, to break through. Cracks crossed the roof of the hall. Faint sunlight filtered down, making curtains of light in the dust that veiled the piles of rubble that covered the floor below.

The Servants had fled.

Auraya paused to pat a trembling Mischief, who was now hiding down the back of her sacking shift. Then she straightened, drew magic greedily to herself and let it fly out. With a terrible crack, a great piece of the roof, thicker than a house was high, crashed down into the hall, crushing and burying the throne. Rubble flew past her and battered her barrier. Not waiting for the dust to settle, she strode forward, stepping over rocks and taking care not to enter either of the two voids.

White walls appeared above, part of the Sanctuary. At the sight of the sky beyond her heart soared. It was pink. Dawn.

“Owaya fly,” Mischief said into her ear.

“Yes,” she replied. “Hold on tight.”

She felt the veez’s feet grip her. Then she launched herself into the air, out of the hole, and up into the sky.

:The sun is rising, Tamun said. Soon the armies will wake. Today the world will change yet again, whether we succeed or not.

Emerahl hid her amusement. Sometimes The Twins spoke like storytellers, in dramatic tones and phrasing. Perhaps it was only because they had grown up in an older time that they spoke like characters in a historic epic.

No, I don’t think people in the distant past spoke like that when doing the laundry or cooking a meal, she thought. This is just The Twins’ way of reminding us that what we are attempting is as risky as those feats of ancient heroes, and will change the world as dramatically.

Then another voice joined the link.

:I have finished, The Gull announced. I have created a tunnel along the length of the Isthmus, connecting it to the one Emerahl used. I have also created tunnels from the central one to the outside on both sides, so that Tamun and Surim will have a place to hide themselves and their boats.

:That must have taken you all night, Emerahl said, impressed. If we don’t get our chance today, this will be an excellent place to lure the gods to another time.

:Only if we find a sixth immortal soon, The Gull warned. The Isthmus will not remain for long after what I have done.

:If an opportunity doesn’t come - and it doesn’t look like it will - we must keep watching for new immortals, Emerahl said. Since the Circlians and the Pentadrians are recruiting powerful sorcerers from a young age we’ll have to expect to find one among their ranks. It’ll be hard to find them and even harder to get them to join us.

:And once we have, we’ll have to find a way to get the gods to gather somewhere we can surround them, Surim added.

:Surim? Tamun? Mirar said as he joined them.

:Mirar, they replied.

:The Pentadrians are stirring. This will be my last chance to link with you. Are you all in place?

:Not quite, Surim replied. We have arrived at Diamyane. The Gull has finished tunnelling so he, Surim and I should be in position soon. Emerahl must wait for the White. How is Auraya?

:I don’t know. She wasn’t asleep when I tried to contact her. I tried mind-skimming, but there’s nobody there. Not even guards.

:I’ll try, Surim offered.

They waited in silence. Emerahl wondered if the others felt the same dread. The Voices could have left orders for Auraya to be killed, thinking that Mirar wouldn’t know he’d been cheated until after the battle. That would explain the lack of guards. No point guarding a dead prisoner.

:She was the only flaw in our plan, Surim said quietly. We have the perfect trap; we know we can create voids, since Tamun succeeded yesterday. All we needed was Auraya.

:We had to be here in case, Emerahl repeated for the thousandth time. She felt her heart sink with disappointment. If we had found the secrets of the gods earlier we could have all sought a way to free her.

:AURAYA IS FREE!

Surim’s voice was so loud in Emerahl’s mind she nearly jolted out of the dream-link.

:Alive? Free? How? Where is she? Why isn’t she here? Mirar asked frantically.

:Ah! I see her. She is currently robbing a merchant, Tamun said wryly. For food. Some cloth. Ah, she’s promised the man she will return and pay him when she can. He doesn’t believe her, of course, and —

:That’s a fine piece of cloth, Surim added. Who’d have thought she had such good taste. I guess she’s been frustrated by those silly white robes for—

:She hasn’t much choice, Tamun reminded him. She can’t turn up wearing that dirty—

:WHERE IS SHE? Mirar demanded.

The Twins paused.

:Near the mountains.

:That was fast, The Gull interjected. They’re a few days’ ride from Glymma.

:She can travel very fast if she wants to, Mirar said proudly.

:That’s good, because if she’s going to come back and help us she’ll need to, Surim said.

:Why did she go to the mountains? Emerahl asked. They’re in the opposite direction to the battle.

:She wants to be as far away from Voices and gods as she can get, Mirar guessed.

:Yet she hasn’t joined the White, Tamun said. You told her you were going to defend the Voices. She knows the White are doomed. Has she abandoned them, or is she biding her time?

:I don’t know. But you can be sure there’s one option she doesn’t know about, because you wouldn’t let me tell her about our plans to kill the gods.

:We must tell her, Surim said.

:No, it’s too risky, Tamun protested. If she betrays us to the gods...

:We came here in the hope that an opportunity would arise. If she doesn’t know, that opportunity will never come.

:How can we tell her? Mirar asked. She’s awake and likely to stay that way until she has some distance between herself and the battle. Wait... I have an idea.

The sense of his mind vanished.

:We can’t tell her, Tamun began. It’s too much of —

:Sorry, sister, Surim interrupted. But you’re outnumbered. Am I right? Emerahl?

:It’s a risk, Emerahl replied. But I don’t think she’ll tell the gods. Not once she knows we can’t do it without her. She’s gone out of her way to avoid bringing harm to us in the past.

:Are you sure?

:I’m never completely sure about anything.

:Gull? Tamun asked.

:Emerahl and Mirar know her best. I agree.

:You’re all fools. If she—

:Jade?

They all fell silent, surprised to hear Auraya’s voice.

:Yes, it’s me, Emerahl said hastily, when the silence began to lengthen.

:Or is it Emerahl?

:That’s my oldest name.

:Mischief just started barking names in his sleep. There was Mirar and you, then “Wins.”

:The Twins.

:So one of you was dream-linking with Mischief?

:Yes, Mirar said. I did.

:Who are the rest of you?

:We are The Twins.

:The Twins, eh? I thought you were long dead.

:Not at all. I am Surim.

:And I am Tamun.

:Hello, Auraya said. Not every day one meets a myth. There was another name. Sounded like “Gill.”

:That would be me, The Gull.

:Ah. Another living myth.

:You’ve escaped, I see, Tamun said.

:Yes. Partly due to Mischief. He brought me the key.

:What are you going to do now? Mirar asked.

:I don’t know.

:We could use your help.

:Are you in trouble?

:Not exactly... and none of us would blame you if you refused.

:Tell me.

Emerahl explained about the voids being places where gods had died.

:I know. Mirar told me. The Circle killed the other gods by drawing away the magic, didn’t they?

:Yes. Did he tell you that?

:No. I had an interesting experience with Huan earlier.

:Oh?

:She attacked me. I remembered what Mirar said about voids and decided to test a theory I came up with during those long hours chained up in one.

:Huan is dead? Surim asked excitedly.

:No. She dodged. But I guess that’s why you need me. You need six in order to stop them escaping.

:Yes, Emerahl replied. Will you help us?

:Yes.

There was a long silence. Emerahl felt excitement growing as she realized what this meant. The chance had come. It was going to work.

:What about Chaia? Tamun asked.

:What did you have to go and ask that for! Surim exclaimed.

:Because we don’t want her changing her mind at the last moment, Tamun replied.

:Chaia tried to kill me, Auraya told them. He’s the same as the rest. If I can’t trust him, then I’m just like any other Wild... Not that that’s bad...

:We know what you mean, Surim assured her. None of us like the prospect of hiding like criminals for millennia. That is why we’re here.

:Tell me your plan.

As Tamun began to explain, something - the sound of a horn - nearly dragged Emerahl from sleep.

:I must go, she began.

Then Emerahl started into consciousness to find Arleej leaning over her.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something,” the woman said. “But the White’s messenger is at the door, asking why we haven’t joined them yet.”

49

Unable to stifle a yawn, Danjin covered his mouth. He hadn’t slept well despite Ella’s orders. Frustratingly, when the horn blew to rouse the army, his relief that the night was over had relaxed him just enough to fall asleep. By the time he woke again and reached Ella’s tent, she had left. A servant told Danjin where she would be. That news had shaken off all lingering sleepiness.

She had gone to join the White at the Isthmus.

Leaving the tent, he had jogged to the start of the Isthmus. There he found, to his relief, that the White hadn’t yet left. Ella smiled when she saw him, then beckoned.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she told him. “You needed a rest after last night.”

“Hmph,” he replied. “I know the truth. You were trying to sneak away without me.”

She grinned. “Ha! You are too smart for me.” Then she sobered. “Are you sure you want to come? We are taking only a small group of witnesses with us. There are powerfully Gifted priests and priestesses among them, and Dreamweavers, but they may not be able to protect you if the Voices attack at full strength.”

Danjin felt a stab of apprehension. He shrugged it off.

“War isn’t without risks, and you may need me.”

He didn’t say why. There was a small chance that, if Auraya had joined the enemy, his presence might make her change her mind. It was a very small chance, but it was worth being ready for.

Ella nodded. “We might.” Her gaze shifted behind him. “And here are our Dreamweavers. I doubt they have a reason for sleeping late as good as yours.”

Danjin turned to see several men and women in Dreamweaver vests approaching. He recognized Dreamweaver Elder Arleej and Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli. The pair left the rest and approached Juran. When their short exchange ended, Ella smiled.

“Time for us to meet our adversaries,” she said. “Be careful, Danjin.”

“I will,” he assured her.

As she joined the White he moved to stand beside Lanren Songmaker. The military adviser smiled grimly, then they both started walking as the White set out along the Isthmus.

All were silent. Danjin alternately watched the white figures before him, their circs swaying as they walked, and squinted at the road beyond them, trying to see the enemy. Time dragged by. The sun rose higher, its rays delivering a heat that promised a hot day ahead. Water lapped at the sides of the isthmus in a gentle but relentless rhythm.

They must have been walking for over an hour when Lanren made a small noise of satisfaction. “Here they come.”

Danjin stared into the distance, but saw nothing. Perhaps there were dark specks in the haze ahead.

“You have good eyesight, Lanren.”

The man shrugged.

Several more minutes passed before points of darkness in the distance became moving shapes. By the time these had resolved into figures Danjin was sure he had been walking for another hour.

Slowly more details became clear. There were six figures. Five wore black. The other almost blended with the color of the road.

Mirar, Danjin thought. He drew up memories of the man he had spoken to the previous night and felt a mingled sympathy and annoyance.

I wish Auraya had killed him. I understand why she didn’t, but if she’d been a little tougher the odds today wouldn’t be balanced against us.

Soon Danjin could make out which of the Voices was male and which female. He recognized four of them, but he was more interested in the one he didn’t know. Nekaun, the new First Voice, was handsome in an exotic way. His bearing was arrogant. He was smiling as he strode toward the White.

When Danjin looked beyond at the small crowd of people that followed behind the Voices he felt a slight shock. A large, bald black-skinned man strode among them. He looked too much like the sea people who had attacked Danjin to not be of the same race. Gold jewellery glittered in the light. As Danjin watched the man dipped a cloth into a large bowl carried by a servant walking beside him then splashed and wiped himself with it.

This must be the Elai king, Danjin thought. The White hadn’t brought the leaders of Somrey, Toren, Genria, Sennon or Si in case a magical fight began and they were unable to protect them. The Voices must be confident of their superior strength. But they have Mirar, so they do have an advantage.

Several strides from each other, the Voices and White slowed to a stop and regarded each other warily. From behind, Danjin heard a Dreamweaver speak quietly.

“Mirar is with the Voices. We can’t hang behind like this and combat the advantage he gives them.”

“We will join them if they begin fighting,” Arleej replied.

“It may be too late by then,” the woman insisted.

He turned to see who was speaking, but stopped as he realized Lanren was staring up at the sky.

“Is that what I think it is?” the man said.

Danjin turned back just in time to see something blue flash across the sky. It came toward them. It took on form. Female form. As he realized who this was he felt himself go weak as relief and joy swept through him.

Auraya.

She was free at last. She had come to help them. No longer did the Pentadrians have the advantage. Now the Circlians did, if Mirar hadn’t lied about not intending to fight and kill. Auraya would fight for the Circlians, and the gods.

The White had seen her now. The Voices followed their gaze and their leader’s smile vanished. Auraya swooped downward, the blue cloth of her dress rippling. As she drew closer he saw how thin and pale she was. Her clothing was not a dress, but a length of cloth wound about her wasted body.

He smiled to himself. From the looks on the faces of the Voices, her arrival wasn’t part of their plan.

Auraya stopped abruptly, hovering above the White and the Voices. She wore an expression he had never seen before.

One of fury and hatred.

Watching from far above, the knots in Auraya’s stomach tightened as the White and Voices moved closer together. She could see Mirar walking with the Voices. She could see Companions and Servants following a hundred paces behind their leaders. She could see advisers, priests, priestesses and Dreamweavers following.

Can I do what the other immortals want me to do? If they wanted to kill Huan, I would give them all the help they asked for. But Chaia...

What of Chaia? He had tried to kill her.

Yet he had been so good to her in the past.

I suppose that makes his betrayal all the worse. If I had taken his bait, I would have died not knowing that he had turned on me.

And the other gods? They had done nothing to her.

And nothing to help me, either. I’ve seen them shift their alliance from Chaia to Huan to suit their whims.

And the Pentadrian gods? She knew nothing of them. But they had sent their people to invade Northern Ithania. They had ordered Nekaun to break his vow and chain her up under the Sanctuary.

Then something occurred to her.

They must die too. If the Circlian gods die, Northern Ithania will be vulnerable. The Pentadrians will invade again. There will be so much bloodshed.

If all the gods were killed this day... there would be no reason for a battle. She could prevent many, many deaths.

Except the gods’, of course. But that seems just. For so long they led us to believe they could provide life after death when in truth they just told us lies so we would obey them. Maybe it’s time they faced the same fate.

But what would the world be like without gods? Would mortals descend into chaos and barbarism without their guidance? Without a priesthood to nurture and guide the Gifted, would sorcerers abuse their power?

And this war isn’t barbaric? This isn’t the gods abusing power?

Ahead, the White slowed. They were within a hundred paces of the Voices now. The two groups finally stopped a dozen paces away from each other.

Where are the gods? She felt a jolt as she realized she couldn’t sense them, and stretched her senses out. Suddenly she did detect something - the Circle. They were flashing between the White and Voices so fast she would not have noticed unless she was watching for it. Puzzled by this behavior, she descended to be closer, and concentrated harder. Though she could not read the minds of the White or the Voices, she could still hear the gods’ voices.

Snatches of conversation reached her.

:... we never agreed to this.

She recognized Huan.

:But we did. We knew there would be elements we could not control, Chaia replied.

:Small things. Weather or disease. Not these cursed interfering immortals. You’ve encouraged them—

:I have never encouraged any of them.

:You didn’t get rid of him! You told Auraya we don’t take souls!

:I did not.

:Will you stop arguing. This was Lore. The best part of the game is about to begin.

A game? Auraya shook her head. What game? And why are they in the minds of both sides? How can the gods even enter the minds of the Voices? Surely the Pentadrian gods would stop that. And where are the Pentadrian gods?

The answer dawned on her then. It was so obvious she felt like a fool for not seeing it before.

The Circlian gods are the Pentadrian gods.

The truth set her body trembling with rage. They had all been duped. The White, the Voices, all mortals, everywhere. Chaia wasn’t pretending to be Sheyr when he appeared in the hall. He is Sheyr.

The gods were still arguing. Still stunned by the revelation, Auraya had to drag her mind back to the gods’ conversation.

:... not interesting! Huan spat. It’s not a fair match.

:The Wilds are a random element. That is exciting, Lore disagreed.

:I’m with Huan, Yranna interjected. We agreed on certain rules from the beginning. If one side wins because of the Wilds it won’t be a proper contest.

A suspicion was dawning on Auraya. She resisted it. The possibility was too appalling.

:We can’t do anything about it now, Chaia said. Let’s just enjoy the battle.

Auraya’s heart froze.

Enjoy the battle.

If Chaia hadn’t tried to kill her, she would never have believed he could say something like that. But he had, and she had overheard him. He hadn’t realized she was close by and listening to him and his fellow gods. She could hear their argument continuing. The word “game” repeated over and over. Each time her resistance to the truth broke down a little more. She looked at the Voices and the White. White-clad men and women. Black-clad men and women. Game pieces. The board was the whole world.

All we are to them is pieces of a game.

She propelled herself downward, aiming for a place just above the Voices and the White and the gods that buzzed around them like carrion birds.

When Auraya had descended from the sky, blue cloth swirling about her, Mirar’s heart had stopped. For a moment he was full of doubt. She was going to join the White. She would betray the immortals.

Now they would face each other in battle. Unlike him, she was willing to kill.

Then she stopped and hovered above them. The White and the Voices stared up at her.

Someone gave him a small nudge. He turned to look at Second Voice Imenja. Her expression was grim.

“I guess our deal’s off,” she murmured. “Go, if you wish. I will ensure he doesn’t stop you.”

He looked around. All of the Voices and the White seemed transfixed by Auraya. Catching a movement beyond the White, Mirar saw that Emerahl was striding forward, followed by a puzzled Arleej. Looking to one side, he saw Tamun peering over the edge of the road. He glanced to the other side and saw Surim duck out of sight.

Everyone is in place but me.

He backed away from the Voices. Nekaun turned to glare at him, but Imenja stepped forward to stand between them. Mirar hurried away, then turned. He looked up at Auraya.

She met his gaze and nodded.

“Now!” she cried.

Mirar drew in magic faster than he had ever needed to before.

Reivan gasped as a glowing sphere of light surrounded the White and the Voices. It was blindingly bright, too painful to look upon.

“What’s going on?” someone shouted. She recognized the Elai king’s deep voice.

“They’re attacking each other!” a Servant exclaimed. “Attack the enemy!”

“How? We can’t see them!”

“And they can’t see us,” Reivan found herself saying. “All we can do is protect ourselves and wait.”

To her surprise, the men and women around her quietened. Heart pounding, she covered her eyes and mouthed a prayer to the gods that Imenja was alive and unhurt.

It surprised Emerahl how much magic she could draw and hold. There was a limit, however, and as she reached it she converted it to light. The others were doing the same, surrounding the Voices and the White with a great dazzling sphere.

Then, abruptly, the magic ran out and the glow vanished.

Emerahl found herself standing uncomfortably close to ten confused sorcerers. They were casting about, looking wary and uncertain. One of the Voices gave her a hard look.

Time to go, she told herself. But she didn’t move. We don’t know if it worked or not.

Then a glow began to form in the middle of the Isthmus. Emerahl felt her stomach sink to her knees as she recognized Chaia. He was not looking at her, but up at Auraya. Four more figures appeared.

Mouth dry and heart pounding, Emerahl took advantage of the distraction and walked to the edge of the road. Nobody moved to prevent her. They were all too stunned and confused. To her relief, Surim waited there in a narrow boat. She skidded down the steep side of the Isthmus and clambered aboard.

“Did it work?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Chaia appeared. He’s still alive.”

“And trapped inside the void,” a new voice said quietly. She and Surim turned to see Tamun and The Gull emerge from a crack in the Isthmus wall, paddling in another narrow boat. “Remember, there is often magic left in the middle of a void. We have only created a shell of magicless space about them.”

“Trapped for all eternity,” Surim said. He shrugged, then smiled evilly. “Actually, I like that better.”

“I don’t,” Emerahl growled. “If they’re alive, there’s a chance they’ll last in there until the magic seeps back.”

“Then we’ll just have to sneak back and finish them off, when there are no White or Voices around to stop us,” Surim said, shrugging.

“They’ll expect that. They’ll make sure they’re well guarded.”

“By who? Without the gods enhancing their powers, the White and Voices won’t be as strong,” The Gull pointed out.

“They will be, inside the void,” Emerahl said.

“But the gods need that power to survive.”

“Where is Auraya?” The Gull peered up at the edge of the Isthmus wall.

Emerahl followed his gaze. “She was still floating over them when I left.”

“She has issues to resolve,” Tamun said. “And she can fly away when she’s done. We can’t. We should go.”

“What about Mirar?”

Tamun frowned up at the wall. “He’s probably stayed because Auraya did.”

They stared up at the wall in silence. Emerahl sighed.

“I’ll wait,” she offered. “You three get out of here.”

50

The glowing figure of Chaia looked from Auraya to Juran. His lips moved, but she could not hear him.

Of course, she thought. I can’t hear him because there is a void between myself and him. He can only speak into minds - and he hasn’t been able to speak into mine since I learned to shield it He must either possess another or... I let my mind shield fall.

Juran nodded and looked up.

“Chaia asks that you come down and talk to us,” he said. He frowned. “He wants to know why you have done... whatever it is you’ve done.”

Auraya considered, conscious of the White and the Voices watching her. Seeing Nekaun, she shuddered. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

But the White needed to be told the truth. Even if they didn’t believe it.

Can they, the Voices or the gods harm me? They could attack me, but only by using up the magic inside the void. The gods won’t want any of it used. They’re using up magic just to make themselves visible. Once it is gone they’ll cease to exist.

Taking a deep breath, she drew magic to feed her barrier so she wouldn’t fall as she passed through the void, and descended to the ground.

Chaia turned to regard her. She would still be unable to hear him, unless she let the shield around her mind fall. There was nothing left to hide from them that they didn’t already know. She looked at the White and Voices, and to her surprise she found she could read their minds. Which meant they no longer had the Gifts the god had given them. They could not read anyone’s mind.

Still, it took a conscious effort to lower the veil. As soon as she did, Chaia spoke.

:Once again, we have underestimated you, Auraya. You and your immortal friends have us well trapped. At least tell us why.

“Why?” she repeated. “You know why.” She felt a stab of anger. “I suppose you thought you were putting me out of my misery when you told me I could escape the Sanctuary by becoming a god.”

He frowned.

:I have never proposed that you become a god. I would not want to see you confined to this form. It would be a prison for you.

“Then why would you tell me how...” She felt a twinge of doubt. Had he actually suggested she do it? She had been so sick that day. Surely she hadn’t dreamed it... “You said it was better that I become a god than die. That taking my soul isn’t the same.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Well, since Huan admitted you don’t take souls I guess you were right.”

Chaia looked at Huan. The other gods turned to regard the goddess, who straightened and stared back defiantly.

:You told her how to become a god? Yranna accused. You disguised yourself?

Chaia turned back to Auraya.

:Did I use our key word? Did I say “shadow”? he asked.

She frowned. Her memory was too hazy. “I can’t remember,” she admitted. “I was so sick. It was hard to think.”

Huan laughed.

:Yes, it wasn’t hard to fool you.

Looking up, Auraya shivered as she saw the goddess’s gleeful expression.

:So you admit it? Chaia asked Huan. The goddess glared at him and said nothing.

:Who else would it have been? Lore said bitterly. None of us broke the rules as often as Huan.

:Rules! The rules applied to the game, not to threats to our existence! Huan roared. If you’d listened to my warning about her, she pointed at Auraya, this wouldn’t have happened.

Chaia smiled grimly.

:We’ve all got into the habit of ignoring you whenever you spout foolish, paranoid nonsense. “Immortals might become gods! If they do, they’ll kill us all! Auraya is dangerous!”

:Huan was clearly right, Lore pointed out.

All fell silent. After a moment Juran made a strangled noise.

“I don’t understand. What has happened?”

:The Wilds have done to us what we did to our fellow gods many centuries ago, Lore explained. They have removed the magic from around us, trapping us in a small oasis in the center. We cannot leave.

:Not until the magic flows back in, Yranna added quietly. Which will take thousands of years.

Juran turned to stare at Auraya. “You helped them do this?”

She forced herself to return his gaze. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they lied to us. They don’t take souls. They play games with us like—”

Brash laughter drowned out her words. All turned to look at Nekaun.

“You’ve imprisoned your own gods?” He shook his head. “What can I give you for doing me this service? Gold? Land? A place by my side?”

Auraya’s skin crawled. It would, at least, be satisfying to deliver the bad news to this one.

“The Circlian and Pentadrian gods are the same,” she told him. “They’ve been playing dual parts.” She looked at Chaia, then at each of the White and the Voices in turn. “You see, this is all a game to them. And you are the pieces. The deaths in this war and the one before were nothing more than points scored, one side against the other. Points, not real people, with families and friends. Not—”

“They are not the same,” Nekaun snarled, his face dark with anger. “My gods do not look the same. They do not even sound the same.”

:What Auraya says is true, Chaia said. His form shifted and suddenly he was Sheyr. The Voices stared at him in shock.

“Trickery!” Nekaun exclaimed.

Auraya turned to face him. “You will know the truth soon enough. Without them to supplement your magical Gifts, you will be weaker. You can no longer read minds. You certainly aren’t immortal.”

Nekaun’s glare changed to a stare of uncertainty. Turning away, Auraya saw the same expression on the faces of the White.

“I’m... sorry,” she found herself saying. “But with the gods constantly playing you and the Voices against each other, you weren’t going to survive long anyway. Of course, if you continue with this war there’s a good chance you still won’t.” She grimaced. “That’s your choice. I will not help or hinder you.”

Juran looked from Auraya to Chaia. “Is this true?”

:It is.

A wordless cry of rage broke from one of the White. All turned to look at the new White, Ellareen, who was staring at Auraya, her face white with fury.

“You,” she snarled. “You traitor! You don’t deserve to live!”

She made an abrupt gesture and a white pulse of light shot forward, scattering against Auraya’s barrier.

:NO! STOP! the gods cried, their voices united. Yranna moved to stand in front of Ella.

:We need the magic you use to attack her to survive, Ellareen. Would you kill us in order to avenge us?

Ellareen stared at the goddess wildly, then shook her head. She took a step away, then looked up at Auraya, her eyes narrowed in hate.

Then another attack battered Auraya’s barrier, followed by manic laughter. Shocked gasps and protests broke from both people and gods as they turned toward the source. Nekaun laughed again, then sent another blast at Juran.

“You fools,” he said. “You just told me how to kill your own gods!”

Chaia shifted into Sheyr’s form.

:STOP! he commanded. Nekaun laughed again.

“I’m not falling for that one again. I suppose it was you who stopped me having a bit of fun with Auraya. Well, I—”

Abruptly he staggered backward, his eyes wide with surprise. The chill that had begun to crawl down Auraya’s back at his words faded as she saw that the other Voices were dragging him away with their magic. He was resisting them, she saw, but with little effect. Then suddenly he jerked as if struck in the face, and dropped to the ground, unconscious.

As one, the Voices turned back to face the gods, all smiling with satisfaction. A short silence followed, then Juran turned to Chaia.

“If we are without your guidance, what will become of mortals? How are we to stop ourselves descending into lawless chaos?”

Auraya felt a pang of affection for him. “So long as there are good leaders like you, Juran, mortals will do well enough.”

Chaia smiled.

:She is right.

“And when I die?” Juran asked, his voice tight.

:The worthy replacement you choose will take your place.

:We choose, Huan corrected, coming forward to stare at Chaia. She turned to regard the White and the Voices. Your gods are not dead. We are alive! You will build a Temple here. You will come here to consult us on the governance of your lands.

Chaia shook his head.

:The trouble with war is that the most powerful, ruthless and least scrupulous survive. They don’t make for pleasant company.

Huan turned to sneer at him.

:You survived, too, she pointed out. She turned back to the White and the Voices. A new era of cooperation must begin. You will build a Temple here and appoint priests to serve us. You will leave your strongest sorcerers here as guards while...

Auraya stopped listening as Chaia turned to regard her.

:She is a fool, he said. If one of your friends doesn’t come back and finish us off, we will perish eventually anyway. It doesn’t take much magic to maintain our existence. We might even live long enough to escape this place, but we would not be sane. Most of the gods we isolated within voids went mad, Auraya. We need mortals to provide a link to the physical world.

She felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry I distrusted you. I should have realized it wasn’t you. But don’t give up hope. Mortals will come here. They will build this Temple Huan demands. They will keep you from going insane.”

He nodded.

:Yes. They will. Will you?

She hesitated, then nodded. “For you, I will.”

Chaia smiled.

:It is good to know that. If it weren’t for Huan, I’d make you promise me that. But we both know Huan will continue to seek your death, even from within the void. As for me, being a god with no physical body grew tiresome a thousand years ago. I would rather not exist at all than spend a thousand years trapped here in her company.

Auraya’s heart skipped. A terrible suspicion was growing. “Don’t talk as though you’re dying, Chaia. I’ll find a way to heal the void. There must be a way.”

Chaia reached out and touched her cheek, his touch strange and familiar.

:Do that, Auraya. It would be a good thing. And don’t ever use the knowledge Huan gave you. Being a god is not as glorious as we like mortals to think it is. I’ve done some terrible things, but I don’t regret protecting and nurturing you. Goodbye, Auraya.

He stepped back from her. Confused, she focused on the magic around them, expecting to find it was dwindling to nothing. But what remained was plentiful enough to sustain Chaia, and the others.

Then she felt it all rush toward Chaia.

And finally she comprehended what he was doing.

“Chaia! Don’t!”

Bright light blinded her. Though unable to see, she could still sense the gods. She sensed them vanish one after another, Huan in mid-sentence. Chaia vanished last, but not before she heard three final words.

:Don’t forget me.

51

Reivan had felt awe and then fear when the glowing figures appeared among the White, the Voices and Auraya. That they were gods she had no doubt, but which gods were they?

Mirar had moved to the edge of the road as if preparing to throw himself off it into the sea, but then he paused, listening. Reivan could not hear the conversation. Curious, she had edged forward, but before she could draw close enough Auraya shouted and there was a second flash of light.

Dazzled, it took a long moment before Reivan could see again. The White and the Voices were all looking at Auraya. The gods had vanished.

“They’re gone!” Auraya exclaimed. “Chaia killed them and himself!”

Though Reivan could not hear what was said, it was clear the White and the Voices were protesting and questioning what she claimed. Auraya’s expression was terrible. Horror and grief twisted her features. She pressed her hands to her face, then shook her head and turned away.

As she began to walk off, the leader of the Circlians started after her. Reivan jumped as Mirar spoke.

“Leave her be,” he said, striding forward. They turned to stare at him as he moved through them to Auraya’s side and placed a hand around her shoulders. She leaned against him.

A touching scene, Reivan thought, smiling wryly. The gods were right about them. Who’d have thought?

Mirar drew Auraya to the side of the road. Looking over the edge, Reivan saw a woman guide a small boat toward them. Auraya paused, then let Mirar help her scramble down the bank and into the vessel.

“What now?” one of the White asked.

“We go home,” their leader said.

As they turned away, laughter rang out. Reivan felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized Nekaun was conscious and had got to his feet.

“Oh, what a fine trick! You knew you were going to lose, so your gods pretended to die so you could run away home without a dent to your pride. And you claim your gods are ours, so we won’t chase you. Ah! I see your plan now. You think you can lure us over there and—”

“Shut up, Nekaun,” Imenja said.

Nekaun stared at her, his face darkening with anger. “The gods won’t let your betrayal go unpunished,” he began.

Imenja rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. She and the other Voices turned away from the retreating White, walked past Nekaun and started toward Reivan and her companions.

“Come back here now!” None even turned to look at him. “I order you to come back.”

The Voices ignored him. Reivan flinched as he made a throwing motion at them, but nothing happened. He stared at his hand, frowned and cast about, puzzled by something.

Imenja looked at Reivan and smiled. “He always was a bit slow.”

“What happened?”

“It’s going to take some explaining.” Imenja glanced at the other Voices as she stopped among the Servants, advisers and the Elai king. “I felt something change after the first flash of light. A lessening of magic.” She looked at her pendant and frowned.

“That... that doesn’t make much sense,” Reivan said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Imenja sighed. “Auraya says the gods are dead. All the gods. I believe she is right.”

Reivan stared at her in horror.

“But those glowing figures? What were they?” an adviser asked.

“They were the gods. Their gods. Our gods. The same, it turns out. They were trapped by something Auraya and Mirar did. But it didn’t kill them. The gods did that. They did something and... it finished them off. At least, that’s what Auraya believes.”

“And you believe her?” the Elai king asked.

“Yes.”

Reivan felt the implications slowly sink in as they all started to walk back toward Avven.

“Do you still have your Skills?” a Servant asked.

“I imagine I have those that were naturally mine before I became a Voice. That means I have lost immortality. I suspect I am no more powerful than our most powerful Dedicated Servants. Except... I can still read minds.”

Lost her immortality? Reivan felt her heart twist with sympathy.

“If you and the other Voices are not as powerful, will you continue to rule?” the Elai king asked.

“Without the gods, will we start fighting each other? Will the world fall into chaos?” a Servant added, his voice strained with a hint of hysteria.

Reivan couldn’t help smiling. “We were already fighting each other.”

Imenja chuckled. “Yes. We were. But will we have reason to now? What do you think, Companion Reivan? Should we try to continue ruling our people, or should we find ourselves a quiet little hut on a mountain somewhere and wait for the world to end?”

Reivan looked at Imenja. The woman’s eyes searched hers. She realized that this was not just her mistress asking her for advice, but a friend seeking reassurance.

“I think Southern Ithania will be fine so long as you are its ruler.”

Imenja smiled. “I hope the rest of the south agrees with you, Reivan.”

Seeing a movement over Imenja’s shoulder, Reivan looked up to see that Nekaun was striding toward them, his face rigid with anger.

“But I think you’ll have a fight on your hands,” she murmured.

Imenja chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think Nekaun will be a problem. He’s offended a remarkable number of people in the short time since he was elected.” Her shoulders straightened. “And there’s no way I’m going to let him get away with treating you so badly, or the other women he harmed that night.” She looked at her fellow Voices. “What do you think?”

Reivan looked at Imenja, surprised and horrified to learn that she had not been the only Servant to experience Nekaun’s idea of “thrilling” lovemaking.

“I think we should apply the strictest of our laws,” Genza said. Vervel and Shar nodded.

Imenja spun around to face Nekaun.

“Nekaun, formerly First Voice of the Gods, I hereby charge you with the rape of a Servant, of which I know you are thrice guilty. What do you have to say in your defense?”

Nekaun had slowed to a stop, his expression incredulous. Reivan glanced at all the Voices’ faces, heart pounding with both dread and a dark hope. Surely they wouldn’t... but they weren’t going to tolerate Nekaun as their ruler now that they didn’t have to.

Recovering from his surprise, he sneered at Imenja.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I am daring,” she told him.

“The gods will never allow it.”

“The gods are dead, Nekaun.”

He rolled his eyes. “You really are a fool if you believe that. Even if it were true, nobody is going to believe it - or this charge. They’ll think it’s nothing but a convenient lie invented to get rid of me. The people voted for me, remember. They won’t like you defying their decision.”

Imenja looked at the Elai king. “Your majesty, would you do me the favor of thinking of a word. Don’t speak it aloud.”

He frowned, then shrugged.

“Rebellion,” Imenja said. “Am I correct?”

The king nodded.

“Think of another.” She paused. “Treaty,” she said. The king nodded again. After repeating the exercise three more times, Imenja looked around at the Voices, Servants and advisers. “Are you all satisfied that I can still read minds?”

All nodded.

“Do you believe me when I say Nekaun is guilty as charged?”

All nodded.

“Will you testify to this, if this is ever contested?”

All nodded. Satisfied, Imenja turned to regard Nekaun.

“If I could charge you with incompetence and get the same result, I would,” she told him. “But the charge of rape of a Servant is much more serious, and it would not be fair to the women you harmed to deny them justice.” She looked at her fellow Voices.

Vervel nodded. “A single charge is punishable by ten years of slavery. A second earns a lifetime of slavery. A third—”

“- is punishable by death,” Nekaun finished. He crossed his arms. “You don’t stand a—”

Heat seared Reivan’s face. She heard Imenja utter a cry of fury and the air filled with light and sound. Then all was quiet. Reivan stared at the scene around her. Several Servants lay on the ground, some groaning, some still. Imenja, Vervel, Genza and Shar stood over a charred body, still twitching.

Nekaun, she thought. He’s not going to recover from that. The thought brought an unexpectedly powerful relief, but as she looked at the burned flesh her cheek began to hurt. A lot. Imenja looked up at her and her expression softened into sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Reivan,” she said, hurrying over. “I didn’t protect you in time. I expected him to strike at the Voices, not the Servants.”

Reivan shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She looked at Nekaun’s body. It had stopped twitching. “I guess you’ve made a fine example of him.”

Imenja gasped out a laugh. “Oh, I think we have. You’ve got to make a few examples on the road to ruling the world. I can’t think of a better one to start with than our former First Voice.”

Reivan looked closely at Imenja, but she couldn’t decide if her mistress was serious or not. Imenja glanced at her. “What is it?”

“You... you don’t seem that upset about the death of the gods.”

“Oh, I’m upset,” Imenja said with feeling. “And angry. Yes, and getting angrier. But I haven’t decided what to do about that.”

“Hunt down Auraya and kill her?”

“I’m not angry with Auraya.”

Reivan lifted her eyebrows in surprise. It caused the skin on her cheek to stretch, and she winced.

Imenja frowned. “I’ll explain later. We have to get you to a Dreamweaver.” She looked at the Servants on the ground, then at those still standing. “Go back and get help,” she told them. “Don’t rely on your pendants working.” Two of the Servants nodded and hurried away.

King Ais cleared his throat. “If you do not need me, Second Voice, I will return to my people.”

She looked at him and nodded. “Yes. Thank you for your assistance, King Ais. It was very much appreciated.”

He smiled faintly. “I am guessing it is no longer required.”

“No. But we would be honored to continue working with your people in the future.”

He bowed slightly. “As we would be honored to work with you and yours. Goodbye. And good luck.”

All watched him move to the edge of the road. He slid out of sight down the embankment, then a moment later they heard a faint splash. Imenja turned to Reivan and smiled.

“We have much to do, and I hope you’ll help me do it.”

“Of course I will,” Reivan said. “Whatever happens, I’m still your Companion.”

Smiling broadly, Imenja took her arm and they both started along the Isthmus, toward home and a new and unexpected future.

The White walked slowly and silently back to Diamyane, their heads bowed and their faces lined with grief and shock. None of the other advisers approached them, so Danjin did not either.

He did not understand what had happened. Questions crowded his mind. What had Auraya done? Were Mirar and the Dreamweaver woman who had run forward despite Arleej’s protest a part of it? Why was Auraya so upset when she left?

He remembered how Mirar had comforted her, then guided her off the Isthmus to a boat, and he felt anger stirring. There was something between them still. That was obvious.

At last the White reached the end of the Isthmus. High priests and priestesses waited expectantly, ready for the battle to begin. The White stopped and exchanged glances. Juran looked back at the advisers and Dreamweavers who had followed them to the meeting with the enemy, then raised a hand to indicate the other White should wait.

When Danjin and the others arrived, Juran surveyed all who were watching.

“The gods are dead,” he said. “Both the Circle and the Five are gone. There will be no battle. Pack up and prepare for the journey home.”

A stunned silence followed, then questions burst out. The White ignored them. They exchanged a few words, then parted, each heading in a different direction. Seeing Ella heading toward the docks, Danjin sprinted after her.

“Ellareen!” he called as he neared her. She paused and looked around at him. He stopped, shocked, as he realized that tears ran down her cheeks.

“Hello, Danjin,” she said, wiping her face.

“What happened?” he heard himself demand.

She looked away. “Exactly what Juran said. The gods are dead.”

“How?”

“Auraya...” Ella’s voice was tight with emotion. Her eyes were fixed on the Isthmus. “The other Wilds. They trapped them. They killed them.”

Shocked, Danjin could say nothing. Auraya did betray us, he thought. But not by joining the Pentadrians, as we feared. By joining the Wilds.

Ella started down the dock toward a group of Dunwayans working on a ship they had hoisted up out of the water. She didn’t turn to see if he followed. Looking beyond, he realized that every ship sat at an angle, their decks awash with water. Further from the shore a forest of masts had replaced the warships of the Dunwayans.

All sunk.

The Elai were the only people who got to practice their fighting skills in this war, he found himself thinking. The Dunwayans will be disappointed to hear the battle is not going to happen now.

The war had been abandoned. He ought to have been relieved at that, but instead he felt empty. Ella stopped and he managed to catch up with her.

“The Elai,” she muttered, staring out at the water. “Must do something about them.”

Then she strode away again. Looking in the direction she had been staring, Danjin saw a distant shape. A tiny boat, three figures aboard. Something flashed a vivid blue.

Auraya, he thought. The Wilds. The gods were right all along. They are dangerous. If they can kill gods, what else can they do?

He shivered, suddenly cold. Thrusting his hands under his vest, he felt something hard in one of the internal pockets. Reaching inside, he pulled it out.

A smooth white ring lay in his palm. He felt a chill spread to his bones. It was Auraya’s link ring. Ella hadn’t asked for it back the previous night, so Danjin had pocketed it until he had a chance to give it to her.

Memories arose of the first time he had met Auraya. He had thought she would make a good White. Later he had come to love her like a daughter, and admire her for her compassion and intelligence. He had worked hard for her. He had worried about her while she was imprisoned in Glymma. He had never doubted her.

She betrayed us, he thought. She turned on the gods. She killed them.

Closing his fingers around the ring, he drew back his arm, moved to the water’s edge, then threw it with all his strength. It disappeared into the murky water.

Then, turning away, he started back toward the town.

Neither Mirar, Emerahl or Auraya said anything during the journey to the Sennon shore. Mirar watched Auraya closely. She stared at the bottom of the boat, her expression closed and distant.

I will have to tell the others of Huan’s trickery, and that Auraya learned too late that Chaia didn’t try to kill her, he told himself. And that he killed himself and the others. They won’t understand why she grieves, otherwise.

He couldn’t feel the same sorrow. Chaia had done terrible things in his time. The world was better off without him. But Mirar knew he would not be able to express such an opinion to Auraya. Ever.

Finally the bottom of the boat scraped against sand. Auraya looked behind at the shore, then braced herself as Emerahl used magic to push the vessel high up out of the water, next to another.

The three of them rose and stepped out. They were in a small bay. Sand dunes hid them from the sight of all but passing boats. Three more figures waited, sitting on the beach. They had lit a small camp fire. Mirar caught the smell of cooking fish.

“This is a fine welcome,” he said.

“The Gull provided the fish,” Surim said. He handed Mirar a mug. “I brought the kahr.”

Mirar drank a mouthful of the strong liquor. “Ah!” he sighed. “I needed that. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to contribute.”

“You brought us Auraya,” Tamun said.

They all looked at Auraya, who remained silent, staring into the fire.

“So, what will we all do now?” Surim asked. He filled another mug with kahr and handed it to Emerahl. “Any plans?”

Emerahl shrugged. “I have always wanted to start a school of sorcery and healing.”

Mirar looked at her in surprise. “I thought you decided you never wanted to be the center of anything again, after being worshipped as The Hag?”

“I never meant that to happen, and I spent all my energy trying to escape it. Maybe if I start something myself, and put my energy into controlling it, it will work out differently. Besides,” she lifted her mug in salute to him, “I’ve got an expert to consult on founding and controlling a group of sorcerers. What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Help Dreamweavers recover from the last hundred or so years. This time I have two continents to roam. I always knew my people spread into the south; I don’t know why I never visited them before.”

“Because the gods were doing worrying things in the north,” Surim answered.

“What about you two?” Emerahl asked, looking at Surim and Tamun. “What will you do?”

Surim looked at his sister. “Stop hiding, for a start. I’d like to travel.”

“I don’t want to go back to being famous,” Tamun said. “How can we give people advice, anyway? We don’t know how the death of the gods will change things.” She looked at her brother. “I don’t want to travel yet, either. I think...” She paused to consider. “I think I’d like to settle somewhere. A place where people make things. Craftspeople. Artists. That sort of thing.”

“And I will visit you - maybe I’ll sell what your people make!” Surim exclaimed. “I could become a merchant!”

The Gull chuckled. “I guess I’ll be seeing you on the water.”

“You’re not going to change anything, are you?” Emerahl said.

The boy shook his head. “The sea is my home. It took me a thousand years to find it, and I see no reason to change.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence. A thousand years before he became The Gull, Mirar thought. And he was a legend before I became immortal. How old is he?

“I’m going back to Si,” Auraya said. They all looked at her. Mirar felt his heart lift. She’ll be all right, he thought. In time she’ll forget about the gods, and Chaia. And she has plenty of time to do so.

Auraya frowned. “After I retrieve Mischief,” she added. She touched the blue cloth wound around her body. “And pay that merchant for this and the food I took.”

Emerahl chuckled. “You’ll need some money, then.”

Auraya looked up. “Yes.”

“I have the next best thing. I buried it not far from here, actually.”

“The treasure,” Surim said.

Emerahl smiled. “Yes. I think I can spare a little for Auraya. After all, she couldn’t have turned up in rags - or with no clothes on. That just wouldn’t have been right.”

“I don’t know...” Mirar disagreed.

“Mischief,” Surim said. “Didn’t he free Auraya? Who is this man?”

“A veez,” Mirar said.

Surim looked at Mirar in surprise, then grinned. “Do you mean that, after all you did - or failed to do - to free Auraya, it was a veez that managed it?”

“Yes,” Emerahl replied.

Surim laughed. “I wonder if this poor creature realizes it spoiled any chances you had that Auraya would fall into your arms in gratitude.”

Emerahl snorted. “For the sake of women everywhere, tell me you wouldn’t have done that, Auraya.”

The corner of Auraya’s mouth twitched upward. “I might have. I might not.” She looked at Mirar. “I guess we’ll never know.”

He shrugged. “The past can’t be changed. But the future looks good. Full of endless possibilities.”

Looking away, he saw that the others were exchanging smug grins before they quickly smoothed their expressions.

“And no gods,” Emerahl added.

“But still plenty of mortals,” The Gull said. “Don’t underestimate them. They can be as dangerous as gods. More dangerous, as the gods were limited by the need for willing followers to do their work.”

The others considered this silently.

“We should stay in contact,” Emerahl said, looking around. “Visit each other - and perhaps meet once a year.”

“Yes,” Surim agreed. “Perhaps at Tamun’s new empire of artists.”

Mirar was pleased to see Auraya nodding.

“I’ll visit you all, so long as you let me know where you are, as I travel around the continents,” he said. He looked at Auraya. “Will I be welcome in Si?”

She almost smiled. “Of course.”

Mirar felt his heart stir with hope. Careful, he told himself. Don’t jump to any conclusions. You mustn’t rush her. She needs time to recover from everything that’s happened.

Emerahl rose to her feet. “If we’re going to get this treasure, we’d better do it before we drink too much.” She looked at Auraya. “Would you help me carry it?”

Auraya shrugged, then rose and followed Emerahl into the sand dunes. Looking at her wasted body, Mirar felt a pang of concern. Help her carry it? I don’t think so. He got to his feet and followed.

He caught up with Auraya soon after. She was out of breath, and had stopped. Emerahl’s tracks led away, over the top of a dune. Auraya turned to smile ruefully at him.

“Your healing method does have its limitations,” she told him.

He nodded. “You can only draw upon the resources you have. But a few meals should help fix that.”

Auraya nodded and looked at the ground, frowning. Concerned, he moved closer.

“Are you all right?”

She looked up, then smiled and, without warning, stepped close and kissed him on the mouth. It was more than a mere friendly kiss, but it was brief.

It left him frozen in surprise, heart pounding.

“What was that for?” he managed eventually.

“A thank you,” she said. “All through my... my captivity you kept me company. You gave me hope and courage.” She paused. “And as you said, the future is full of endless possibilities.”

She smiled and, not waiting for him to say anything in return, turned away to determinedly follow Emerahl’s footsteps up the sand dune.

Mirar watched her disappear over the top, then followed, knowing he was grinning like a fool, and not caring.