“That’s because it didn’t,” I said. I had perched myself on a large boulder, my attention shifting between the spire and the tree-covered shoreline. Whatever decision the elders came to, I was resolved to seek out the stone feather on my own. Navigating these lands without a guide, however, would be no simple matter.

  “So they’re not going to help?” Juhlina plucked a flat piece of slate from the water and angled her arm to cast it away, letting out a laugh when it bounced across the mirror of the lake’s surface no less than eight times.

  “I don’t know. I do know we can’t go back yet. Or I can’t. You’re free to choose your own path, as always.”

  Juhlina’s brief but flinty glare sufficed for me to drop that particular subject. Clearly, she wasn’t going anywhere except at my side.

  “So, what is it?” she asked. “This feather?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea, except that it’s important and I need to find it.”

  “Because a Caerith witch said so in a dream?”

  I could only shrug. “Yes.”

  Juhlina sighed and resumed her rock hunting. “Makes as much sense as traipsing from one shrine to another for years because a crazed old man said so, I suppose.”

  The Eithlisch reappeared shortly after, striding from the shadowed archway, features stern with a preoccupied frown. “Come,” was all he said, making for the bridge without pause.

  “What of the council?” I enquired, hastening to catch up. “What was their decision?”

  “They will go forth from here and proclaim their support for an alliance with the exiled Ishlichen.” His tone was flat, lacking any sense of triumph or satisfaction.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Juhlina asked.

  The Eithlisch gave no reply, leading me to divine another reason for his darkened mood. “Something else happened, didn’t it? They made more than one decision this day.”

  Once again, he said nothing, but the resentful twitch of his face told me I had struck the mark. However, it was clear that he wasn’t about to explain further. “What of the stone feather?” I said, moving to bar his path.

  The Eithlisch let out a rumbling growl as he came to a halt, his form swelling a little so that he towered above me. I saw the urge to do me harm vie with his reason. Apparently, I had finally exhausted his patience. Still, I stood my ground, putting my faith in the Doenlisch’s mark.

  “I won’t leave without it,” I said, impressed that I managed to keep my voice from quavering.

  He growled again, more in resignation than anger, his form subsiding. “Where else do you think we’re going, Alwyn Scribe?” he muttered, stepping past me and resuming his purposeful stride.

  Upon reaching the boat, he took hold of the tiller and motioned for Juhlina and I to take up the oars. When we cast off, he steered not for the shore but the open waters of the lake. “Don’t row so hard,” he told us, “we have many miles to cover.”

  I thought about asking how many but knew silence would be the only response, so concentrated on working my oar at a steady rhythm. I was never an expert waterman and required guidance from Juhlina on how best to wield the paddle. The Eithlisch steered us wide of the Mirror City, affording a final look at its wondrous architecture. Once clear of the islands, Juhlina raised the triangular sail affixed to the boat’s mast and a stiff southerly wind carried us away. Soon the great spires had faded into the distance and the lake had broadened so much the shoreline to either side shrank into misted strips of green.

  For three days we sailed across the lake which I soon realised was in truth an inland sea. Occasionally, we encountered other boats, their occupants pausing in the act of casting nets into the water to call out greetings to the Eithlisch. The lake proved to be rich in life. Fish could be seen swarming in large shoals beneath the surface and we saw packs of otters clustered on the shores of the many islets that broke the surface. They were far larger than their northern cousins, closer to seals in size. They also displayed a sensible aversion to human kind, for they would all scatter and dive into the water if our boat came too close.

  Come nightfall, Juhlina lowered the sail and we would continue to deplete our diminishing stock of supplies. I knew better than to ask our helmsman what might happen when we ran out completely, assuming he would growl an instruction to catch some fish. In the event, our voyage came to an end before such expediency became necessary.

  “What is that?” Juhlina said, squinting into the haze beyond the bows on the morning of the third day. The perennial mist thickened to a near fog come the morn and I was unable to discern the object of her interest until a shadowy criss-cross pattern appeared. As it drew closer, I realised it was a timber framework rising from the lake’s surface. My gaze tracked up the structure where it joined with a broad cylindrical building. Lights glowed behind the many shuttered windows in its sides from which numerous ropes and ladders descended to a complex matrix of walkways and jetties. People moved about on the walkways, some sparing a glance down at our boat, most busied with their chores. More structures loomed out of the haze as the Eithlisch guided us deeper into what I realised was a large settlement, all of which seemed to have been constructed atop the lake.

  The Eithlisch was plainly no stranger here for many Caerith called greetings to him as we passed beneath their overlapping bridges and scaffolds. He returned the chorus of welcome with a raised hand, his face only marginally less stern than before. He had Juhlina and I paddle the boat towards a low-slung pier in what appeared to be the densest part of the settlement. Here numerous other watercraft were tied up or anchored. Drawing alongside the jetty, the Eithlisch threw the bow rope to a hefty Caerith on shore and bade us gather our things. Upon stepping free of the boat, I expected to find the usual cluster of toalisch and sundry local luminaries gathered to hear the Eithlisch’s word. Instead, the jetty was bare of anyone save the man securing the bow rope to a post.

  “The Caerith of the lake have no warriors,” the Eithlisch said in response to my query regarding the absence of a reception party. “And scant interest in anything beyond the shores of their home.”

  “Should she succeed in breaching the mountains,” I replied, “Evadine will surely have an interest in them.”

  “They have been afforded ample warnings. Their choice is their choice.” He paused to fix me with a hard stare. “And they won’t take well to an Ishlichen with a contrary opinion, so guard your tongue well here.”

  While the Eithlisch continued to receive a warm reception as he led us from the jetty and up a ladder to the platform above, Juhlina and I were subjected to an unspoken but palpable suspicion bordering on outright hostility. The weight of their enmity was such that I felt only the presence of our revered guide protected us from injury. As we followed him through a maze of walkways, ladders and platforms, I heard a distant murmur above the bustle. It was like the first rumblings of thunder, but constant, and growing in volume the further we progressed. The source became clear when we finally ascended a ladder to a parapet which formed the terminus of the settlement. The waters beyond narrowed into a fast-flowing river, white with rapids for much of its length. A quarter-mile on it broadened into a lagoon fed by a vast curtain of cascading water.

  “The Bright Falls,” the Eithlisch said, the first glimmer of a smile in days appearing on his lips. “Of all the wonders to be found in Caerith lands, consider yourselves blessed to have seen this one.”

  The falls were certainly a spectacle, curving away to east and west where they fed other rivers all flowing into the great lake. They were so extensive, in fact, I couldn’t see an obvious route around them.

  “How do we proceed from here?” I asked.

  The Eithlisch’s nascent smile broadened into a grin. “We climb, Alwyn Scribe. How else?”

  We spent the night in one of the cylindrical dwellings overlooking the settlement’s southern edge. It appeared to be an inn of some kind rather than a family home, although it lacked the ale and brandy barrels, or raucous clientele, that would have characterised its Albermaine-ish equivalent. The lower floor encircled a central fireplace where the elderly Caerith couple that had care of this place cooked us a supper of fish stew. We were alone for much of the evening until people began to gather on the walkway outside. I saw many with the sunken-eyed look of persistent sickness while others had arms in slings or supported themselves on crutches.

  The Eithlisch’s features tensed at the sight of them, a momentary weariness passing across his brow before he straightened and beckoned to the first in line. A single, dismissive glare in our direction sufficed to banish Juhlina and I to a room in the upper floor.

  “How does he do it?” she asked, gazing down at the hulking mystic as he grasped the leg of a crutch-bearing unfortunate. The fellow stiffened as the large hands gripped his flesh, but his face showed no pain, only a curious vacancy. I recalled my own healing at the same hands, finding the memory disturbing in a way I couldn’t quite fathom. I should have been grateful, for he had most likely saved my life when he remoulded my damaged skull. Yet, I felt only a dim resentment that arose from unwanted obligation.

  “How did Evadine capture the hearts of so many?” I said. “I suspect it’s just another aspect of a power we can’t truly understand.” I watched the Eithlisch remove his hands from the Caerith’s leg, whereupon the fellow, after some exploratory kneading of his muscles, climbed to his feet without a flicker of discomfort. “I’m not altogether sure he knows either. Or if he does, he’s not telling.”

  “He’ll be handy to have around, in any case,” Juhlina said. “After the battle.”

  My mind returned to that stormy first night at Castle Dreol and the monster who had surely wanted to kill me. “And during, I fancy.”

  We departed shortly before dawn the next day, the Eithlisch tracing a course along the eastern shore of the lagoon beneath the falls. The ground was all moss-covered rocks and occasional copses of stunted tree and bush. Conversation became an exercise in shouting as we drew nearer to the roar of the massive cascade. The continual noise also made sleep difficult over the course of the three days it took us to finally reach the point where the falls ended at the flank of a tall mountain. Scanning its sheer cliffs through the rainbow haze that lingered over the white deluge in daylight, I saw no clear path. The prospect of attempting to scale such an edifice appeared impossible, and our guide either ignored or failed to hear my shouted question.

  Near midday, he halted at the base of the mountain where a narrow ledge ascended from the lagoon’s shore to disappear into the falling water. By virtue of some curious arrangement of the landscape, the roar was lessened here to a loud but bearable thrum, enabling us to hear the sombre but determined tone of the Eithlisch as he turned to address us.

  “What lies ahead is a path known to few among the Caerith,” he said. “And never revealed to any outsider until this day. Before we proceed, I require your honest assurance that you will never speak of it, nor guide any other soul to this place.”

  “Then you have it,” I said, starting towards the ledge. I came to an abrupt halt when the Eithlisch shrugged off his covering and moved to bar my path. His form swelled with frightening familiarity as he raised a plate-sized hand and, moving too swiftly to dodge, clamped it to my head.

  “This is not something for which words alone will suffice, Alwyn Scribe,” he said, voice reduced to a strained grunt by the enlarged muscles cording his neck. The pressure of his fingers upon my skull was acute but I knew better than to struggle. Juhlina, although plainly shocked by her first glimpse of the Eithlisch’s unconcealed form, hefted her warhammer and lowered herself into a fighting stance.

  “Let him go,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” I said, raising a hand to hold her in place. Swallowing, I asked the Eithlisch, “Then what is required?”

  “That I sense no lie,” he replied, then extended his free hand to Juhlina. “From both of you.”

  “And should you sense it.” I paused to wince at the unyielding grip on my skull. “You’ll kill us both, I take it?”

  “I will.”

  “This is the council’s decision, I assume? Their condition for guiding us to the stone feather.”

  “It is.” The Eithlisch’s tone softened a little as he spoke again to Juhlina. “You may go back. No hand will be raised against you. But if you refuse this test, your role in this journey ends here.”

  “All I have to do is not lie?” she asked. When he nodded, she shrugged, lowering her warhammer. “Very well—”

  “Do not agree so blithely,” the Eithlisch interrupted. “I sense there is more worth to you than this one—” he tightened his hand a fraction, drawing another wince from my lips “—but some lies are hidden. They lurk inside us, awaiting their moment to flourish when watered by greed or lust. My vaerith will search through your mind, stirring all you have concealed from yourself. It will hurt.”

  I wouldn’t have blamed her for taking her leave at this juncture; the ugliness of her past surely made this trial a daunting prospect. But, although her fear showed in the sudden paleness of her face, Juhlina didn’t waver. Slowly, she lowered her weapon and came closer, bowing her head. The Eithlisch let out a rumbling growl of reluctance then softly placed his hand upon her head.

  For the space of a full minute or so, nothing happened. The three of us stood in this strange tableau in silence, something I had always found hard to bear.

  “Are we supposed to say it…?” I began, only for my voice to falter when the Eithlisch’s hand altered its grip on my skull and the world disappeared into complete blackness.

  I saw and heard nothing but felt a terrible sense of disorientation, as if I was falling from a great height in constant expectation of a bone-crushing impact that wouldn’t come. Nausea contested with fear as I tumbled in the void, then both were swallowed by an upsurge of outright terror when a ball of flame blossomed around me. A vast heat seared my skin and licked at my hair, the stink of my own flesh burning assailing my nostrils. The fire snaked over my head, invading my eyes, ears, nostrils, burning its way deep into my mind. This, I knew, was the Eithlisch, his power, his vaerith, digging into my soul in search of deceit. Resisting him was, of course, impossible, and only seemed to increase my pain. Still, I fought him, outraged by the violation. I flailed and writhed in his arcane grip, my fright expressed in a stream of incoherent obscenities as bolts of agony shot through my being. Then stopped…

  In place of fire, I now felt soft earth beneath me, the erasure of pain causing me to jerk in shock. I lay upon a patch of muddy earth, my garb stained by the damp soil. The air held the chill of late autumn and the sky above was the dark grey of wet slate. I could hear the sound of voices from not far off, mingled by a familiar grind and rattle. Rising up, I beheld a group of men labouring to service a siege engine. It was similar in construction to those Master Aurent Vassier had crafted for the siege of Highsahl, but far larger. The mightiest of Vassier’s engines had required a party of ten men to work it. At least two score men toiled around the one before me. The wooden and iron basket that formed its counterweight was the size of a modest house and the great throwing arm stood close to fifty feet high. A dozen labourers strained to push a round stone as tall as they were on to the sail-sized sling. Incredibly, this impossible engine didn’t stand alone. A dozen more were arrayed alongside it, each with their own small army of attendants.

  As I watched, one of the more distant engines let fly with its projectile, the arm sweeping up to whip the sling and cast the massive boulder into a high arc. I tracked across the slate sky and watched it plummet on to the walls of a city. The boom and crash of its impact was smothered by the sound of another engine unleashing its deadly cargo. This one hit in much the same place, adding to the rising pall of dust. The breech they were crafting was already a deep, ragged bite mark in the wall, one of several along its length. Two more engines loosed, not stones this time but fireballs leaving an ugly black trail as they blazed their way over the wall to birth tall gouts of flame in the streets beyond.

  “Did you fall, Father?”

  I started at the voice, although it possessed a note of concern, albeit coloured by faint, indulgent humour. Looking up, I found a tall man in black armour standing over me, his hand extended. He was at least a decade older than I, hair greying at the temples with a face that most would call handsome, despite the creases and weathering that bespoke a far from pampered life. Surveying his features, I was beset by a rush of recognition, even though I was sure I had never seen him before.

  “Come now,” he said, leaning lower to grasp my hand. “Can’t have you flailing in the mud in full view of the Blessed Cohort, can we?”

  I allowed myself to be hauled upright, still gaping at his features, maddened by my memory’s failure to tell me who he was. I knew him, in a fundamental way, and yet I did not. “Found someone with a stock of the good stuff, eh?” he enquired, arching an eyebrow. “Not going to finish your book that way, are you?”

  Letting out a good-natured laugh, he clapped me on the shoulder and moved to the crest of the low rise we stood upon. “Not long now,” he said after a short perusal of the city. As he spoke another salvo of stones and fireballs descended upon walls and streets. I didn’t know this place, its architecture was unfamiliar and the empty flatness of the surrounding landscape did not correspond to anywhere I had ever been.

  “Would that Mother was here to see this,” the maddeningly familiar stranger said, turning to me, a sad smile on his face. It was the smile that did it. The shape of his lips as they broadened and the way his eyes narrowed in concert, transforming vague recognition into unwelcome, near sickening knowledge. Worse still was the emblem emblazoned on his breastplate, a white rose, identical in form if not colour to the motif that once adorned the banners of House Courlain.