Farther along, the cleft opened and rose more steeply, eventually giving onto a bowl around which the jagged peaks reached narrow fingers to the purple cloud, like a hand clutching at the sky. They climbed the side of the bowl and traversed a long ridge, a perilous hogback that descended on both flanks into cave-pocked ravines, moving toward a solitary peak that appeared to mark the far scarp of the hills.

  It seemed they had climbed above the kingdom of the spiders for the caves became less numerous as they approached the peak and eventually they found themselves crossing a landscape devoid of the threatening openings. The fruity stink faded and the red dust no longer filled the air, even the warm wind dropping away behind them. They saw that the cloud, too, ended, unnatural as all else in this strange land, ceasing as if it marked a boundary, the farther edge stretching across the sky above the peak neatly as though marked by a straight-drawn line. Beyond it the heavens were canescent, a pale, ashen gray.

  They reached the peak and halted, fatigued by the long hours of climbing and the sleepless, horror-filled night, deciding to make camp while some semblance of flat terrain offered a measure of comfort.

  The stone on which they stood was relatively smooth, scattered with large pebbles and shards of rock, as if chipped from the pinnacle that rose high above them, conical and tapering to a point just below the cloud. Beyond it lesser summits concealed whatever lay ahead, spreading in a downward slant like wave tops on a cloudy day. The hills behind hid the green sun and the vermilion sky alike, and what light there was appeared to emanate from no particular source, though unlike the plain, shadows fell, stretching out from the jagged crests in stark, dark pools. Without the wind the temperature dropped rapidly, and without timber or any other combustible materials it was impossible to light a fire, so they ate and wrapped their blankets about them, preparing for a cold and cheerless night.

  They had clearly entered another region of the netherworld, for here there was no cloud movement to mark the ending of day, merely a fractional lessening of the light that plunged the mountains into a dreary twilight. They took turns on watch, the darker hours passing without incident, and started their descent when the light brightened to a gloomy approximation of day. Still there was no sun, nor did the sky hold any evidence of cloud, and they wound their way down shadowed slopes rendered treacherous by the deceptive illumination until they reached an area of deep ravines and winding gullies that severed times turned them back on their path so that they were still within the rocky mazes when the dim light faded again.

  They passed a second cold night among the ravines and in the morning started out once more along the deep-cut pathways, working steadily downward through a region empty of any signs of life. A third night was spent sleeping on hard, cold stone, and another day descending. The sky remained an unrelenting gray, glum as tarnished silver; no wind blew and the air was still, chilly, and scented faintly with the odor of ashes.

  Then, at about noon by their calculations, the ravine they traversed opened onto level ground.

  Tepshen was in the lead and he halted abruptly at the mouth of the ravine, staring ahead. Kedryn and Brannoc moved to join him, pausing dumbstruck at the vista that spread before them.

  It was a wasteland, gray and empty and forbidding. As far as the eye could see the ground was flat, a gray slightly darker than the hue that loomed overhead, striated with a myriad shallow cracks as if mud had baked dry and split. No trees grew, nor was there any sign of rivers. Not even boulders broke the inexorable advance of the smooth plain on which the only discernible marks were the scissures mazing its dull surface. How far it stretched was impossible to judge, land and sky melding along the horizons, featureless. No sun was visible, nor any landmarks, only the level, empty terrain.

  Kedryn stepped past Tepshen and marched onto the flat. The ground was hard beneath his boots and when he approached the closest fissure he saw nothing save a shallow, smooth-sided indentation. He turned, studying the hills, but they showed no sign of the fires that might mark Taziel’s dwelling and he faced his companions with dwindling spirits.

  “I believe,” he said slowly, his voice dull, “that we must cross this miserable landscape.”

  Tepshen nodded without speaking. Brannoc said, “At least it shows no sign of monsters.”

  “Nor any other sign,” Kedryn sighed. “If Taziel’s smithy is, indeed, marked by fire it must lie beyond this place.”

  “Then forward we go!”

  Brannoc grinned, essaying a semblance of cheer that was somewhat belied by the look he cast about him. Kedryn shared his apprehension, for the terrain was horribly gloomy, of an aspect to rob souls of optimism, denying even the alleviation of danger, offering, it seemed, only unending boredom. He hiked Drul’s great sword to a more comfortable position on his back and began to tread the dismal waste.

  Barris Edon studied the approaching wagon with some interest, recognizing the blue of Estrevan beneath the dust that coated its boards and the robes of the woman seated beside the driver. This one, however, had an escort of six warriors, their travel-stained surcoats marked with the fist of Tamur in scarlet against a white roundel, which meant they came from the Morfah fort. Something, he assumed, to do with the Paramount Sister Gerat, who appeared to have taken up residence in High Fort.

  His, he told himself reluctantly, was not to reason why, but to warn his watch-captain of their coming, so he shouted from his lookout post and promised himself he would inquire later as to what all the activity presaged. He knew that Kedryn had gone into the Beltrevan with the slant-eyed easterner who seemed never to leave his side, and the former wolf’s-head, Brannoc, and that rumor had it Kedryn’s new wife was taken prisoner, either by barbarians or some follower of Ashar, according to who told the story. The former he dismissed, for were it true, Rycol would undoubtedly have mounted a full- scale rescue mission, so his money was on the latter, which might go some way to explaining Gerat’s presence and this new visitor. He watched as the wagon came up to the gates and disappeared from view, wondering if war was to break out again.

  Below his position the watch-captain greeted the newcomer and helped her from the wagon. She was very young, and her free was grave as she asked for the Paramount Sister. The officer was too disciplined to question her, and anyway assumed that Chatelain Rycol would inform him of anything he needed to know, so he curbed his own curiosity and brought the Sister to the commander.

  Rycol greeted her with a free no less grave than hers, and sent word for Gerat to join them. The Paramount Sister entered the room alone and smiled at the young woman.

  “Sister Jenille, is it not? I am pleased to see you.”

  Jenille ducked her head in greeting, gratefully accepting the wine Rycol offered.

  “I am come with all speed, Sister. Senders now wait along the way from Estrevan to High Fort.”

  “The Morfah Pass?” Gerat asked. “The Gadrizels have been ever a barrier.”

  “Leah at the mouth,” nodded Jenille, “and Meara in the fort. They are the most adept among us.”

  “Excellent,” Gerat smiled, though the expression lacked its usual good humor.

  “Is there word?” Jenille inquired.

  Gerat shook her head. “Not yet. By now Kedryn must have reached Drul’s Mound, but we have heard nothing.”

  “My spies report no unusual activity,” Rycol offered, “and had Kedryn been captured, I believe some news would have reached me.”

  “So mayhap he has succeeded in entering the netherworld,” murmured Jenille.

  “Mayhap,” said Gerat. “We must hope so, and remain ever alert.”

  “For what?” asked the young woman, frowning.

  “I am not sure.” Gerat sighed, her unlined features troubled. “I ask that you hold your mind open, for I believe that when the time comes you or I will sense a stirring of powers.”

  “So we must wait,” said Jenille.

  “Aye,” Gerat confirmed, “we must wait. It is all we can do.”

  Wynett descended the stairs with considerable trepidation, torn between the certitude of her decision and the fear that it might serve only to reveal further contradictions. Nonetheless, the awful loneliness she had felt as she stood atop the palace and surveyed the gray, rain-sodden landscape spurred her on. To continue unknowing was to court the enemy despair; or worse, to flirt with madness. Her faith in the Lady was such that she felt truth must lie in Eyrik’s suggestion: that the introduction of the talisman to the oracular pool must surely impose upon it a demand for veracity that would transcend its multilayered depictions of reality to show her that which applied to her, here and now.

  That was, she recognized, implicit acceptance of Eyrik’s words, which in turn suggested a degree of faith in her mysterious host. A small degree, she told herself, for she was still uncertain of his motives and by no means any longer convinced that he was so solicitous of her desire to regain the natural world as he claimed. Still, if he did manipulate the pool, surely the talisman would overcome even those gramaryes to show her what she sought to find.

  If not . . . She quelled the thought, for it meant that she was truly alone, perhaps imprisoned by Ashar himself.

  She lifted her skirts high as she hurried down the winding stairway, ignoring the windows that offered impossible views, intent on finding the chamber with the blue door and executing her intention.

  She was breathless as she reached the stairway’s foot, and paused in the small, stone room, composing herself, hoping that Eyrik would remain occupied with whatever mysterious business filled his time: she did not want him present, nor want him to witness her reaction should the experiment prove unsuccessful.

  Her breathing once more normal, she opened the door and stepped beneath the shelter of the balconies. Rain still filled the atrium with its mournful cascade but she ignored it, hurrying beneath the protective ceiling to the chamber containing the pool. She saw no sign of Eyrik either in the courtyard or the chamber, but as she entered the room it occurred to her that he might be within the cavernous vault beyond and she crossed to the portal opening into that strange room. A brief inspection suggested that unless he hid within the shadows the place was empty. The candles still burned in their golden sconces and the great throne stood unoccupied, the hall still and silent. Her heart beating loud against her breast, she returned to the pool and knelt beside its limpid circle.

  She mouthed a brief prayer to the Lady and fixed her eyes on the silvery liquid, her mind concentrated on Kedryn, anticipating now the strange shimmer, the sense of movement, that preceded the oracle’s revelations. She saw the image form and her lips pursed as she recognized the interior of the White Palace, tapestries decorating walls, flambeaux casting radiant light over a host of folk who seemed to cheer, raising hands in accolade. She saw Bedyr and Yrla, smiling gravely, Jarl and Arlynne beside them, Bethany close by, all standing at the foot of the dais that carried the two chairs used to enthrone her and Kedryn. Now, however, only Kedryn occupied the seat, and he rose, smiling, to extend a hand as Ashrivelle, gowned in white and gold, walked proudly toward him. She halted at the foot of the dais and Kedryn descended to her side, taking her hand and turning to present her to the crowd, then turned again to face the dais on which Bethany now stood, her arms raised as if to encompass the couple before her.

  Wynett recognized the form of the marriage ceremony and tore her gaze away, clutching the talisman as, despite her determination, she felt her heart pound afresh, despair threatening to well anew in her soul. Slowly she slid her hands to the chain suspending the stone, spreading it as she ducked her head so that she might lift the jewel clear. She held it tight for a moment, breathing deeply, then wound the chain about her wrist and clenched a fist around the metal, allowing the talisman to dangle free.

  Then, with teeth clenched, she lowered the stone into the pool.

  Instantly, the image dissolved. The pool’s silvery light grew blue, then cleared, shimmering afresh as another image formed. Wynett stared, unaware that she held her breath, seeing only the forms that shaped before her nervous eyes.

  Kedryn stood with Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc in a landscape unlike any she had seen. Above them was a blank, gray sky, beneath their feet what appeared to be baked, gray mud, cut with a multitude of cracks. On Kedryn’s back was slung a massive sword. His hair was unkempt and his eyes hollow, as if he lacked sleep, or was burdened with great sorrow. His mouth was set in a grim, determined line, and even as he watched he turned to speak with his companions and all three began to trudge across the strange terrain, their movements those of men who have marched long in adversity.

  She whispered, “Kedryn!” and the image flickered, changing to show a dismal, red-lit chasm, narrow and filled with dust that rose in clouds as he stood with upraised blade, Tepshen and Brannoc at his back. She gasped as a nightmare creature scuttled on too many legs toward them, rearing up to display clashing mandibles and hideous, excessive eyes.

  Then she screamed as the thing pounced forward, ignoring the blade Kedryn swung even though it hacked deep into the creature’s body as it landed upon him, the mandibles fastening about his chest, his face contorting in agony as the bulbous sac lunged a curved stinger toward him, driving the point into his thigh. Nausea filled her as she saw her beloved writhe in pain, the sword dropping from his grasp. She snatched the talisman from the pool as the mandibles began to tear out his stomach. -s.

  Shuddering, she lurched back from the silver disk, crouching on the blue-tiled floor as horror shook her, tears moistening her cheeks, her head shaking in mute denial.

  It could not be!

  Yet Eyrik had vowed the pool depicted only the truth, albeit in numerous alternatives.

  Yet did Eyrik lie?

  She could not know, save through the talisman, which he had suggested must impose a personal truth on the oracle; or had he lied about that, too?

  She willed herself to calm and extended her hand once more above the pool, lowering the stone into the liquid, seeing a new manifestation take shape.

  Now Kedryn lounged before a barbarian lodge, Tepshen and Brannoc to either side, beyond them a ring of grinning, laughing woodlanders who passed a leathern sack from hand to hand, each tilting it above their cup and quaffing deep of the liquid that poured out. Kedryn appeared at ease, drinking the brew and leaning back on unsteady elbows, roaring silent laughter at some sally and thrusting his cup eagerly forward to obtain more of the sack’s contents. She saw his face clearly, recognizing the signs of drunkenness in the glazed eyes, the slack mouth, and shook her head in disbelief.

  The image promptly shifted, changing, and now Kedryn stood upon the ramparts of a hold, staring toward a forest of verdant trees. His face was lined and gray streaked his hair. Two young men, so similar they must be his sons, stood either side of him, smiling as he spoke, following his gesture as he indicated some event occurring beyond the walls.

  That flickered and changed, and she looked upon a bier, Kedryn’s body in state, draped with Tamur’s standard. Tepshen and Brannoc stood close by, their heads bowed, and the two young men she had seen before, now grown to heartrending semblance of their father.

  That was replaced with yet another image, one of fire, in which he wielded that great sword against a thing of shadow and flame that darted just beyond the limits of her vision, pressing him hard, driving him back so that he passed from sight, the image shifting yet again.

  Now he stood upon a tumulus she recognized as Drul’s Mound. Dirt streaked his face and his hands were bound behind him, Tepshen and Brannoc, similarly held, to his right. Barbarians faced them, holding torches, their features twisted in rage, beyond them a circle of tribesmen bearing swords and axes and spears. She saw an order given and the prisoners driven roughly away from a pit at the mound’s apex, toward three frameworks of wood. Their bonds were cut and their arms dragged out that their wrists might be lashed to the crosspieces. Their shirts were cut away and a woodlander she saw was Cord came forward with a long, broad-bladed knife. She snatched the talisman clear as he began to cut the blood eagle on Kedryn’s back.

  Her hand trembled as she forced herself to lower the stone into the pool once again, seeing Kedryn outstretched on a bed of bloodstained grass, a birdlike creature with black, leathery skin where feathers should be perched upon his chest, its hooked beak descending toward his blindly staring eyes.

  That awful sight faded, replaced by another, then another, and another, and yet more, the pool growing animated as the depictions altered, Kedryn old . . . Kedryn young and with Ashrivelle . . . Kedryn with Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc in landscapes that belonged in nightmares . . . Kedryn dying beneath the onslaught of strange beasts . . . Kedryn laughing. . . weeping . . . fighting . . . fleeing. One image overlayed the next until they passed too swiftly for her eyes to follow and she realized that the surface of the pool seethed and bubbled as if animated by some internal force.

  She snatched the talisman from the turmoil, the silvery liquid no longer smooth and calm but roiled, wavering and rippling as if a spring burst forth deep below, rushing to the surface to disrupt the images. She stared at it, seeing it slowly settle, becoming once more the argent disk that promised so much and now offered only confusion, and loosed the talisman’s chain from her wrist, replacing the blue jewel about her neck.

  Despondency filled her, the hope that Kyrie’s stone would show her the truth dashed, that disappointment opening gates through which disillusion threatened to flood. She closed her eyes, determined that she would not give way to the despair that stalked her soul, and imposed upon her troubled mind those meditative disciplines instilled by Estrevan.