The Cry of the Marwing

To Louise Thurtell, for allowing Kira to begin her journey,
and to Angela Handley and Louise for guiding her way

The Tremen

KASHCLAN

Kiraon (Kira) – Tremen Leader and Healer

Miken – Clanleader of Kashclan

Tenerini – bondmate of Miken

Tresen – son of Miken and Healer

Mikini – daughter of Miken

Brem – Healer

Arlen – Healer

Maxen (dec.) – Kira’s father

Fasarini (dec.) – Kira’s mother

Merek (dec.) – Kira’s brother

Lern (dec.) – Kira’s brother

Kandor (dec.) – Kira’s brother

MORCLAN

Marren – Clanleader

Kest – Protector Commander

Kesilini – sister of Kest

Lis – Protector Leader

Aris – Protector

SARCLAN

Berendash – Clanleader

Therin – Protector

TARCLAN

Kemrick – Clanleader

RENCLAN

Sanden – Clanleader

Pekrash – Protector Leader and Commander of the volunteers

KENCLAN

Tenedren – Clanleader

Dendrin – Protector Leader

BARCLAN

Ketten – Clanleader

SHERCLAN

Dakresh – Clanleader

Sener – son of Dakresh

Bendrash – Protector Leader

Tallien

Caledon e Saridon e Talliel

Roshai – Caledon’s sister

Pisa – Roshai’s youngest daughter

Mechtlin – Roshai’s husband

Tain

Beris (dec.) – former king

Adris – King, son of Beris

Aranz – Major Physick

Terak Kirillian

Rulership

Tierken – Feailner

Laryia – Tierken’s sister

Darid (dec.) – Tierken’s uncle and previous Feailner

Merench (dec.) – Tierken’s father

Lyess (dec.) – Tierken’s mother

Poerin – Tierken’s military trainer

Marken – advisers to Terak Kirillian rulership

Rosham – Farid’s father and head of the Marken

Milsin

Domain – Centre of rulership

Farid – Keeper of the Domain

Ryn – Horse Master

Mouras – Room Master

Niria – server and Marin’s wife

Domain Guard

Tharin – Guard Leader

Daril – Guard Second

Storsil

Farsrin

Terak Kirillian Patrolmen

Marin – Commander

Jonred – Patrol Leader

Anvorn

Arnil

Nordrin

Barid

Ralin

Sarim

Serden

Derkash

Ayled

Shird

Vardrin

Slivkash

Jarvid

Kessomi

Eris – Darid’s mother and grandmother to Tierken and Laryia

Thalli – childhood friend of Laryia

Leos – Thalli’s husband

Jafiel – Leos’s brother

Kira – Thalli’s baby daughter

Robrin – stable master

Shargh

Cashgar Shargh

Erboran – Chief (dec.)

Palansa – join-wife of Erboran Ersalan – baby son of Palansa – next Chief

Arkendrin – younger brother of Erboran

Tarkenda – mother of Erboran and Arkendrin

Ormadon – allied to Palansa

Erlken – Ormadon’s son – allied to Palansa

Aronin – Ormadon’s kin

Irslin – Ormadon’s kin

Sansula – friend to Palansa

Orsron – Sansula’s baby son

Irdodun – allied to Arkendrin

Irason – allied to Arkendrin

Orlun – blood-tie of Arkendrin

Weshargh

Orbdargan – Chief

Orfedren

Urugen

Soushargh

Yrshin – Chief

Aukran – blood-tie of Yrshin

Irmrin – blood-tie of Yrshin

Ashmiri

Uthlin – Chief

Irlian – son of Uthlin

Brishanda – wife of Irlian

If Healer sees a setting sun
and gold meets gold, two halves are one.
Then Westerner with silver tongue
will love and lose the golden one
but bind a friendship slow begun.
If horses graze in forests deep
where trees their summer greening keep
then fire will be the flatsword’s bane
and bring the dead to life again.
Deeds long past will hunt the Shargh
and funeral smoke consume the stars
until the thing that draws no breath
devours the dark that feeds on death.

The stable door slammed in the wind, startling Kira. Her nerves were still taut after the journey from Maraschin, despite Marin’s patrol having suffered no attacks and the weather having remained fair, if cold. Perhaps it was one of the effects of having to leave Tierken and her kin without any proper farewell, but it was also the sense of having been watched during the trip, a tension that had been shared by the patrolmen.

The plain had seemed empty, but there had been whole days when the men had ridden with their bows unclipped. Marin had been unusually taciturn too, and Kira suspected it was because he had been unable to find Tierken to confirm that Kira had permission to leave. She was sorry to have put Marin in a difficult position.

Her cracked ribs had made the journey a nightmare of unrelenting pain, and the only thing that had kept her on the mare was the awareness that, given the coming battles with the Shargh, a Haelen must be established in Sarnia. Kira shuddered as she recalled the wounds that she and Aranz had laboured over in Maraschin. Many of the injured had died, but countless others had been saved because Maraschin had a place of healing. But Sarnia had nothing. When they’d finally arrived here, Kira had been so unwell she’d had to dose herself with sickleseed, and had slept almost constantly the following three days. And she still felt weak now, as she stood in the disused stable, trying to decide whether it could become a place of healing.

According to Laryia, the stable had been closed up while she and Tierken had been in Sarnia, and it certainly smelled like it. Kira tried to wrest open one of the wooden shutters to get some fresh air, but the hinges were too stiff.

‘Don’t,’ ordered Laryia. ‘You’re just from your bed.’

Kira sagged against the stall, and one of the Domain Guard came forward and struggled with the shutter. Soon there was a harsh screech as it gave way.

Laryia’s face was full of concern as Kira made an effort to straighten.

‘It’s the right layout for a Haelen,’ said Kira. ‘The stalls could be divided with curtains and the harness store made into a Herbery.’

There was water, too – provided for the horses – and the stable’s position under the city wall made it convenient for receiving wounded. All in all it was well suited, thought Kira, feeling heartened. But she wondered whether Tierken’s prohibition of the Haelen – healing having long been banished from the city of the Terak Kirillian – was at this very moment making its way north. There had been a constant flow of message cylinders from Maraschin, ordering the movement south of men and weapons. Farid, the Keeper of the Domain, had told her that reports of her safe arrival in Sarnia had been sent back to Maraschin too. And she also knew from him that there had already been a lot of fighting, which made the need for the Haelen even more urgent. Kira winced. The thought of wounds, even those the Shargh would suffer, filled her with dread.

‘I’ll organise for it to be cleaned out and scrubbed over the next few days,’ said Laryia. ‘And I’ll trade for the services of some woodwrights.’

‘Once the Haelen’s ready, I’ll need to gather,’ said Kira, as they began their trek back up to the Domain. ‘Are there herbs near the walls?’

‘The land there’s pretty well grazed,’ said Laryia. ‘And Tierken directed that you remain within Sarnia. He’s asked me to do the same.’

‘Tierken has directed?’ questioned Kira.

‘He wants to ensure our safety, that’s all.’

‘Tierken insisted that the Shargh wouldn’t come north, so there should be no risk in me gathering outside the walls,’ said Kira.

Laryia’s eyes flashed but she held her silence until they reached the privacy of the Domain. ‘Why does Tierken’s wish to protect you anger you so? Don’t men in the forests care for those they love?’

‘I’m just anxious about establishing a herbal supply,’ said Kira, reluctant to argue with Laryia. ‘There’s no point in having a Haelen if I have no herbs to minister with.’ Laryia still looked doubtful as Kira turned towards her rooms.

She collapsed onto the bed, feeling more tired than ever, but she’d already lost three days, so instead of resting she opened her pack and emptied its contents beside her. There was the pot of fire-weed Tresen had given her in Maraschin plus a half-used pot she’d originally brought from Allogrenia. The fireweed fingers she had gathered before the Shargh had seized her, had long ago turned to dust. As for the rest of her supplies, there was barely enough for even a beginner Healer’s kit.

‘Kira?’

It was Laryia, poised in the doorway. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘We could get herbs from Kessom, although we’d have to do it soon. Once snow-melt begins, Glass Gorge will flood and the journey would be too dangerous.’

‘We’d need a steady supply, and some herbs are only potent when newly harvested,’ pointed out Kira. ‘And I don’t think there’s fireweed at Kessom – at least, I couldn’t find any.’

‘Is that what you were doing that last day there, when you came back so late – looking for fireweed?’ asked Laryia suddenly.

Kira nodded.

‘Tierken was frantic when you hadn’t returned, even though he knew the Guard were with you. It was a night like that when my father drowned. I don’t remember him, or our mother, but Tierken does. We think our father was caught while gathering in one of the small valleys up in The Slopes. They’re narrow and fill quickly. His body was found in Glass Gorge.’

Kira was silent for a while, finally understanding the violence of Tierken’s reaction. ‘Is there nowhere that isn’t stone in Sarnia?’ she asked in frustration, thinking of her need for herbs again.

‘There’s the Wastes in the Caru Quarter.’

She had fled to the Wastes after the Mid-market banquet and yet another argument with Tierken, recalled Kira. It was full of alehouses and women who traded themselves, but there was also a place rampant with weeds, where the land dipped like a bowl.

‘Actually, its proper name is Kasheron’s Quarter,’ said Laryia.

‘Kasheron’s Quarter?’ said Kira.

‘When Kasheron and his followers deser– left, Queen Kiraon insisted that Terak put aside a quarter of the city for her eldest son and his followers, should they ever return. She even made a garden there, so they’d be reminded of Kessom. But they never came back. Ever since Tierken’s been Feailner, Rosham’s been badgering him to open it up to the other Quarters to build on. The city’s crowded and extending the wall’s costly. It seemed like Tierken was finally going to agree, but he appears to have changed his mind . . . Rosham was very annoyed,’ added Laryia.

‘Tierken’s left Kasheron’s Quarter open in case Kasheron’s people return?’ asked Kira, heart quickening.

‘I don’t know his reasons,’ said Laryia. ‘Tierken gets a little of his own back sometimes by goading Rosham. Probably not the best thing to do, given Rosham’s influence in Sarnia.’

‘If Tierken’s Feailner, why can’t he do as he wants?’ Her father had always gone his own way.

‘He can, but it’s easier if he has the cooperation of those who feed the thoughts of others. Sarnia accepts Tierken as the rightful Feailner, but he was raised in Kessom and carries Terak’s eyes – Kasheron’s eyes, too. Gold eyes still elicit ill feeling and mistrust,’ said Laryia looking at Kira uncomfortably.

‘Then the people of Sarnia will never accept me,’ said Kira, the realisation surprisingly upsetting to her. ‘I’ve got gold eyes and I’m a Healer. My very presence here must hurt Tierken.’

Laryia’s hand closed over hers. ‘It’s not that clear-cut. After the long seasons of Darid’s childless rule, Sarnia is keen for certainty. Believe me when I tell you that many in the city would prefer to see the Feailner married to the woman he loves – even if she does have gold eyes – than living alone and childless. Sarnia wants an heir.’

The notion of being part of the Sarnians’ plan for succession was almost as abhorrent as being rejected by them, thought Kira.

‘Don’t let it concern you,’ advised Laryia. ‘They’d like to see me married – preferably to Farid – and carrying, too, for the same reason. After all, if the Feailner won’t produce an heir then his sister should, so that the line continues. But I’ll choose the man and the time of my marriage. Of course, the city can’t see why I haven’t made the Marriage Walk with Farid already and, in some ways, neither can I.’

Kira looked at her in bewilderment.

‘Well, don’t you think he’s handsome?’ asked Laryia.

Kira nodded, remembering the stares of the other women at the Mid-market banquet.

‘And that he’s charming and pleasant?’

‘He’s kind and true,’ said Kira.

‘Yes,’ agreed Laryia. ‘Farid’s a good friend, but I don’t love him, and there has to be love. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Kira. But she already knew that for a Feailner, things were rarely that simple.

Out on the Baia Plain, north of Maraschin, Tierken stood with hands on hips and watched the endless circlings of big, black-plumaged birds. Their harsh cries had become a constant backdrop to the fighting. Marwings, Adris had called them – hunting birds from the southern Azurcades. More like scavengers than hunters, thought Tierken sourly. They shared the dwinhir’s curved beaks and tearing talons, but none of their grace. No doubt they’d been drawn north by the supply of dead goats, dead horses and dead people.

He sighed and paced up and down. Once he’d wandered with Poerin among the deep valleys and quiet pools of the Silvercades, hunted wolves with Kir herders, galloped Kalos hard and fast over the Sarsalin just for the sheer joy of it. Now all he did was kill.

And the constant killing wasn’t the only thing that troubled him, for he’d left Sarnia with no proper farewell to Laryia, not having intended to become embroiled in the fighting quite so quickly. He had come south only to fulfil the conditions of the trade he’d made with Kira. Despite the perils of travelling through lands haunted by Shargh, she had insisted on seeing her people in Maraschin. And after much argument he’d allowed it on the condition that after three days in the Tain city she would return to the safety of the north to wait out the fighting there.

Kira had fulfilled her side of the bargain, but it had brought him anything but peace. The discovery that she had gone north again with just half a patrol had filled Tierken with dread, and he had been infuriated that Caledon’s assertion – Kira would go her own way – had been proved correct. And then, to add to his frustration, Tierken had had to endure the long wait for the first messenger to arrive back from Sarnia before he’d known whether the under-strength patrol had actually survived their journey.

Thank Irid, the news had been good, and he’d been able to focus on the coming together of the Tremen with his men. That had gone well also, Tierken not having heard the insult Terak Kutan muttered for over a moon quarter now. Their friendship had been helped by them speaking the same tongue, and so suffering none of the difficulties of the Terak and Tain. But there also seemed a genuine liking between the two groups. One people, Caledon had told him, which was what the Tremen Writings suggested – though only one Terak Writing, Tierken reminded himself. Still, he knew Poerin believed it, and there was the ring that Kira carried, engraved with the symbols of both Terak and Kasheron.

The evidence for the truth of Kira’s kinship claim mounted, but the idea of acknowledging relationship with the descendants of the deserter Kasheron remained repellent. Rosham and his followers would use such an acknowledgement as a weapon against him, and Tierken couldn’t fight effectively in the south, if he must worry about his authority being undermined in the north. Kira was safe in Sarnia in any case, and the Terak and Tremen already fought together. If it ever came to the point where he must acknowledge the kin-link, it would be at the time and manner of his choosing, and no one else’s.

Movement out on the plain heralded the approach of Pekrash and the Tremen who, unlike the Terak, travelled on foot. Tierken had been waiting most of the day for them, having taken his men on ahead to set fires and traps, and to roast nuts, since some of the Tremen still refused to eat meat.

Adris, the Tain King, and Caledon were further east hunting Shargh, and trying to persuade Tain herders to take shelter in Maraschin. Adris had already moved people from the ravaged settlements of Listlin Tor, Slift Tor and Mendor to Maraschin, but the herders had yet to accept the bitter truth that The Westlans would have to be abandoned.

Adris burned what the Shargh hadn’t already destroyed to deny the enemy food and shelter once they were driven back. The weather on the Sarsalin didn’t soften until late spring and, once The Westlans’ peoples were secure, the Shargh would be hounded deep into the shelterless northern expanse.

Five to six days should be sufficient to exhaust the Shargh – if they were kept running, and away from Ashmiri succour. Then they’d be allowed to flee south again. But to regain the food and shelter of their own lands, the Shargh would have to breach the Terak–Tain–Tremen lines, fight the King’s Guard Adris had stationed along The Westlans, and recross the Azurcades.

The Tremen trickled in and Tierken welcomed Commander Pekrash, offering him a mug of cotzee. The Tremen preferred a concoction called thornyflower tea, and early in their time together Pekrash had prepared a cup for Tierken. It had tasted like stagnant water, and he was glad when the supply had run out.

Pekrash thanked Tierken, holding the metal cup gingerly to drink.

Then Tierken tipped roasted nuts into a bowl for him, and Pekrash thanked him again, reminding Tierken of Kira.

Kashclan thanks the Terak Feailner, she’d say, then refuse to eat.

His thoughts drifted to his time with Kira in Kessom, to their love-making in the allogrenia grove, and he closed his eyes.

‘Your leg pains you, Terak Feailner?’ asked Pekrash, referring to a wound Tierken had sustained in a battle with the Shargh some days earlier.

‘Not really.’

Every Protector seemed to have a keen interest in, and willingness to ease, the injuries of others. If Kasheron had established the Tremen, he’d certainly instilled a powerful sense of nurturing, yet they could still fight – not as effectively as his own men, nor with the same strength, but certainly with agility, speed and a surprising amount of discipline.

They had loyalty to Pekrash – as their Commander – but it was clear that the Tremen fought only for the preservation of Allogrenia. Even so, they were fascinated by everything they saw, and listened wide-eyed to the tales his men told of Terak Tor, Sarnia, the Silvercades and the lands beyond the seas.

Vardrin came in from scouting patrol and delivered his report. Tierken remained at the fire so Pekrash was privy to it. You command the Terak Kirillian, Feailner, Pekrash the Tremen and King Adris the Tains, but we all fight together. If our left hand is weaker than our right, it strengthens both hands of the Shargh, Caledon had said before going east with Adris.

Tierken had made an effort since then to include the Tremen Commander in his thoughts, as well as sharing the Terak messages with him. As a result, what had begun as careful politeness had become, if not friendship, then certainly respect and trust. Now Tierken could see that Pekrash was troubled.

‘If the Shargh are on the plain, perhaps we should have sighted them,’ said Pekrash.

‘And as we haven’t, they might have slid to our flanks or bypassed us and gone further north?’

‘Perhaps, Terak Feailner.’

Given the visibility on this part of the plain, and that the attacks thus far had been close to Maraschin, Tierken thought it unlikely. Still, he went to where Shird and Nordrin sat with a mix of Terak and Tremen, and issued new scouting orders.

Returning to Pekrash, he found Tresen waiting with his Healer’s kit.

‘Time to dress that wound, Feailner,’ said Kira’s clanmate.

Tierken obediently pulled off his boot and eased up his breeches, revealing a heavy bandage protecting over twenty stitches. The sword had been aimed at Kalos’s side and would have killed the stallion had Tierken not kicked out at the swordhand. Thanks to Tresen’s quick attention and a liberal dose of fireweed, the wound would bequeath Tierken nothing more than a large scar.

Tierken grimaced as he contemplated the fact that he was the only one of his men to suffer more than shallow cuts or bruises. Still, to lose Kalos to a filthy Shargh blade was unthinkable.

Tresen applied a greenish paste with a familiar scent and the wound stung. ‘Surely no need of sorren, Healer Tresen,’ said Tierken, enjoying chipping away at Tresen’s image of him as a barbaric Terak Kutan.

‘I’m sure your grandmother taught you that it’s best to use sorren when cleanliness can’t be guaranteed,’ said Tresen, busy with a clean bandage.

‘She did indeed,’ said Tierken. ‘I thank you for your aid, Healer Tresen.’

‘Healing is given, Feailner,’ said Tresen, as he finished and closed his kit.

That was something Kira would have said too, but beneath Tresen’s studious courtesy there still lay considerable antagonism.

Does Allogrenia mean so little to you that you would give it all away for the scion of the brute Kasheron fled? Tresen had demanded of Kira in Maraschin.

It was understandable that Tresen didn’t want to lose his clanmate and Leader, but Tierken had little sympathy. When the threat to Allogrenia was gone, there’d be no reason for Kira to return there.

It was deep in the night when Tierken’s eyes flicked open. He didn’t know what had woken him to a feeling of intense unease, but Poerin had taught him to trust his instincts in such moments. The night was thick with mist, hiding the moon, and he sprang up and set an arrow as Vardrin, Barid and Shird emerged from the gloom, their bows readied as well. The Tremen, Kirs and Illians still slept, and Tierken wondered whether Poerin’s assertion that Teraks sensed with their skins held truth.

‘A nice blanket to hide the stinking Shargh,’ whispered Vardrin.

The Shargh would have marked their fires before the mist had come down, Tierken realised in horror, and he swung back to the sleeping men.

‘Get up! Disperse! Disperse!’ he shouted. ‘Smother the fires!’

There was a mad scramble from sleeping-sheets as the men followed his orders, and Tierken peered into the darkness. All was quiet and he’d begun to feel foolish when the air whispered and he ducked, bawling orders as a volley of spears descended on them.

He ran forward, loosing arrows at shapes rearing out of the gloom. Screams and grunts erupted around him, but the mist scattered the sound and he had no idea whether the Shargh were in front or behind.

‘Keep moving! Keep moving!’ he yelled into the darkness.

Now that they were away from the fires, they were no more vulnerable than the Shargh, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Tierken’s chest heaved and he came to a stop. The squeal of metal told him there was a battle to his left, but when he went that way, he found nothing. He stopped again, then crept on, expecting a spear or blade in the back at any moment.

Finally, as the sun rose, the mist silvered, tinged gold, and streamered away, revealing him to be some distance from camp. To his relief he could see Kalos with the other tethered horses, but dark shapes littered the grass. Tierken kept his arrow trained on each as he approached, but the Shargh were dead. Had the grace of Irid spared their own? He was almost back to the camp when Vardrin met him, grim-faced.

‘How many?’ asked Tierken.

‘One dead,’ said Vardrin, indicating a body ahead.

One too many, thought Tierken, but he was relieved. It had been a mistake to let their fires burn into the night, and they were fortunate to have escaped so lightly.

Vardrin fell into step beside him but Tierken kept his gaze on the man. The spear had caught him full in the chest, bringing a swift death. Tresen was kneeling beside the body, but before Tierken reached them he rose and, with a bitter glance at Tierken, strode away. Then Tierken saw why. The dead man was Pekrash.

Three days of heavy rain had left the Domain gutters full of rushing water and Kira full of frustration. Being confined made her feel like screaming. All she had to do with her time was to consider her neglected leadership duties and her lack of fireweed. So when at last the sun shone, albeit palely, she set off swiftly down the Domain path to the stables, glad to be able to stretch her legs. The Guard followed a respectful two paces behind but Kira pretended she was alone. The breeze carried the smell of wet grass from beyond the wall, and she was reminded of how much she missed the patrol’s shared fires, herders’ lay-links – and Tierken.

The stables still smelled faintly of horses, but the men had worked through the wet weather to scrub the walls and floors. Kira’s boots rasped over the gritty stone as she walked up and down, considering how the pallets and shelves could be fitted. The Tain Sanctum had several rooms, with those wounded in battle kept away from others, but this Haelen would only be dealing with battle injuries. After all, thought Kira acidly, unlike the Tain, Sarnians never cut or burnt themselves, fell, took chill or struggled to birth their babes!

Kira came back out into the water-drenched daylight just in time to see a horse gallop past up to the Domain. The stables opposite were crowded with horses too – the messenger’s escort, no doubt. She quickened her pace up the path to the Domain and was crossing the courtyard to the owl fountain when she saw Laryia and Farid. They were in speech with the travel-stained messenger under the colonnades opposite. All three looked sombre.

Laryia saw her and hastened across.

‘Is it Tierken?’ asked Kira.

‘Yes,’ said Laryia.

Kira’s heart missed. ‘Is he injured?’

‘No, nothing like that. Let’s go to my rooms,’ said Laryia, glancing at the servers who were sweeping water from the paving.

Kira held her silence till the door shut behind them. ‘The messenger was from Tierken?’ she asked. If Tierken were well, then maybe Caledon, Adris or Tresen were dead, she thought.

‘Tierken is well,’ said Laryia, and seeing that Kira’s anxiety didn’t ease, added, ‘the other Leaders are well too, as is your clanmate Tresen. They’re still close to the Azurcades, but as the messenger took ten days to get here – with terrible weather all the way – they might be further north by now. But the message isn’t only about the fighting, it’s –’ She stopped and cleared her throat. ‘As you know, Farid must keep Tierken informed about the administration of the city. He must also –’

‘Tierken’s forbidden the Haelen, hasn’t he?’

‘He’s refused permission to trade for it, which is the same thing. I’m sorry, Kira.’

‘Not as sorry as the dying men will be!’

Laryia winced, and Kira fought to curb her anger. ‘I beg your pardon, Laryia, the fault’s not yours. But I won’t watch your wounded die. If the Terak Feailner won’t give trade, then the Tremen Feailner must.’

‘I don’t understand you,’ said Laryia.

‘You say Tierken hasn’t actually forbidden the Haelen?’

‘No.’

‘Then I’ll trade for it with the bracelet he gave me at Mid-market.’

‘That was a gift,’ said Laryia quickly.

‘So mine to trade.’

Laryia shook her head. ‘Not the bracelet.’

‘Well, the mare then,’ said Kira.

‘You can’t! She’s full sister to Kalos and Chime, and that bloodline’s always been in our family.’

‘Then I give her back to you,’ exclaimed Kira in frustration. ‘I don’t want anything that belongs to your family!’

‘Please, Kira . . .’

‘Very well. I’ll go to the Caru Quarter. I’ll trade myself, since that’s all I’ve got. How much do you think the Feailner’s woman will fetch?’

‘Kira!’

But Kira had already stormed from the room.

After four days of inaction, Adris and his men had become restive, having grown tired of scouting, and of challenging each other to competitions of wrestling and arrow skill. The Terak and Tremen were late, but the chances of them being delayed by storm were just as great as them being delayed by Shargh.

The sun had been half eaten by the land on the fourth night before the scout finally arrived. Caledon joined Adris to hear his report, pleased that the news was good; the plain seemed empty of Shargh, and the Terak and Tremen were only a little west now and would reach camp before nightfall.

The Terak Feailner’s big silver stallion was the first thing to emerge from the hazy dusk. Adris and Caledon exchanged glances at the absence of Pekrash, who should have been at the front of his men with Tierken. Tremen and Terak slowly filed in, their faces sombre. Both groups set camp under Tierken’s command and it was nearly dark before Tierken joined the Tain King and the Tallien at their fire.

‘Welcome, Feailner,’ said Caledon with a bow.

‘Lord Caledon,’ acknowledged Tierken with a nod, then returned Adris’s bow.

‘Forgive our lateness,’ continued Tierken. ‘The Tremen Commander has been killed, and we diverted north to Yelin Grove to give him the burial Tremen custom dictates.’

Caledon looked up as a marwing’s harsh cry sounded, wondering if they were indeed as ill-omened as people believed. ‘How did Pekrash die?’ he asked.

‘A Shargh spear,’ said Tierken.

‘Come and eat,’ said Adris. ‘You’ve had a worse time of it than us. Meros be praised, we’ve suffered no losses.’

‘Pekrash was one of only two Tremen who didn’t freely volunteer,’ said Caledon. ‘He came because a Commander was needed. I thank you for his burial under the trees, Feailner, for it was one of the few requests the Tremen Clancouncil made. The Tremen believe that trees draw up the dead. In this way the dead live on in the green and growing, and their voices continue to be heard in the whisper of the leaves.’

Tierken shrugged. ‘I know little of Tremen customs,’ he said. ‘But as I must lead the Tremen until the Tremen Feailner appoints another Commander, I acceded to their request. It also shortened the journey north for the messengers I’ve sent to Sarnia.’

‘It’s hard to think who Kira will choose,’ said Caledon, his gaze on the Tremen volunteers taking their meal at the other fire.

‘Most likely you,’ said Tierken. ‘After all, Kira trusted you to bring her men from the forests.’

And he had failed that trust already – was that what Tierken suggested? wondered Caledon.

‘Whoever the next Commander is, we won’t know till well after the new moon,’ broke in Adris. ‘With your leave, Feailner, we’ll travel together until then and share command. We have the last of the herders here with us. Once we’ve escorted them back to Maraschin we can ready ourselves for the push north.’

South of the Azurcades, on the Shargh Grounds, shadows circled the ebis herds. Then howls sounded and Tarkenda shivered. The wolves had been made bold by the dearth of hunters, but Palansa and the young Chief wouldn’t hunger, nor those loyal to them, thanks to Erlken and his lesser kin Aronin and Irslin. But those whose blood-ties had followed Arkendrin bitterly rued the lack of spears to protect their animals.

A panicked ebis cow would drop her ebi and see it devoured in its birth-bag, or have her young taken from behind while she drove off attackers afore. And if she must spend her time in agitated flight, her milk dwindled, leaving little for her ebi, and none for the cheese-maker. The warriors had been gone for over a moon, but it had taken less time than that for the wolves to sense that their long hunting by the warriors was over.

Tarkenda wondered how many moons would pass before the surviving remnants of the warrior force straggled back. That they would be few in number she had no doubt, for the Last Telling uncurled like the fingers of a dead hand. The gold-eyed creature had seen a setting sun and dwelt with the gold-eyed Northern Chief – gold had met gold and two halves become one. The tesat that the warriors used on their flatswords to seed wounds with poison would fail now, and the victorious Northerners would come south, but not just to gloat.

For what Tarkenda dreaded, and what kept her wakeful at night, was that they’d come south to ensure that the Shargh never again waged war upon them. And the only way the Northerners could do that was by slaughtering not just the remaining warriors, but every last one of those who dwelt at the Grounds.

The Shargh warriors had set their camp north of the Braghans, close to ruined Tain buildings, and now sat around their fires feasting on Ashmiri food, enjoyment of the meats replacing any need for speech. As Orbdargan licked the juices from his fingers, he noted that even Arkendrin looked content. Arkendrin’s shadow, Irdodun, crouched at his Chief’s side as usual, but for once he didn’t irritate Orbdargan. The Tain burned their own settlements now, which saved the Shargh the trouble, and the Ashmiri Chief had sent horses as well as the food.

‘The Northerners hide behind the Southerners’ walls,’ said Yrshin, the Soushargh Chief, as he claimed more spiced sausage. ‘We’ll be at their grand northern city before they rouse from their beds.’

‘The scouts saw naught of them?’ asked Orbdargan.

‘No, Weshargh Chief. A few run back and forth across the plain, no doubt carrying their Chief’s words, but their warriors are south of us.’

‘They think we’re south too. They’ve seen my warriors there,’ grunted Arkendrin, chewing noisily. ‘The stinking Northerners forget these lands were ours; they think only they know where shelter grows and water rises.’

‘Thieves remember only their ownership,’ agreed Orbdargan, finding the Cashgar Chief’s vitriol reassuring.

Arkendrin had kept to himself and his refusal to ride had strained the bonds of their shared enterprise. The Cashgar warriors had been caught more often as a result.

‘If the Northerners are in the southern walled city, we’re already two days ahead of them,’ said Orbdargan. ‘Their horses are swift, but if we strike north now, they will never catch us. The Ashmiri Chief says the northern city is fed by tree-fruit and crops from the valley before it. If we clear it out, they’ll starve.’

‘Uthlin’s knowing is useful,’ said Yrshin.

‘The creature’s there and I want it alive,’ broke in Arkendrin.

‘Uthlin’s supplied enough horses for us all to ride,’ said Orbdargan. ‘We can be north in seven or eight days, and the creature in your hands before the full moon.’

‘It takes longer than that to starve a people out,’ said Arkendrin, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

‘But not to trade with the hungry,’ said Orbdargan. ‘Uthlin says the Northerners have no love for yellow eyes either, despite them being led by one.’

‘I’ll not ride, nor will my warriors,’ said Arkendrin. ‘The Sky Chiefs punish those who refuse them honour.’

‘You’ve lost more warriors than me,’ retorted Yrshin.

‘The fighting’s young, Soushargh Chief,’ growled Arkendrin.

‘Wolves hunt alone as well as in packs,’ interceded Orbdargan. ‘Horses will take us swiftly, even before the northern robbers know we’ve gone, but a spear’s best thrown from the ground. Both will win back what’s ours.’

Arkendrin still glowered and Orbdargan gripped his arm. ‘We fight together as Shargh to take back Shargh lands,’ he hissed. ‘Who cares the manner of the fight as long as it’s the Northerners’ blood that flows?’

‘The Sky Chiefs care,’ said Arkendrin, but his expression eased.

Kira pushed her damp hair from her face and grimaced. In the misting rains, the Wastes were a bleak and discouraging sight. Piles of discarded food putrefied and the weeds were so rank they were almost impossible to push through. The distaste of the Guard was plain too, but Kira ignored them, concentrating on keeping her footing. The ground was slick and the last thing she needed was to reinjure her mending ribs.

Finally she reached the bottom of the dip and lowered herself gingerly onto the stone seat. Any sort of exertion made her ribs ache, and they were now pounding away in time with her heart. The greenery reminded her of Allogrenia and an intense longing woke. She’d traded away her place in the trees for a life here with Tierken, but he was absent and all that lay ahead was fighting.

Then the Guard drew their swords, and Kira jerked from her reverie. A man was coming down the steps towards them, his hood drawn against the rain, a sword and knife at his belt. Kira tensed, but then he raised his head and she saw that it was Farid.

‘Guard Second Daril and Guard Farsrin, wait on the second step,’ he ordered.

The Guard bowed and moved away, and Farid sat beside her. ‘The Lady Laryia’s distressed you’ve come here,’ he said curtly.

‘My intention wasn’t to upset Laryia.’

‘Nevertheless, you’ve done so, Lady.’

‘There’s no need to call me “Lady”, Farid. We don’t have that title in my lands and I know from your father that I’m not known as a Lady in Sarnia.’

‘I call you Lady out of courtesy for you and respect for the Feailner,’ he said.

‘I don’t need courtesy; I need herbs and a Haelen to minister from.’

‘I’m bound to obey the Feailner – like everyone else in Sarnia,’ he said.

‘Not everyone, Farid. By the Feailner’s own pronouncement, I’m no kin of his, so he has no authority over me,’ said Kira.

There was a short silence broken only by the rustle of wind in the lush grasses. This place might be heavy with the odour of the city’s refuse, thought Kira, but it was the only place she could go that wasn’t covered with stone.

Farid’s handsome face was still heavy with disapproval and Kira softened her voice. ‘It’s one of my many failings that I don’t often ask for help,’ she said. ‘But I’m asking now. If Sarnia doesn’t have a Haelen, men hurt in the fighting will die.’

‘As Keeper of the Domain, I will aid you in whatever way I can. But I’m bound by the Feailner’s orders.’

‘Tierken’s orders to you didn’t specifically forbid a Haelen, did they Farid?’ asked Kira, confirming her understanding.

Farid looked uncomfortable but shook his head.

‘So, if I can find something to trade, establishing a Haelen wouldn’t be contrary to the Feailner’s commands?’

‘No,’ confirmed Farid.

But a Haelen would be useless without herbs, she realised.

‘Tell me what you know of the Wastes, Farid.’

‘It was originally a quarry, then a garden,’ began Farid, looking relieved at the change of subject. ‘Stone for the city’s building and paving was taken from here and, as it was quarried, Queen Kiraon had soil brought in and terraces moulded. She used them as beds for the plantings she brought from Kessom.’

‘What plantings?’ asked Kira sharply.

‘I’m not sure, but there’s a list of them in the Writing Store.’

‘Can I look there?’

‘Of course. But this rain’s not getting any lighter. With your leave, we should return, Lady,’ he said, helping Kira up. He kept one hand on her arm and the other on his sword hilt until they reached the Guard.

‘Are there any Writings that tell how Queen Kiraon’s garden came to be destroyed?’ asked Kira as they walked. They still had to make their way slowly, for the rain had made the stone slick.

‘I think it’s been neglected rather than destroyed,’ said Farid. ‘But in answer to your question, I’ve found no Writings on the garden other than the planting list, even after the recent ordering of the Store.’

So Tierken had kept his pledge to her, realised Kira in relief. She recalled the violent argument with him that had resulted in her fleeing to the Wastes. Tierken had pursued her and she’d only agreed to return to the Domain when he’d promised to have the Store searched for proof of her kinship claim.

‘Did you find anything about Kasheron’s ring or the Sundering?’ she asked.

‘I can’t tell you. There’s much the Feailner and I discuss which is known throughout the Domain and much that isn’t – nor ever will be,’ he added.

Farid’s answer suggested he had found something, thought Kira.

‘Has Tierken told you who I am?’ she asked.

‘He’s told me who you claim to be.’

Kira bit back her next question, resisting the urge to pester Farid with questions he wasn’t allowed to answer. He’d given her permission to look through the Writing Store, so whatever he’d found, she should find too.

Kira pushed the hair from her eyes and eased her aching shoulders. Her excitement about what the Writing Store might hold had ebbed soon after she’d opened the first sheaf. The Writings exhibited the same meticulous detail as those kept in the Warens, and for every useful fact there seemed to be dozens of pages of trivia. She had found nothing of interest by the time the sun had set, and was considering where she could locate a lamp in the Store when Laryia appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes were dark against her pale face and Kira scrambled to her feet. ‘I must beg your pardon for upsetting you, Laryia. You’re not to blame for Tierken’s decisions on the Haelen.’

‘It’s cold in here,’ said Laryia, shivering. ‘Come to my rooms.’

Laryia’s rooms were deliciously warm, the fire dancing high in the grate, making her collection of chimes wink and flash. Kira hadn’t realised how hungry she was till she saw the fruit, fresh maizen bread and balls of spicy fish arrayed on the table.

‘Woodwrights will meet you at the stables at dawn. Tell them what you want and they’ll begin,’ said Laryia, loading a platter with food and passing it to Kira.

Kira gaped at her. ‘What did you trade for the services of woodwrights?’

‘I’ve a generous brother, Kira. He’s given me many beautiful things from Mid-market over the seasons we’ve been here.’

‘But . . . but they were gifts,’ said Kira.

‘And so mine to trade,’ responded Laryia, echoing Kira’s words from days before.

Kira rose and embraced her. ‘I thank you,’ she said, all but undone by Laryia’s kindness.

‘I’m the grand-daughter of a Healer,’ said Laryia, ‘and understand your need. There’s no cause for thanks.’

It turned out that the woodwrights were Illian and only one of them knew Onespeak. Thus, he had to translate Kira’s instructions to the others, who then discussed them at length in Illian before passing their questions back to the man to be translated into Onespeak for Kira. It was a long and tedious process, and tested Kira’s patience to the limit, but it was essential that the Haelen be correctly constructed.

It was late by the time Kira struggled back up the path to the Domain, and by then a chill northern wind flapped her cape about her. Above the stone domes of Sarnia, the crests of the Silvercades had been obliterated by cloud, and she wondered if they were in for more foul weather.

Laryia confirmed her fears. ‘In spring, Irid tends to remind us what we should be grateful to leave behind,’ she said, as they ate together, snug in Laryia’s rooms. Ryn had predicted ten days of rain and snow, and according to Laryia, the Terak Horse Master was as weather-wise as any Kir.

‘It will be hard for the men out on the plain,’ said Kira, hating to think of them without warmth and shelter. The canopy of the southern forests protected Allogrenia from extremes of weather and the Tremen never had to endure such conditions.

‘Tierken knows where the shelters are,’ said Laryia.

Ryn’s prediction proved accurate, with rain gusting across the courtyard followed by sleet, then snow, then more rain. It went on day and night, the wind howling like the wolves of Ember Keep. Stuck indoors yet again, Kira used the time to search for the list of Queen Kiraon’s plantings. As the Writing Store had no fireplace, she took armfuls of Writings to her rooms and spread them on the rug in front of the fire.

Kira worked through each stack methodically, learning a great deal about the early days of Sarnia and the Sundering. There had been enormous relief at the ending of the fighting, tempered by grief for those lost. And there had been fury at the desertion of Kasheron and the fighting men he’d taken with him. Kira understood why Kasheron had chosen to leave, but she also began to understand the anger of those who’d remained. And she pondered again the odd chance of Tierken’s patrol finding her as a captive of the Shargh on the plain. After so many seasons apart, the seed of Kasheron had finally been reunited with the seed of Terak – and fallen in love with him.

Word came that the woodwrights had finished, but Kira didn’t go to the stables, for the streets were icy and Laryia had asked her to stay in. So, despite her eagerness to see the Haelen, Kira remained in the Domain, not wanting to upset Laryia a third time.

The night before they had argued over the bracelet once more. Kira had offered it to help with the trade for the mattresses and covers the newly constructed pallets must have, but Laryia had again refused on the basis that Tierken had gifted it to Kira.

‘ You’ve traded his gifts,’ Kira had protested. ‘It’s no different.’

Laryia had turned on her impatiently. ‘By putting the bracelet on your left wrist at Mid-market, Tierken pledged to you in the Kessomi way. You can’t trade a pledge-bracelet.’

‘He didn’t have the right to do that!’ said Kira, mortified.

Laryia’s response had been short and to the point. ‘Tierken’s not afraid to show his love – unlike you.’

Kira’s face burned at the memory, and she put down the Writing she’d been perusing. She didn’t fear showing love, though she did fear what must be traded for it. To have Tierken’s love, he demanded she give up the Tremen leadership, Allogrenia and all the people she loved and cared about. And that was just the start. He also wanted her to wear metal and tie herself to him come what may.

As Feailner, he must remain in the north, and Kira understood that to be together, she must also be in the north. She’d never wanted the leadership, so the idea of relinquishing it caused her no distress. But to relinquish those she loved in Allogrenia – that was a far more difficult prospect.

A log settled in a shower of sparks, rousing her from her thoughts. None of it was relevant at this moment, she reminded herself, taking up the Writing again. For somewhere, still buried in the pile of sheafs she’d yet to sort, was a list that might just save lives.

On the tenth night the wind dropped, so abruptly that Kira woke. How could anyone predict weather so accurately, she wondered, as she curled into a ball and tried to recapture sleep. But sleep remained elusive as her mind turned to Tierken, out on the frigid plain. He and Caledon and Tresen might all be dead, for it was seven days before even the fleetest messenger reached Sarnia – and much longer if the weather were bad.

Finally she decided that it was pointless lying there worrying, and that she might as well go down and check on the state of the Haelen. She rose and dressed, grabbed her pack and made her way stealthily along the balcony. Despite the lack of wind the air was icy, and Kira had to stop to don her cape.

The Guard at the Domain gate swivelled as she passed. ‘One moment, Lady,’ he called.

Kira ignored him, relieved to be outside on her own, if only for a moment. The moon was close to new, and no glow of lamplight escaped through the shuttered windows she passed, but the city wasn’t entirely asleep – there was a commotion at the stables. It was a patrol, newly arrived and still mounted.

‘Gently there, Barid. That’s it. Now Ralin, the bone-setter you know is in the south-west Illian Quarter?’

It was Jonred’s voice and Kira hurried over in time to see a limp patrolman being passed from the back of a horse.

‘Patrol Leader Jonred. Let me see him,’ she said.

Jonred spun. ‘You had news of our arrival, Lady?’

‘No. Bring him this way and get a lamp from the stables,’ ordered Kira.

The Haelen, which smelled of new-cut wood, was pitch-black inside and freezing. Kira fumbled forward, skinning her knuckles on an empty pallet, hoping that the traded bedding was actually here.

As a patrolman arrived with a lamp a shaft of light illuminated rows of austere pallets, the furthest one piled high with mattresses and covers. Kira grasped a mattress, hardly aware of a Domain Guard helping her, and pulled it onto a pallet so the injured man could be laid on it. His arm was heavily bound and splinted.

‘Shargh?’ Kira asked Jonred, gently unbinding it.

‘A fall. The plain’s wetter than a Caru woman’s . . .’ Jonred stopped, cleared his throat and peered about. ‘What have you done to the stables, Lady?’

‘Made them into a place for healing the injured.’

‘We need to take him to the bone-setter in the Illian Quarter,’ said Jonred.

‘Best he stays here,’ said Kira. ‘You don’t want to make the pain worse by carrying him through the city. What’s his name?’

‘Patrolman Sarim.’

Sarim shivered and Kira found a cover and gently tucked it over him.

‘We need the fire set, Jonred, so Sarim will be more at ease – and we need fewer of your men here,’ she added, busy with the injured man’s arm.

Jonred moved away, quietly issuing orders.

‘I’m going to take the pain away, then set your arm,’ Kira whispered to Sarim, putting her hands over his chest.

The journey into the burning tunnel never got any easier, and Kira gritted her teeth to hide her sickness as Jonred returned.

‘His horse went down south of the Breshlin, and he’s had a hard ride since,’ the Patrol Leader said.

‘Is the horse all right?’ asked Kira, probing for breaks and carefully bringing the bones into alignment.

‘Yes,’ said Jonred. ‘You’ve given Sarim something for the pain?’

‘Of course.’

‘How many breaks?’ asked Sarim hoarsely.

‘Three,’ said Kira.

Sarim blanched and groaned.

‘It’s his sword arm – he’s left-handed,’ explained Jonred.

‘It will mend the same,’ said Kira.

‘More than one break, another living you’ll make,’ quoted Jonred. ‘His sword arm will be useless.’

‘He’ll have full use of his arm, Jonred.’

‘That’s not what the bone-setters say.’

‘It’s what Healers say and know,’ said Kira.

A fire now burned in the grate, the Haelen already warming, but Kira fetched another cover for Sarim.

‘At dawn I’ll ensure Patrolman Sarim is escorted to his home, Lady. We stay two days to rest the horses, then return south,’ said Jonred.

‘I’ll visit Sarim there to ensure the healing goes well,’ said Kira. ‘Do you know which part of the plain the Tremen are on?’

‘The Feailner’s message is for the Keeper of the Domain,’ said Jonred, and paused, before saying carefully: ‘I must go to him now, for we’ve been delayed by Sarim and by the long journey from the west of Mendor Spur.’

Mendor Spur, thought Kira, aghast. It was where the slaughter of Tain men, women and children had been at its worst. ‘I thank you for your help, Patrol Leader Jonred,’ she said, managing a smile, but inside she felt as cold as Silvercades snow.

On the Sarsalin Plain, deep in the south-west, the last of the scouts came in, and Tierken and Caledon listened in tense silence as Adris received his report. It was the same as the others; the plain was empty of Shargh.

‘The Shargh have either gone north or turned east to Uthlin,’ said Caledon, staring at the cold campfire.

‘And, given the staleness of the filth they’ve left, they have a two-day start on us,’ said Adris, kicking at the pile of charred bones. ‘The Ashmiri have already gifted them horses and food, so comfortable lodgings will no doubt follow. What think you, Feailner?’

Tierken’s belly had been churning since they’d escorted the last of the herders to Maraschin. Now he knew why. When in doubt, trust your guts; they’re a long way from the excuses of your head, Poerin used to say. The Shargh couldn’t breach Sarnia, he thought, but then his blood congealed. ‘The Shargh could burn out the Rehan Valley,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s Sarnia’s main food source.’ Had the Shargh’s murderous exploits in the south simply been a ploy to drag him away from the defence of his own lands? Even with Kalos’s speed and endurance, he couldn’t catch them now!

‘We must split our men,’ said Caledon quickly. ‘With your leave, Feailner, take those with the swiftest horses north. King’s Guard too, if Adris allows. Delay the Shargh until Adris arrives with the rest of those mounted. I’ll bring the remainder on foot. If the Shargh have gone east, the threat’s delayed not eliminated. They’ll force the Ashmiri to decide between honour and treachery. All we can do is prepare for the outcome.’

Tierken galloped away with the Terak and Adris’s King’s Guard. They rode through the day and freezing night, stopped at dawn to rest the horses and snatch some sleep, then sped on. The Shargh trail was easy to follow: cold campfires, burned bones and an Ashmiri pony with a fractured leg. Their quarry took the easiest route, avoiding the slopes and stonelands, but Tierken couldn’t afford to. They travelled in silence, the Terak knowing what was at stake, the Tain having seen the destruction of The Westlans.

It wasn’t till dusk of the fourth day that they reached Cover-cape Crest.

‘They’re less than a day ahead, Feailner,’ said Vardrin, poking at a derelict fire.

Even that might mean carnage. But Tierken’s men still had to rest themselves and their horses. They tossed down their sleeping-sheets and crawled into them. Tierken remained standing, grimly contemplating the possibility that Caledon had been right after all – the fighting would be in the north. He should have understood what the Shargh’s long hatred meant. He’d been wrong to let his jealousy of Caledon cloud his judgement.

Vardrin approached. ‘Derkash says the weather changes, Feailner. He smells snow.’

Tierken’s heart leapt. Derkash was Kir and Kir were herding folk; weather-wisdom flowed in their veins. Tierken’s half-Kir mother had explained the Kir’s weather-wisdom, saying that people took careful note of the things that stole food from their belly. A plain’s storm could take half a herder’s animals in a single day, and wolves the other half.

Snow would slow the Shargh, Tierken reasoned, and his men would make up time – until the snow reached them. Then the gap would widen again – unless Irid sent wind too. In that case, the Shargh might be forced to seek shelter. The nearest was at Ember Keep, and they’d be safe there from the weather and from Tierken’s men.

Tierken resisted the urge to wrench Derkash from his sleeping-sheet and demand more information. The best a Kir could offer by way of explanation was to speak of feeling frost, smelling snow and seeing cloud, even when the sky was empty. Tierken would just have to wait. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was stopping the Shargh reaching the Rehan Valley.

In Sarnia, Kira’s pressing need for fireweed found her back in the Wastes again. The ground was treacherous with the recent rains, but she couldn’t afford to delay her search any longer. The messengers Laryia had sent to Kessom hadn’t found any fireweed there, but they’d brought back other useful herbs that were now stacked or hanging drying in the Haelen’s Herbery. The Haelen also had a store of lamps, lamp oil, flints and burning wood. If it only had fireweed too, Kira would be able to sleep at night.

Despite the filth from the taverns and gambling houses, the earth breathed and Kira realised with a wash of surprise that if more of Sarnia were like this, she might even be happy here. In the first Kiraon’s time, the air in the Wastes would have been filled with spice from the alwaysgreen, and each of the Wastes’ terraces fragrant with herbs and bright with their blooms. And it could be like that again – if Sarnia accepted healing.

‘Lady!’

It was Guard Leader Tharin, gesturing urgently. ‘The Keeper of the Domain requests your presence in the Meeting Hall,’ he called.

Stinking heart-rot, she thought, not moving. This was her first real opportunity in days to search for fireweed. Perhaps she wouldn’t go.

‘Immediately, Lady,’ said Tharin, his voice hard-edged.

As Kira reluctantly made her way towards him, she wondered whether Farid had discovered just how many precious things Laryia had traded for the Haelen. But when they reached the Domain, she saw that Ryn was busy rubbing down a mud-spattered horse and realised that her summons was related to something more serious than Laryia’s trades.

Farid and Laryia were waiting for her in the Meeting Hall with a white-faced messenger, who bowed and offered Kira a leather cylinder.

‘The Feailner of the Terak Kirillian sends message to Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ he said formally. ‘He requests you send your response back with me. My escort leaves at dawn, two days hence.’

He bowed again and the door closed behind him, but Kira didn’t open the cylinder. At least Tierken was alive, or had been when he’d sent the message, she reasoned, but it could only mean someone else important to her had been wounded – or killed.

‘You don’t have to open it now . . .’ said Laryia.

‘With respect, Lady, you do,’ said Farid. ‘If there’s something the Feailner requires, preparations must be made.’

Kira slid out the single sheet of paper, read it and sat down heavily. ‘Tremen Commander Pekrash is dead,’ she whispered. ‘The Feailner requests that I name a replacement.’

‘I’m so sorry, Kira,’ said Laryia, going to her side.

‘Perhaps I should name myself instead of skulking behind walls, wasting the lives of others,’ said Kira.

‘No! You’d risk everyone,’ said Farid. ‘The Shargh would use you against your people and us. If you have any love for those who fight, you’ll remain here.’

Kira and Laryia stared at him.

‘The Feailner and I discussed why the Shargh might hunt you, Lady,’ he went on. ‘They’d know from the Ashmiri that a gold-eyed Feailner rules the north. The Shargh believe that unusual things portend ill for them, and they’d see a gold-eyed woman coming together with the hated Northern Leader as a very evil thing indeed.’

‘Why didn’t they kill me when they had the chance, then?’ challenged Kira.

‘You’re more use to them alive,’ said Farid. ‘Alive they can use you to extract all sorts of concessions from your people and from us. The Feailner would trade his own life before giving yours.’

There was a strained silence.

‘Perhaps I’ve said more than I should,’ said Farid. ‘If so, I beg your pardon now, Lady, and I’ll beg the Feailner’s on his return. In the meantime, it’s important you remain here – for all our sakes.’

Kira made many attempts over the following two days to compose the message that must be sent back, but she had no idea who to appoint as Commander, nor what words to use. Tierken’s message to her had been brief and impersonal: The Terak Feailner regrets to inform Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan that Commander Pekrash has been lost in battle. The Terak Feailner requests the name of the new Tremen Commander.

He’d written nothing about forbidding the Haelen, or missing her, or loving her. In fact, the more Kira thought about their time together, the more blurred and uncertain it became. She remembered their arguments more clearly than any words of love, and although Tierken had asked her to marry him, he’d refused to bond in the Tremen way.

Such musings weren’t helping her complete the task, she thought in irritation, taking another sheet of paper, and dipping her pen in the ink again. Tremen Leader Feailner of Kashclan asks that . . . By the ’green! She spent her life asking the Terak Feailner for things, hanging on his permission, living her life according to his commands.

Kira tossed down the pen and strode out onto the balcony. The sky blushed pink and the last of the sun caught the coloured-glass window, reminding her of her first night in the Domain. Since then she’d come to know Farid’s kindness, Laryia’s sweetness and . . . Tierken. It seemed to her that in some ways she and Tierken mirrored the paradox of the insignia blazing in the window: the slow growth of the alwaysgreen and the speed of the running horse, two things that could never be in harmony.

Yet, Tierken loved her, it was plain in his face. But perhaps it was time that his commitment to her people was tested too. Then, even as she watched, the sun shifted and the fire died from the glass. Unsettled yet resolved, she turned back to her rooms. At least she knew now what she must do.

The Weshargh and Soushargh were north of Cover-cape Crest when they encountered the snow. Orbdargan pulled his collar closer and scowled up at the sky, then had to wrench his horse sideways to avoid a collision with Yrshin, who had suddenly halted. Orbdargan ground his teeth as the Soushargh warriors milled about like leaderless ebis. This was just the latest in a long line of irritations that included Yrshin’s need to fill his belly several times a day, and the failure of Arkendrin and Yrshin to forge the sort of friendship needed to meld their warriors into a single force.

As the wind sharpened, Orbdargan wiped the snow from his eyes, still determined to press on, not waste time here.

‘We need shelter,’ said Yrshin, swatting at the snow as if it were blackflies.

‘This is little compared with the far northern plains. Snow can be as hard to see through as sorcha walls there,’ said Orbdargan, urging his horse forward.

But Yrshin didn’t move and, cursing under his breath, Orbdargan halted again. ‘It’s likely to be clear ahead,’ he said. ‘The Ashmiri say storms travel quickly on the Sarsalin. They’re severe sometimes, but short. We need to continue – the Northerners are likely on our heels.’

‘The snow will catch them too, then,’ retorted Yrshin. ‘There are caves west of here – the Yaragars. They’ve water and good shelter, big enough for horses. We go there.’

It was bad enough to have the Cashgar Chief far to the southwest, still refusing to ride – now Yrshin wanted to go his own way too, thought Orbdargan.

‘I’ve heard of those caves,’ he said. ‘If the Northerners catch us, we’ll be trapped like scuttle-lizards.’

‘The caves are high and all three give good views. We’ll not be trapped.’

‘Three? There’s two, with a third collapsed,’ said Orbdargan.

‘There’s three,’ growled Yrshin. ‘Your Weshargh knowing is poor.’

The snow thickened rapidly, turning the air as white as the sky. The Soushargh warriors muttered, and their horses tossed their heads, infected by their riders’ unease.

Yrshin still glared at Orbdargan, who nodded briefly. ‘These must be different caves,’ he said grudgingly, not wanting to split their strength further. They might as well go home, he thought, if the Soushargh acted as the Cashgar did. ‘You go first, as Soushargh knowing is truer.’

They turned west, and after a while the wind lessened and the sky reappeared.

Orbdargan urged his horse level with Yrshin’s again. ‘The weather smiles once more, Soushargh Chief. We should turn back and resume our way north.’

‘If the weather’s as you say, it will still be fine on the morrow,’ said Yrshin.

‘But we waste a day for no gain,’ said Orbdargan.

‘We? I lead the Soushargh. Turn back if you will, Weshargh Chief.’

‘We’ve already left a third of our strength behind. Do the tales of our defeat in seasons past mean nothing to you?’

‘Our forebears died with honour in battle. They didn’t freeze to death,’ retorted Yrshin.

The Soushargh had formed a rough semi-circle around their Chief, and Orbdargan bit back a retort. ‘Our forebears also honoured their blood-ties,’ he said instead. ‘If west is the way you would go, Soushargh Chief, then your blood-ties go that way too.’

Yrshin didn’t reply, simply urged his mount forward. But Orbdargan let the gap between them widen. Let the mighty Soushargh go bravely towards a snug bed in a stone sleeping-room, but he would be in no rush to follow.

Night fell and the wind increased to a roar, forcing Orbdargan to wrap his spare shirt around his frozen ears. Then wolf howls joined the darkness and his men closed in around him. Despite the thickness of the night, Yrshin had increased his pace, the smudged outlines of the trailing Soushargh now barely visible in front. Orbdargan hunched down in the saddle, his anger increasing.

Then a wraith flickered on the edge of his vision. It was a wolf, he realised, whirling and grabbing his spear.

‘Wolves!’ he shouted, as the howls began.

He’d killed many wolves in his time but they’d all been solitary ones. He remembered the Ashmiri Chief telling him about how wolves pack-hunted on the stony places of the north, when the weather favoured them. The howls were all around them now, joined by the shrieking of horses and the screams of the Soushargh ahead. The pack had attacked!

Orbdargan spurred his mount forward, only to see the dim outline of the Soushargh horse directly in front disappear into blackness. He jerked his horse to a stop and dashed the snow from his eyes as another Soushargh horse staggered, its eyes wild as its hoofs gouged the snow. Then it, too, was gone. Somehow its rider managed to claw his way back out of the darkness and lay gasping on the snow.

‘Get back!’ screamed Orbdargan to those behind him. ‘Get back!’ Where in this filthy night were the rest of the Soushargh, he wondered. And where was Yrshin?

‘Form a circle, keep your faces outward, ’ware wolves!’ he yelled.

Jumping from his horse and tightening his grip on his spear, he crept forward, using the spear to probe the snow. It had been churned to slush by the mounted Soushargh, then ended. There was nothing. Orbdargan took another careful step, and his spear stabbed into air.

Groping around for a stone, he tossed it forward, hearing nothing but the empty howl of the wind. The third cave was a massive hole in the ground.

‘Yrshin!’ he bawled with all his strength.

The wind answered him with a high-pitched keening and he turned and stumbled back to his warriors.

There was blood on the snow, a dead wolf, and the surviving Soushargh in a huddle to one side. Orbdargan counted swiftly. Of nearly two hundred Soushargh, only fifteen remained. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

‘Are Yrshin’s blood-ties among you?’ he demanded hoarsely.

The Soushargh warrior who’d gouged his way back onto solid land gestured with a bloody hand. ‘Aukran rode next to the Chief, as did Irmrin, his sister-son. There’s no one else.’ His eyes were as empty as the night.

The wind moaned and the horses snorted and stamped.

‘You ride under me now,’ said Orbdargan. ‘We go east. If the snow clears we’ll camp; if not, we’ll travel till dawn.’

The warriors went in silence, Orbdargan at their head. He’d have to delay his attack on the north till the Cashgar Shargh caught up – and even then, they mightn’t be enough. The Ashmiri said the northern city was large, and that Northerners also lived in the mountains at its back.

He ground his teeth as he considered his ill fortune. If any good at all came from this cursed night, it was that the Ashmiri’s time of comfortable betrayal was finally over.

Further to the east, the exhausted Terak and King’s Guard had come to a halt. Tierken and Vardrin walked on side by side, leading their mounts, ignoring the whine and buffet of the wind as they kicked the snow aside, looking for signs of their quarry.

‘Nothing, Feailner,’ said Vardrin.

‘No,’ agreed Tierken, rubbing his neck. ‘If they went to Ember Keep, we might actually be in front of them.’

‘Or they might have already crossed the Breshlin,’ said Vardrin.

Tierken wondered morosely whether Vardrin had Illian blood, for he had the same propensity to state unpalatable truths as Marin. He stared back at his waiting men, sitting slumped in their saddles.

‘We’ll go on to the Breshlin,’ said Tierken. ‘If they’ve crossed the river, there’ll be some evidence of it, unless Irid’s sent snow there too.’

‘And if they haven’t crossed it?’

‘Then Irid’s blessed us. We’ll have time to rest, to send warning to Sarnia, and consider how best to greet our visitors.’

They found no snow at the Breshlin and no sign of the Shargh. Tierken’s men crossed the river and set camp at the ford but he rode on, his gaze on the Silvercades. They were clothed in cloud, but there was no sign of smoke. He yearned to go on to the Rehan Valley to reassure himself that all was well, but Kalos was too tired to carry him that far. Besides, he needed sleep as well.

The men not guarding were already asleep when he returned, Tain next to Terak, with sleeping-sheets unfastened and weapons ready. Tierken found a place by the fire and gulped down the scalding cotzee Shird had brewed, barely noticing it burning his mouth. If only he knew for sure that he were ahead of the Shargh. There were crossing places further north on the Breshlin, but those crossings were steep-banked, with rushing water that would prove hazardous to the smaller Ashmiri horses. He didn’t think the Shargh would attempt them.

The Cashgar Shargh’s reluctance to ride also made it unlikely that they’d reached the Breshlin, but even without the Cashgar, the Soushargh and Weshargh vastly outnumbered him. Adris’s men were a day behind, and Caledon’s at least two, which meant that Tierken would have to face the Shargh alone. He must harry rather than fight them, all the way to the Rehan Valley if necessary, slowing rather than stopping them, until Adris and Caledon caught up. The notion was galling, but he refused to lose men in a battle that he couldn’t win.

Tierken tossed the dregs of his cotzee away and crawled into his sleeping-sheet, placing his sword and bow nearby. But it seemed only a moment later that a hand on his shoulder jerked him awake.

It was Ayled. ‘Horses, Feailner, from the north.’

By Irid! The Shargh had completed their bloody work in the Rehan Valley, and were coming back to finish them off! Tierken grabbed his arrows and scrambled upright, looking around wildly. Then Ayled’s lack of alarm penetrated his tired brain and he realised it was Jonred’s escort returning from Sarnia.

‘You’ve seen Shargh?’ Tierken demanded before Jonred had time to dismount.

‘None, Feailner. We had a horse down and a broken arm going north, but nothing coming south.’

‘No sign of camps, Ashmiri horses, droppings?’

‘None, Feailner.’

Tierken heaved a sigh of relief. ‘The Shargh have run for the north, Jonred, and we’ve chased them since. Four days ago we were at Mendor Spur. King Adris is a day behind with the rest of the horsemen, the Lord Caledon at least two with those on foot.’

‘Mendor Spur, Feailner?’ breathed Jonred. ‘Meros must have given you wings.’

‘He sent snow, which was more use. We think it’s allowed us to get ahead of them.’

‘They’re close?’

‘Closer than King Adris and Lord Caledon. I need you in the north, Jonred, as swiftly as possible. I want the Rehan Valley emptied, the people within the walls and their herds close to the gate. And I want patrols at the valley’s mouth. Call up every fighting man we have. We need to be ready. And Sarnia must be prepared to take wounded too.’

‘It is, Feailner.’

Tierken stared at him blankly.

‘The Lady Kira has had the east stables cleaned and weather-proofed, and there are beds and herbs.’

Tierken was silent. Kira had defied him – again – but why in Irid’s name had Farid allowed her to? Rosham must be positively salivating at the possibilities such a breach in tradition opened up: the new Feailner’s lack of respect for the ways Terak established; his weakening of the Sarnians’ hardiness developed through an absence of healing; his covert approval of the Healer twin’s desertion. The list went on.

But the presence of the Haelen also meant that his wounded men wouldn’t have to make the difficult and painful journey to Kessom to receive aid. And more would survive to fight again.

‘I’ll leave you half the escort, Feailner,’ said Jonred. ‘You’ll need every man you can get.’

‘No. My orders must reach Sarnia. Pass them to Nordrin and Barid so that if things go amiss, at least one of you should reach the Keeper with them. The battle won’t be won or lost here, Jonred. We’ll slow them, that’s all. We need time and I’ll trade for it as I must, but with their blood, not ours!’

Then he clapped Jonred on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you at the Rehan’s mouth,’ he said.

Orbdargan and his warriors were camped in the lee of a small rise so close to the Breshlin that Orbdargan could hear the river’s flow. He fumed as he considered the ill news of Orfedren’s reconnoitring. Thanks to Yrshin’s fatal stupidity, the Northerners now held the ford.

According to Orfedren, there were no foot-warriors among them, the number of horses equal to the men who slept around their fires. Had Yrshin not robbed him of half his force, Orbdargan could have destroyed them easily, but his numbers were now the same as theirs and the Northerners were more practised at fighting on horseback.

Orbdargan would still win any battle, but the cost in warriors would be more than he wanted to pay. So he must either find another crossing place or idle away his time here waiting for the Cashgar. And while he waited, the rest of the stinking Northerners would catch up. Whichever way he looked at it, any advantage had been lost.

Orbdargan came to a decision. ‘We go south,’ he said.

‘South?’ said Orfedren in surprise.

‘We’ll find another crossing place and then go east. We’ll remind Uthlin that Shargh blood flows in Ashmiri veins. In the meantime, Arkendrin’s force can take care of the filthy thieves here. And by the time we return with Uthlin’s warriors, no one will be able to stop our sweep north.’

It was close to dusk and Adris and his men were well east of Cover-cape Crest when Nirthrin galloped back to report Shargh coming towards them.

‘Mounted Shargh, on this side of the Breshlin, coming south?’ repeated Adris.

‘Yes, coming south, King Adris,’ said Nirthrin.

‘How many?’

‘About ten patrols, mostly mounted. I didn’t count exact numbers,’ added Nirthrin apologetically. ‘I didn’t want to be seen.’

There hadn’t been time for the Shargh to overrun Tierken and his men, do their murderous work in the north, and return, thought Adris. So if the Shargh were on the western side of the Breshlin, it meant Tierken had reached the ford before them. But why hadn’t the Shargh slashed their way through if their intention was to sack the Rehan Valley?

‘They must have split their men,’ said Adris, although Meros only knew why. ‘Or fought with Tierken and lost many.’ Well, best deal with what he did know. For whatever reason, the Shargh came his way along the river. The plain was stonier here and the Breshlin more confined, flowing deeper and faster than at the ford. It provided a useful barrier against any easterly escape.

‘How long?’ he asked.

‘Before dark.’

Adris smiled, and silently thanked Meros for granting him time to prepare.

At the Breshlin Ford, Tierken had taken Shird and Vardrin back over the river to scout the Shargh’s whereabouts. Beyond the first rise south they found an abandoned campsite with the fire ashes still warm.

‘Judging from the droppings, close to two hundred horses, Feailner,’ said Vardrin, returning from his inspection of the Shargh’s tethering site. ‘The tracks go south.’

Tierken’s mystification deepened. There were fewer Shargh than Adris had suggested, and it made no sense that they would turn south after their swift travel north. Perhaps they’d drawn off to the hillier land at the back of Ember Keep to tempt him into battle there. Or maybe this was a diversion, designed to lure him away so that the rest of the Shargh could cross the Breshlin at the ford.

Tierken and his men set off at an easy canter back to their camp, though the Terak Feailner felt anything but relaxed. If the Shargh had gone south, they could end up in a fight with either Adris’s or Caledon’s men. He hoped it was Adris’s, for the mounted Shargh would have the advantage over the Tremen on foot. And for all their agility and skill, the Tremen weren’t battle-hardened like the Tain so the cost in Tremen blood would be high.

His thoughts turned to Kira, and by a curious coincidence, given the direction of his musings, he found Arnil waiting for him at the ford with a message cylinder from her. He wondered who she had named as the new Tremen Commander.

‘Have you seen Shargh?’ asked Tierken, still anxious that somehow the Shargh had slipped past him.

‘The north seems clear of their bloody presence,’ said Arnil.

Tierken nodded, intent on the cylinder and surprised that it contained something wrapped in paper rather than a message-sheet. Tierken’s heart quickened as he guessed what it might be, and he dismissed the patrolman before carefully unfolding the paper.

It was Kira’s ring; the ring she claimed Kasheron had taken south; the ring she insisted was proof of Terak and Tremen kinship. It sat in his palm, a small thing in itself, but a weighty challenge to his denial of her claims. To put it on would not only be to assume command of the Tremen forces, but to accept Kira’s claim of kinship as well.

Tierken thrust the ring deep into his pocket and strode back to his men. ‘Break camp,’ he ordered. ‘We go north.’

Caledon’s force was still two days from the Breshlin Ford, but the weather had stayed fine and they’d encountered no Shargh. Even so, as Tresen trudged along beside his Tremen and Tain comrades, he wore fear like another layer of grimy clothes. The plain wasn’t as flat as it looked, with hollows capable of hiding dense patches of trees, or rank bogs, or Shargh. Tresen hadn’t realised just how comforting the presence of the Tain King and the Terak Feailner had been until they’d galloped away. They were big men, on big horses, who didn’t seem to fear anything.

Each night Caledon instructed them on how to respond to mounted attacks, but Caledon’s training only added to Tresen’s dread. In his dreams, he often saw Pekrash’s face, wide-eyed in death, and he’d grown used to waking in a sweat, in the same way that he’d grown used to the queasiness that eating meat brought. There was no time to seek out nut groves now, and barely time even to cook the silverjacks properly. Since Pekrash’s death, fires were lit for only a short while, making the nights long, dark and chill.

Tresen was preparing himself for yet another nauseating meal of meat when there was a scream. He froze, and someone shoved him violently sideways as a spear sliced past and impaled the man behind. Next thing, a Shargh leapt towards him and Tresen threw up his blade, the shock of the clash jarring the old wound to his shoulder and sending him stumbling backwards. The Shargh pursued him, then there was a sickening squelch as a Tain sword slashed down, showering Tresen with blood.

Terrified, Tresen set his feet and focused on the Shargh in front. His breath rasped and time seemed to slow as he parried and thrust, cutting and slashing. His whole focus narrowed until all that existed was the blood-soaked sword endlessly slashing at him. Some small part of him knew that the sword was wielded by different Shargh, and that he, Healer Tresen, killed. But that part was far away, beyond the terror and desperation that gripped him. It seemed an age before he became aware that the churn of fighting had faded away. Chest heaving, Tresen gazed about, then lowered his sword. His hands were greasy with sweat and blood. There were Tain and Tremen wounded all around him and his thoughts were already turning to staunching bleeding and using fireweed. He’d need a lot of bandages too.

Then something smashed into his back, the force hurling him forward onto his knees. For a moment he swayed, gazing in horror at blood dripping onto the ground before him. His blood, he realised. Then the pain tore through him and he crashed forward into darkness.

To the north, Adris and his men hid in a shallow dip, further from the river than Adris would have liked. He had hoped that the Shargh wouldn’t hug the bank, but when they finally came into sight, they rode along the very edge of the river. Adris cursed silently, realising the Shargh would see his men well before they were within arrow range.

He counted about two hundred Shargh, thinking that some of them must have slipped past Tierken, or for some cowardly reason, fled the encounter with the Feailner and his men. Whatever had happened further north, Adris wanted to ensure that as few as possible of the murdering brutes escaped to rejoin their comrades. Waiting till they were close, he gave the signal and his men swept towards the river. But instead of taking up defensive positions, running north or south along the bank, or galloping to meet them, the Shargh milled about chaotically, before spurring their horses into the water. They were going to attempt a crossing!

Adris loosed arrow after arrow as he struggled to comprehend the scene before him. The water was full of men and horses floundering in the swift current. Adris matched his pace to the river’s flow and galloped south, shooting at those in the water. Panic-stricken horses struggled up the bank and galloped riderless beside him, and drowning horses swept past. Then the first of the Shargh reached the other side and Adris bawled a warning, expecting a throw of spears. Instead, the surviving Shargh galloped off on their sodden beasts. Oddly, they appeared to be Weshargh, with no evidence of the Soushargh or Cashgar Shargh.

Adris wrenched his mount to a halt, watching until the Shargh were specks on the plain, going east, towards the Ashmiri.

Night fell as Caledon supervised the gruesome task of burning the dead. The stench of burning Tremen and Tain was the same, but the reaction of the survivors starkly different. The Tain stood in a solemn circle around the pyre, farewelling the spirits of their friends as the spirits fled upwards to the stars, but the Tremen huddled as far away from the choking fires as possible, backs turned and heads bowed.

The Tremen didn’t love Caledon for what he did, but they didn’t hate him either, understanding that burials took time, and that time could cost the lives of the wounded. The Tain had fared better than the Tremen, with fewer deaths and many of the injured still able to walk. All the wounded Tremen would have to be carried, except for Tresen, who wouldn’t survive the night. They would be vulnerable to the lurking Shargh, too, who had been beaten back for now, but not for long.

Though Arlen had purified and stitched Tresen’s wound as best he could, Tresen’s face was the colour of soiled snow and his breathing low. Caledon contemplated him grimly. The Tallien had come to know Miken in his time in Allogrenia, and had met Tenerini and Mikini, but while he grieved for them his thoughts were mostly for Kira. Now she would truly be alone.

Then hoofbeats sounded and he whirled, drawing his sword and yelling a warning as his men scrambled to ready themselves for battle. But as the Ashmiri horses drew nearer, wet and riderless, and the Tain leapt forward to capture them, Caledon stared in disbelief. Then he fell to his knees, all but weeping in relief.

‘Thank you, Aeris,’ he muttered. ‘Thank you.’

Despite the freezing winds and threatening rain, Kira was at the Wastes again, searching for fireweed. Her search had been much delayed, for news of Patrolman Sarim’s wonderfully healed arm had spread widely – and alerted the Terak to the presence of a cure for their multitude of ills. Since then, so many people had come to the Haelen that Kira had been forced to ask Laryia to help.

Kira found the turn of events astonishing, given the antagonism to healing present in Sarnia. She had overheard heated debates about the Haelen’s presence as she’d moved about the city and had Rosham turn his back at her approach. But in the end, no mother would willingly condemn her child to illness or pain if a remedy were to be found, and no husband was prepared to sit by and watch his wife suffer. And so they came.

Laryia’s Healer-knowing surprised Kira as well. Tierken’s sister had acquired many skills from Eris, and was quick to learn more, and she had great strength hidden beneath her sweet exterior. First, she’d managed to circumvent Tierken’s prohibition of the Haelen, and now she was proving herself to be a knowledgeable and clear-headed Healer. At least Tierken had sent word officially recognising the Haelen, which meant its needs could be openly traded for. Unfortunately, the recognition had accompanied the news that the fighting was coming closer to Sarnia – and that meant Kira must have fireweed.

The winds were freshening and Kira shivered and drew her cape about her, haunted by the fear that there might not be fireweed anywhere in the north. It hadn’t been on the list of Queen Kiraon’s plantings that she’d finally found in the Writing Store, but still Kira searched, not knowing what else to do. Her only small hope was that one of the many strange herbs on the list might serve the same purpose. Sun-stripe perhaps, or torch-flower. The names seemed promising.

Ragged veils of rain began to gust across the Wastes and the Guard huddled stoically under their capes, their faces carefully neutral. They should be grateful they weren’t being soaked from the legs up too, thought Kira, as she struggled through the sodden growth. Her hands were numb but she harvested two plants unfamiliar to her – one with white flowers and the other with orange – not entirely sure they weren’t simply pretty weeds.

Clouds built and finally the failing light meant that she couldn’t see well enough to gather. Cursing, she trudged back to the Domain with her wet Guard.

Niria, her server, was building the fire when Kira entered her rooms, and looked up as Kira deposited her soggy harvest on the table.

‘You’ve found bressil-white, Lady,’ she said, fingering the white-flowered plant.

‘You know it?’ asked Kira, dragging off her cape.

‘It’s used to reduce fever. Bressil is the Illian word for chill.’

‘Is nasen an Illian word too?’ asked Kira, recalling another strange name she’d found in the list of plantings.

Niria nodded. ‘There’s no real Onespeak or Terak equivalent, but the leaves are used as a salve for cuts and scrapes. It’s a pretty purple colour.’

‘And is this torch-flower?’ asked Kira, indicating the plant with orange flowers.

‘Oh no, Lady,’ said Niria.

‘Well, what does torch-flower look like then?’ asked Kira.

‘Why, like a flaming torch – especially when it’s ripe,’ said Niria.

Kira stilled, then sucked in her breath. ‘Where –’ she began excitedly, but at that moment the door was flung open and Laryia and Farid burst in.

Seeing their expressions, Niria hastily curtseyed and left.

Laryia caught Kira’s hands. ‘Kira, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

Kira’s gaze flicked between her anguished face and Farid’s, a macabre bargain starting up in her head. If the Terak gods were to grant her a single life, whose would she choose: Tierken’s, Caledon’s or Tresen’s?

‘Who?’ she whispered.

‘Healer Tresen,’ said Farid.

The room receded and Farid lowered her into a chair, Laryia crouching in front. ‘He’s at the Haelen, Kira.’

‘He’s here?’ gasped Kira.

‘He’s terribly wounded Kira. He can’t be saved.’

Kira lurched out of the chair and stumbled from the room, picking up speed as she ran along the balcony, across the courtyard and down the dark, rain-slicked Domain path. Rain stung her face and by the time she reached the Haelen she was drenched, her ribs screaming.

Tresen lay on a pallet, soaked, absolutely still, his face the colour of wax.

‘I’m sorry, Lady,’ said Jarvid, muddy and hollow-eyed. ‘We travelled fast and without rest. The Feailner gave men to bring him. We’ve done what we could.’

Tresen had no pulse, but Kira tore open his jacket and shirt, and laid her hands on the cold skin of his chest.

She had expected empty blackness, but found a torrent of fire; he was already in the heart of the flames. Kira clawed her way after him, screaming his name.

Either we’re together in life or we’re together in death.

Tresen turned, but there was no peace in his face and no beauty, just the agony of the flames. Kira was burning now as well, and the part of her that wanted to live shrieked at her to be gone. But too much had already been stolen from her by the Shargh. She refused to relinquish Tresen to them. And even as the flames burned bright, seeking to consume her, her love burned brighter, pulling Tresen back, pulling them both back to life. Abruptly, she was no longer in the tunnel, but nor was she fully in the Haelen – she was somewhere grey. Laryia and Farid moved in the distance, as if underwater, gradually drifting away . . .

Kira struggled to open her eyes. She could feel the warmth of a gentle fire, and she saw Laryia, but in a different gown. The shutters were open and sunlight streamed in, catching Laryia’s hair as she leaned over Tresen. The effort was too much.

Time seemed to have jerked forward when Kira next became aware of her surroundings; the sunlight was gone and she could smell lamp oil.

‘Is it late?’ she asked, surprised that her mouth had delivered the words in her head.

‘Thank Irid!’ exclaimed Laryia, leaning over her. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Is Tresen dead?’

‘He sleeps.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘He sleeps, Kira. And you should sleep too.’

Laryia’s suggestion was like a draught of sickleseed sending her thoughts into a slow, swirling drift. Kira’s eyes closed.

As Kira’s pulse slowed and she slipped into a sleep that seemed more normal, Laryia turned her attention back to Tresen. According to the escort, Lord Caledon had sent Tresen north on captured Ashmiri horses and somehow Tresen’s escort had found Tierken. Once on Terak horses, the journey had been quicker, though no less dreadful. Tresen’s survival still seemed impossible, despite what Kira had done – whatever that was.

Laryia gazed at the wounded man who lay face down on the pallet. He was only the second Tremen she’d seen, and though he didn’t look like Kira their build and skin colouring were similar. His hair was darker, but it might be lighter once the mud was washed out. He had been too close to death to cleanse till now.

Laryia drew some water from the pan beside the fire and cleaned the side of his face she could reach, deciding that it was a kind face rather than handsome, although he might be handsome if he had nice eyes. But he was filthy. Laryia fetched pillows and used them to prop Tresen on his side so that she could ease him out of his blood-stained jacket and shirt. The bandage was stiff with stale blood as well, and to her horror, she saw that new blood seeped through.

The bandage needed to be changed and she glanced worriedly at Kira, but Kira’s face was almost as white as Tresen’s. If only Kira were awake, and well, and able to take charge, thought Laryia. But she guessed that wouldn’t be the case for at least another day, and Tresen needed care now.

Tentatively, Laryia peeled away the bandage, trying to prepare herself for what she would see. But nothing could have prepared her. She clung to the pallet retching and struggling to stay upright. It seemed that all the tales of Terak’s glorious victories were suddenly reduced to this – the blasted body of a young man.

Laryia sobbed as she cleaned around the wound, glad that no one was there to witness it. She left the pink paste intact, and applied sorren where raw flesh was exposed. Then she covered the wound with clean bandages, wiped her face dry with her sleeve, drew a fresh pan of water and continued to wash away the sweat and dirt from Tresen’s shoulders and belly. The mundane act of cleaning him calmed her. She noticed that he was more slightly built than a Terak, though his shoulders and torso were well muscled, and that despite his hands being calloused, they were almost as fine as Kira’s. Like his clanmate, he wore no rings. Having seen the wound on Tresen’s back, Laryia understood why metal was hated in Allogrenia.

She didn’t remove his breeches, flushing slightly at the thought, but eased off his boots and washed his feet. Once that was done, she brought another cover from the store and tucked it over him, then settled on the seat between him and Kira, tired but knowing she daren’t sleep. They both needed to be watched, and there was no one else.

Kira had once said that it was pointless having a Haelen without herbs, but now as Laryia eased her aching shoulders back against the wall, she realised that it was also pointless having a Haelen without helpers. Rosham and his followers barely tolerated the Haelen, and then only because it remained little more than a modified stable, tucked away in the shadow of the wall.

But if the fighting came north and wounded flooded in, the Haelen would need to draw upon the full resources of the Domain. And this, Laryia knew, Rosham and his supporters wouldn’t tolerate, or ignore.

Despite her best intentions, Laryia slept. When she woke at dawn, she was horrified to see that the cover over Tresen was still. With a shaking hand, she pushed the shutters open to let in the early morning light, then gasped at his wide, staring eyes. Tresen blinked and she all but collapsed with relief.

‘This can’t be death,’ he whispered. ‘Death has no beauty and you are beautiful.’

‘You’re in the Terak Kirillian city of Sarnia, in our Haelen,’ said Laryia. ‘Are you in pain?’

‘There’s no pain in death,’ said Tresen, then closed his eyes.

‘You’re not in death,’ said Laryia mechanically. ‘You’re in the Terak Kirillian city of Sarnia.’

Tresen made no response and she laid trembling fingers on his neck; his pulse was weak but steady. She shut her eyes and exhaled slowly. ‘Thank you, Irid,’ she whispered.

The sun was well up and the sounds of Sarnia floating in the Haelen window when Farid returned.

‘Surely you haven’t been here all night?’ he said.

‘Where else?’ said Laryia, made irritable by weariness. ‘Kira must have someone with her since she’s made herself ill in Tresen’s saving, and there’s no one else.’

‘In his saving?’ gasped Farid.

‘I can’t say he’ll live,’ said Laryia, ‘but my heart hopes he will – for Kira’s sake.’

In truth, Tresen looked closer to death than life, and the hope that had fired with his waking had since faded. But he’d spoken, and was now sleeping, rather than unconscious, and surely these were good signs.

‘Has Kira woken?’ asked Farid.

‘Briefly.’

‘Tierken will be angered when he hears what she’s done to herself.’

‘You don’t have to tell him,’ said Laryia, looking at Farid sideways.

‘You know I have to report what happens in his city,’ said Farid. ‘Those who come here for smaller ills will soon spread the tale. And it’s better Tierken hears the truth than a twisted version of events from the gossips.’

‘If we start receiving wounded, Kira and I are going to need help, Farid,’ said Laryia. ‘We can salve and stitch but we’ll need people to wash the injured and sit with them.’

‘The Haelen has been authorised, but I haven’t been instructed to send the Domain servers here.’

‘Tierken probably hasn’t thought of it, that’s all. The server’s role is to serve the Feailner’s family. I don’t recall that it had to be within the Domain’s walls.’

‘They are the Domain servers,’ Farid pointed out.

‘Only because that’s where the Feailner and his family live. If I were to fall and sprain my ankle on the Domain path, would they render me aid?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, I’m at the bottom of the Domain path, and I need their assistance to alleviate my tiredness, and my hunger, and my lack of clean clothing,’ she said, yawning and rubbing her eyes for good measure.

‘I will instruct them to render that assistance then,’ said Farid with a smile. ‘But I will need to inform the Feailner.’

‘By all means,’ said Laryia. ‘We’re also going to need a place to prepare food, and somewhere for Kira and I to sleep – and for those who help us.’

‘As the Haelen has now been authorised, I can arrange that without sending message to the Feailner,’ said Farid in relief.

Laryia watched him go. Farid did have to carry out Tierken’s instructions to the letter, she reminded herself, as she settled on the seat between Tresen’s and Kira’s pallets. Outside the Haelen, Guard shouted orders, children cried and men and women called to each other as the people from the Rehan Valley poured in. They needed to be billeted throughout the city, and their animals housed in the lee of the wall. The whole operation was a massive organisational task, but one she knew Farid would accomplish with his usual efficiency.

Laryia couldn’t imagine the Rehan Valley burning, having enjoyed many pleasant rides along the banks of the Steelwater, and through the orchards of fruiting trees. And if the valley came under attack, it would mean that the Shargh were little more than a day from the walls! To distract herself from the terrifying thought, she began to review what she knew of salving and stitching wounds, preventing fevers, setting bones, and ensuring the injured took water and food.

Growing with Eris in Kessom meant Laryia had watched her at work many times, and had helped to minister and to gather. She’d also prepared potions and pastes. But all this had been before Darid’s death and her coming to Sarnia. She’d barely thought of healing since. Tierken had been forced to put aside his Kessomi ways, and she’d followed suit.

Laryia frowned, wondering why she’d ever accepted that so many women died birthing in Sarnia, that sufferers of broken bones continued their lives with crooked or weakened limbs, and that children carried the scars of their scaldings and burnings into adulthood. Surely the people of Sarnia were as deserving of cure as the people of Kessom?

Rising wearily, Laryia went to the Herbery, scanning each pot and drying bunch, and dredging her memory for their preparation and uses. She should offer Tresen beesblest, not water, she realised in dismay, and quickly mixed a batch. But on her return, Tresen looked so awful that she touched his cheek to see if he still lived.

Blinking away tears of relief as he stirred, she settled beside him, determined to remain awake to give him the bees-blest as soon as he woke. But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to stay wakeful, she admitted to herself. When she had glimpsed his eyes before, she’d noticed that they were the brown of river pebbles seen through water, and she wanted to see them again.

Laryia was rewarded for her persistence by Tresen rousing twice during the day, not speaking, but swallowing small amounts of beesblest. Laryia’s hope grew and she gave herself permission to imagine him hale again, laughing and joking with Kira. But Kira still slept almost as deeply as Tresen. And when Kira finally woke at dusk, Laryia was disturbed to see that the gold in her eyes had been replaced by a dull green.

‘When is it?’ asked Kira.

‘Almost night again. You’ve slept another day.’

‘And Tresen?’

‘Sleeping. I changed the bandage and he’s taken beesblest.’

Kira stared at her in surprise.

‘Was that the wrong thing to give him?’ asked Laryia anxiously.

‘No – you’ve done well. But . . . he might still die, Laryia.’

‘I don’t think you’ll allow that.’

‘I won’t allow it without me,’ said Kira. ‘But I won’t have the strength to bring him back a second time, nor myself.’

Laryia clenched her hands to stop their shake. ‘What is it you do when you take pain?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know what I do,’ said Kira. ‘I find myself in a burning tunnel with a wall of flame at the end.’

‘Doesn’t it hurt you, this tunnel?’

‘It feels like I’m burning too, which is why I’m sick when I come back. But the feeling passes.’

‘How horrible! You mustn’t do it!’ exclaimed Laryia.

‘You’re suggesting I let Tresen die?’

‘No!’

‘Then you’re telling me to let the children of others die? Or their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters?’

‘I’m frightened it might kill you,’ whispered Laryia.

‘So am I,’ said Kira, trying to smile.

There was a long pause. ‘But it doesn’t have to be all one thing or all another, does it, Kira?’ said Laryia, steadying. ‘We have herbs to still pain, and I’ve organised servers to come here to help, so you can rest more.’

Kira was doubtful that the taking of pain could be replaced by anything, but she didn’t want to discourage Laryia. ‘If we’re to have servers, we’ll need more trade, won’t we?’ she said.

‘Not for the servers,’ said Laryia firmly. ‘Their role is to help the Feailner’s family and, by implication, our guests. And as Tresen’s your kin, that includes him.’

Tierken set camp at the mouth of the Rehan Valley, relieved that the evacuation was well advanced. There was little he needed to do now but wait for Adris and Caledon to join him. It was the lull before the storm, a brief moment in which to rest after the desperate flight to the Breshlin Ford. He guessed that the Shargh would be regrouping too, preparing for their murderous assault on the Rehan Valley, and perhaps on Sarnia itself.

Tierken prowled up and down, his muscles crawling both in anticipation of the coming fighting and in frustration. He was barely a day’s ride from Sarnia, from Kira – the woman he intended to marry. He wanted to see her, to see Farid and Laryia, but he might as well be south of the Azurcades, for all the good it was to him.

He stared up at the Silvercades, considering how strangely things had turned. On the rare occasions he’d contemplated finding a wife, he’d imagined she would be the daughter of one of the trader leaders or even of the Marken. Or perhaps a Kessomi girl he’d played with as a child. The Tremen of the southern forests were as unknown and alien to him then as the feelings of love and longing afflicting him now.

At least the fighting had given Kira’s people – exeal or not – an opportunity to build honour. And the friendships forged between his men and the Tremen would seed goodwill and acceptance into Sarnia. In some cases the friendships were so strong that Tierken guessed some Tremen might remain in the north after the fighting had ended. He hoped they would, to provide company for Kira.

On his return to Sarnia, he would take Kira into the Silver-cades, to the Kristlin and the Foaling Fields. He wanted them to be like other courting couples, suspecting that much of their discord resulted from things happening too quickly, and out of order. He’d known her body before he’d come to know her mind. Once the fighting was finished, there’d be time to build trust. And then she would marry him and take her rightful place by his side, as his consort in the Domain – whatever the Marken thought. And any objections the Marken held would be silenced by the arrival of an heir. For whatever their thoughts on a gold-eyed woman from the south – or on himself for that matter – the Marken didn’t want a repeat of the long uncertainty of Darid’s solitary and childless rule.

It was well after moonrise before Adris reached Tierken’s encampment. There were noisy celebrations among the men at being reunited with their comrades, and Adris was pleased to have arrived too. He’d seen no more Shargh since their clash at the river, which strengthened his belief that the Shargh had gone to the Ashmiri. He discussed his thoughts with Tierken as they ate, and as the night drew on, and ale was shared, their speech ranged further. Adris came to know more about the Terak Kirillian he’d heard only tales of in his growing, and his liking for their Feailner deepened.

Tierken was equally glad of Adris’s company. They were close in age, and Adris’s frustration in trying to defend his people against the Shargh – after his ailing father had abandoned his kingdom in favour of his bedchamber – reminded Tierken keenly of his own hard road to the feailnership. There had even been times when Tierken had longed to be as anonymous and carefree as his friends, rather than spending his days in harsh training – though he had cause to thank Poerin for the skills which stood him in such good stead now.

He remembered well the final time Poerin had taken him into the heart of the Silvercades. Tierken had already been exhausted from a five-day hike and a long run when Poerin ordered him up Mintlin Peak. Dusk had been falling and snow clouds closing in, and Tierken had refused to go.

He had expected Poerin to add to the scars on his back; instead, Poerin had smashed him across the face, the blow bloodying his nose and knocking him off his feet. But he was up in a flash, and suddenly involved in the most vicious fight of his life. It had ended with his blade hard up against Poerin’s throat. Tierken had controlled the stroke with effort, finally dragging himself off the older man and setting off up the mountain. He recalled little of the journey, except that he had wept as he’d run. It was dawn before he returned and Poerin had waited in silence as Tierken had staggered up to him and bowed.

Forgive me, Tierken had said.

Poerin had said nothing, but he embraced Tierken long and hard and what followed was a friendship of equals. It had been a brutal lesson, but Tierken had learned the importance of discipline and respect.

Tierken hefted more wood on the fire as Adris turned the conversation once more to the strange events at the Breshlin.

‘Throwing themselves into the stinking river and then running like silverjacks,’ muttered Adris, not for the first time.

‘And their numbers appear to be half what the Lord Caledon claimed?’

Adris’s eyes flashed to Tierken’s. ‘I’ve known Caledon since I was a boy and trust his judgement with my life. And as I’ve said, I saw only Weshargh.’

‘Then the Weshargh and Soushargh have split – they’ve either fallen out or are following tactics known only to themselves.’

‘Like drowning or freezing in the Breshlin.’

‘Not wanting to risk warriors in smaller battles suggests they fight without the Soushargh,’ said Tierken. ‘And Irid only knows where they are.’

‘Gone home?’ suggested Adris dryly.

‘If they had, they would have run up against Lord Caledon and the Tremen. According to the scouts, Lord Caledon fought the Cashgar Shargh.’ Tierken’s brows drew into a heavy frown. ‘The Soushargh might have turned north-east earlier, leaving the Cashgar Shargh to harry us.’ He stopped as he considered yet again whether the oath Ashmiridin had sworn countless seasons past – not to make war against the Terak Kirillian – would at last be broken.

‘Caledon may have news but we won’t know for two more days,’ said Adris. ‘It will be good to have our forces together again.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Tierken. ‘The final battle draws near.’

It was three days, not two, before Caledon and his men arrived, having been slowed by the injured. The wait had given Adris and Tierken’s forces time to rest and mend their bruised and wrenched muscles, and Tierken’s wounded leg time to heal sufficiently for him to discard the bandage. His thoughts went to Tresen as he packed it away, and frustration simmered again at his distance from Sarnia. He wouldn’t be able to comfort Kira over her clan-mate’s death.

Tierken sent Caledon’s injured men on to Sarnia at speed, pleased at being able to get their wounded to help so quickly. That was the advantage of having a Haelen in Sarnia; no doubt he would also suffer its disadvantages – thanks to Rosham. Being close to the city meant he had ready access to fresh food and rested patrolmen – and swift messaging, Marin arriving just after moonrise with bows and quivers Tierken had requested the previous night.

The Tremen’s ignorance of such weaponry concerned Tierken, and needed to be addressed urgently; bows lessened the need for hand-to-hand fighting and therefore the chances of injury and death. Tierken judged he would have at least three days to train the Tremen before the Shargh attacked. The Cashgar Shargh were probably only a little further south, but would wait for the Weshargh – and possibly the Ashmiri and Sonshargh. The thought of the Ashmiri breaking their oath galled him, and he was already considering the retribution he would visit upon them when the fighting was over.

Caledon didn’t believe Uthlin would break his forefathers’ oath, but in Tierken’s view the Tallien’s faith was grossly misplaced. And as the Ashmiri had already granted the Shargh their horses and the use of their eyes, the fact that they hadn’t actually thrown any spears seemed irrelevant.

Tierken had set patrols in the spurs to either side of the Rehan Valley, in case, despite everything, the Soushargh had somehow bypassed him, and he had ordered patrols to the Silvercade foothills to protect the northern wall of Sarnia and Kessom. However, this meant that if the Ashmiri did decide to fight, his forces, despite the Tain and Tremen, would be outnumbered at the Rehan Valley’s mouth and the battle far bloodier and far less certain in its outcome.

As well as the weapons Tierken had requested, Marin had brought messages from Farid, and Tierken perused them swiftly, then stopped and gaped at Marin.

‘Tresen lives?’

‘He does, Feailner, at least when the Domain Keeper wrote the message. They didn’t want to send a message of hope till they were surer. But it’s said that he’s closer to death than life, despite what the Lady Kira did.’

‘Which was?’

‘Is it not in the scrolls?’ asked Marin.

‘Tell me!’

Marin cleared his throat. ‘Jarvid delivered a corpse to the Haelen, Feailner, there was no doubt about that. Then it’s said the Lady Kira laid her hands on him and he breathed and colour came back into his skin, but she lay as if dead, with no colour in hers.’

It was a moment before Tierken could speak. ‘And now?’ he asked.

‘Niria takes food to the Haelen each day for the Lady Kira, for she doesn’t leave her kin and the other wounded there. She walks and talks but her eyes are dark. Niria says it’s as if she’s lost hope.’

Tierken took several swift paces away, then stopped and stared in the direction of Sarnia. ‘Farid sends only that Kira has tired herself healing Tresen; Laryia sends nothing,’ he said.

‘Perhaps your sister prefers that you keep your thoughts on fighting,’ suggested Marin. ‘Shall I take message back, Feailner?’

The silence stretched. ‘On the morrow,’ said Tierken finally, his gaze still toward the north. ‘Get some food now, Marin, and rest.’

Tierken remained by the fire long after Caledon and Adris had gone to their shelters, considering everything he’d read or been told about the Sundering. He trawled through what Poerin and Eris had said, Farid’s discovery in the Writing Store, and what Kira had told him. And he thought about his time with her; of out on the plain when she’d first raised her gold eyes to meet his; of the way her expression softened during their love-making; of the last time he’d seen her in Maraschin, pale with the pain of her cracked ribs.

If only she were Terak, or Kir, or even Kessomi! If only there weren’t this complication of kinship claim! He sighed, knowing he must deal with what was, and that he must do so swiftly. He’d seen how Kira’s insistence on taking pain sapped her strength and left her vulnerable to illness. And it was no surprise to him that she’d given her all to save Tresen – for Tresen was her clanmate. But Tierken also knew that she’d give her all to heal any wounded patrolman – and that there were going to be many of those before the fighting was done.

If Kira were to survive, she must be given reason to look beyond the coming darkness, and to shore up her strength and resolve for the day when the killing would be over and they would be together in love. But to do that would be to also give Rosham and his supporters a potent weapon to use against him in the future. Well so be it, he thought, coming to a decision. He’d just have to deal with the consequences of his actions when he returned to Sarnia.

By the time the mist had cleared the next morning, Tierken had composed a message and dispatched it with Marin back to Farid in Sarnia. Then, after briefly greeting Adris and Caledon, he ordered the Terak and Tremen patrolmen to assemble on the flatter land where the horses were tethered.

Tierken waited till the shuffle of his men had ceased, then held aloft his right hand. ‘This is the ring of rulership which the northern Leaders long used as the symbol of sovereignty,’ he began. ‘It carries the allogrenia, or alwaysgreen, and galloping horse, and at the Sundering, Prince Kasheron – as the elder brother – took it with him.

‘We who carry the blood of the peoples the younger brother, Prince Terak, founded, tell bitter tales of that time. The Sundering broke our people and weakened us in our struggle against the Shargh.’

The men were motionless, the Terak held by respect, the Tremen by the same tension that afflicted Tierken.

‘But those of you who carry the blood of Kasheron and his followers also tell stories of that time, different to ours. I am indebted to the Lord Caledon – who has travelled many lands – for sharing his knowing of their histories with me. I am also indebted to the Keeper of the Domain, who has made a thorough search of the Writings stored in Sarnia – Writings that Terak himself left behind. What the Keeper found confirms what the Lord Caledon has told me, as does this ring.

‘Kasheron did not go north over the seas, as many tales tell. He went south, to the forests beyond the Azurcades. And there, he established his own community. He called it Allogrenia, and his people the Tremen.’

There was stunned silence, then a storm of speech broke out. But Tierken had deliberately placed Terak next to Tremen, and the friendship between the two helped quell the shock and anger.

‘It was the brutality of the Shargh that sent Kasheron and his followers south and sundered our peoples,’ said Tierken. ‘And it’s their brutality which has sent the Leader of his descendants north to make our peoples whole again.

‘This ring was brought north by Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan – Kasheron’s clan.’

Again discussion broke out, but this time less raucously, as the Terak began to perceive how the gossip of Sarnia fitted with their Feailner’s words.

‘Make no mistake that we who trace our blood back to Terak’s people, and those of you who trace your blood back to Kasheron’s, fight for the same things,’ Tierken went on. ‘But with fighting comes injury and death. As many of you know, the Tremen Leader is a skilled Healer. As we use swords and arrows to defeat the Shargh, the Tremen Leader uses the healing that Kasheron took to the forests to mend the injuries the Shargh inflict on us.’

Tierken paused, and there was an uneasy silence as antagonism to healing struggled with the natural wish of the Terak to be rid of any wounds and injuries they might suffer in the battles to come. They had seen firsthand what Shargh blades could do.

‘The Shargh murder the Tremen and burn the Tremen’s lands,’ said Tierken more quietly. ‘They murder the Tain of The Westlans and burn their settlements. They intend to murder the Terak Kirillian and burn our settlements. They would even burn Sarnia itself.

‘The Shargh’s hatred is long and will endure until they scour us from the earth. We will defeat them only if we fight as one – the Terak, the Illian, the Kir, the Kessomi and the Tremen – for we are one.’

The men’s faces now showed only grim determination, and Tierken nodded to his Patrol Leaders. They shouted orders, pairing Terak with Tremen, and marching them out to set up arrow targets.

Tierken watched them calmly, but he felt as if he’d endured days of battle. Then the astonishing truth came to him that all the seasons of struggle to bind his men to him were really for this moment – when he must force them to accept the other half of themselves. And he suddenly wondered, too, whether their acceptance was in fact both quicker and more complete than his.

He was distracted by a flicker of movement and looked up to see dwinhir making intricate courtship patterns in the sky. The dance of the dwinhir – or the disappointment of the dwinhir? He cared less about the answer now than in any time since he’d met Kira. All he cared was that he’d given her reason to hope.

Only a few days’ ride to the east, Orbdargan sat in the stifling Ashmiri sorcha, his gaze on the Ashmiri Chief. Uthlin had filled his guest’s cup with spiced sherat and, made thirsty by the heat, Orbdargan had drained it in a single gulp. As Uthlin had refilled it, Orbdargan realised that the Ashmiri Chief was testing his strength. Keeping his eyes on Uthlin, he gulped it down again. Let the great Ashmiri Chief see that Weshargh warriors were just as hardy as any of his warriors, thought Orbdargan. It was just a game the grizzled Ashmiri Chief played, and one Orbdargan grew increasingly impatient with. Orfedren and Urugen also grew restless beside him.

Uthlin had spoken only the words of greeting so far, followed by generalities about grazing. Before Orbdargan had guessed Uthlin’s intent, he’d presumed it was because of the women who were sitting behind the Chief and his high-ranking warriors. But they showed no signs of leaving, despite the passage of time.

Two of the women wore the black cheek dots of the Chief’s family; one of these had a face as weather-beaten as Uthlin’s, but the other was young and very pretty. Her breasts strained the material of her shirt and Orbdargan’s gaze went to her often, despite the way she returned his stares with eyes as hard as stones. She’d be less disdainful sprawled naked on the pelts, he thought, for no woman who’d spent time with him had ever had cause for complaint.

Orbdargan masked the impulse to smile with another mouthful of sherat, and brought his gaze back to Uthlin. The Ashmiri Chief looked ancient. Surely it must be time for him to hand the chiefship to his son? But the young warrior who sat to Uthlin’s right was disfigured, one side of his body ridged with scars that even extended to the hand resting near his dagger. Uthlin must be bitterly disappointed if this were his only seed.

‘You come south yet your enemy goes north,’ said Uthlin suddenly.

‘I came south to seek you,’ said Orbdargan, irritated that Uthlin would broach the subject of his visit while the women were still present. The Ashmiri Chief must be in his dotage.

‘To seek aid,’ added Orbdargan, as the silence stretched.

‘The Soushargh went north with you, but not south. Your Cashgar brothers travel alone too.’

‘The Cashgar Chief goes north but refuses to ride, so travels slowly. He’ll wait for me there,’ said Orbdargan.

‘Yrshin and his warriors wait there too?’

‘They dwell with the Sky Chiefs,’ said Orbdargan. ‘A northern snowstorm caught us and Yrshin chose to take his men west. Rather than break our strength, I followed. He led his men into a hole with no ending. Few escaped.’

Uthlin said nothing and again Orbdargan felt compelled to speak. ‘Yrshin and his warriors’ ascent to the Sky Chiefs’ realm weakens those of us who remain. I come to seek aid.’

‘I’ve granted you our eyes, our horses and our food.’

‘And I thank you for them. But to kill the northern thieves we need flatswords and spears, and warriors to wield them. You are our brothers. Your blood flows in our veins. We fight to take back what was stolen from all of us in seasons past. We were all robbed, Chief Uthlin, and must all fight to undo the thievery!’

Again Uthlin said nothing, but this time Orbdargan forced himself to wait. Uthlin’s choice was clear: bow his head to the northern robbers or reclaim his honour.

‘We’ll take our herds north,’ grunted Uthlin, his glare making it clear no more would be said.

With a brief nod, Orbdargan rose and ducked out into the cooler air. He strode to his horse, Orfedren and Urugen almost jogging to keep up.

‘He aids our cause?’ asked Orfedren uncertainly, as the Weshargh Chief swung himself into the saddle.

‘They come north,’ said Orbdargan. Then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now we’ll see the ground run with northern blood instead of ours!’

It was a fine day in Sarnia, as if spring had at last decided to stay. The Haelen’s shutters were open wide, and a warm breeze disturbed the wooden chimes Laryia had hung in Tresen’s alcove. She sat beside his pallet, grinding sorren, glancing at the chimes occasionally but looking mostly at Tresen. Laryia had thought the sound of the chimes might help Tresen heal, for she knew that wooden chimes were popular in the forest-lands.

Kira slipped between the curtains, felt Tresen’s pulse then, satisfied, reached up and stroked the chimes.

‘They’re pretty,’ she said, attempting to muster a smile.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ asked Laryia.

‘Of course not, but Tierken might. He might think that seven days is insufficient time for you to give your heart to a man who does nothing but sleep.’

Laryia coloured. ‘I realise this sounds foolish, but when Tresen opened his eyes, I knew he was the man I was going to marry.’

‘It doesn’t sound foolish to me, but it will sound ridiculous to Tierken.’

Even as Kira said it, though, she was reminded of Tierken’s own words to her: From that moment on the plain, when you raised your head and looked at me with my own face, I’ve wanted you. Perhaps this sureness in matters of the heart was a family trait, but even if it were, Tierken was unlikely to accept the same standards of behaviour from his sister. And surely Laryia knew that Tierken would never give his permission for his sister, the Lady Laryia, to bond with the seed of the despised Kasheron.

‘Tresen’s not married, is he?’ asked Laryia.

‘The Tremen don’t marry,’ said Kira automatically.

‘Bonded then.’

‘No.’

‘Is there anyone in Allogrenia who waits for him . . . who loves him?’

‘Tresen was courting when the attacks began, but turned away. I think the killing made him reluctant to risk giving his heart,’ said Kira.

‘I should be sorry, but I’m not,’ said Laryia with a wan smile.

‘You’re tired, Laryia. Let me sit with him for a while. You go back to the Domain and rest. I’ll send for you if more wounded arrive.’

‘I need to speak with Farid, but I’ll come back at dusk so you can get some rest. Your eyes are still dark.’

‘My eyes have always changed colour,’ said Kira reassuringly.

The curtain fell back into place and Kira took Laryia’s seat. She knew her eyes mirrored the black nothingness that had been present within her since bringing Tresen back from death. It was almost as if death claimed something of her in recompense for its loss.

In the past, death had been common in the north, she mused. It had caused the Sundering but, in the times since, peace had reigned, helped by the Terak treaty with the Ashmiri. Kira wondered why the Terak hadn’t treatied with all the Shargh. The fighting brought death to the Shargh as well, and in their lands there must be other women who sat as she did, by the side of their wounded. If there were a treaty, the suffering of both peoples could be halted.

Kira sighed wearily, fearing that the chance for a treaty – and end to the bloodshed – had been lost long ago.

The spill of sunlight from the window behind her was warm, and voices drifted in from the street outside: mothers scolding children, men’s deeper voices ebbing and flowing, and laughter – sounds of normalcy that Kira found immensely comforting.

She dozed, then started awake as something touched her. It was Tresen.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he whispered.

He’d had enough strength to reach out to her, which was a good sign, Kira thought, as she poured him a cup of beesblest. He managed to drink half of it too.

‘You came and got me,’ he whispered. ‘Did it hurt you?’

‘Save your strength, Tresen; you could still die.’

‘You won’t let me.’ His eyes closed, then fluttered open again. ‘There was a woman . . .’

‘With fine pale skin, dark hair and eyes?’

Tresen nodded imperceptibly.

‘The Lady Laryia, sister to the Terak Feailner,’ said Kira. ‘She’s barely left your side, but I’ve just sent her back to the Domain to rest. That’s the place where those who rule the Terak lands live.’

‘Why?’ whispered Tresen.

‘Why do they live behind a second wall, or why has Laryia chosen to sit by your pallet day and night?’

Tresen was too weak to respond, his eyelids drooping.

‘Laryia can answer both questions for you, but not this day. Rest, clanmate,’ said Kira softly, and kissed him on the cheek.

Tresen slipped back into sleep, but Kira wandered restlessly between the pallets. Tresen’s recovery continued and Kira knew she had much to be thankful for, but she still felt a sense of urgency. Farid had told her that a major battle approached, and that meant there would be many more wounded. She must resume her search for fireweed, but the lack of Healers in Sarnia meant that she must be here too. Not knowing what was happening beyond the wall added to her frustration. In fact, she didn’t even know for certain who commanded the Tremen Protectors.

Perhaps Clanleader Dakresh had been right to oppose her ascension to the leadership, all those moons ago!

The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that Tierken had refused the command; he wouldn’t accept the ring for the same reason he hadn’t accepted the kin-link – he thought Kasheron had taken his cowardly Healer followers over the northern seas!

The sound of the Haelen door opening came to her, and then the sound of a crying child, heralding new need for healing. Kira smoothed down her tunic. Well, at least two of Kasheron’s ‘cowardly Healers’ had returned, and brought healing with them, she thought, glancing at Tresen before she hurried from the alcove.

Dusk was one of Kira’s favourite times of day. In Allogrenia brightwings and silver moths woke, and the mira kiraon flashed through the air as it left its roost to hunt. It was beautiful on the plain too, Kira recalled, with grasses that silvered beneath skies brilliant with stars. But as she peered out the Haelen’s window, she could find neither beauty nor comfort in the chill set of Sarnia’s stone. It seemed that the houses turned inwards, holding their warmth and love to themselves, and away from the stranger. Kira was about to close the shutters, when hoofbeats sounded and a single rider appeared. It was Marin.

‘Lady Kira,’ he said, catching sight of her. ‘This is good fortune. I come from the Feailner with a message for the Domain, but also for you. Is there somewhere we may speak?’

‘Here in the Haelen,’ said Kira.

She led him to the room where she and Laryia ate, poured him a mug of cotzee and watched him gulp it down, before pouring him a second.

Then he settled back in his chair and sighed. ‘You look better than expected,’ he said.

‘Should I take that as a compliment or as an insult, Commander?’

‘A compliment,’ said Marin with a grin.

‘And Tierken? Is he well? And Caledon?’

‘Both well,’ said Marin, ‘and the Feailner’s leg is all healed.’

‘His leg?’

‘A nasty sword slash below the knee, early in the fighting – protecting his horse. Healer Tresen fixed it up.’

Tresen was thorough but Kira longed to make sure the wound had healed cleanly, that no Shargh filth remained, that –

Marin’s empty mug chinked onto the table and she started. ‘The Feailner asked that I come here first, and deliver this message,’ said Marin standing, his face becoming solemn.

Kira stiffened, wondering who’d been killed.

‘The Terak Feailner thanks the Tremen Feailner for the ring of rulership. He wears it now as a symbol of the long sundered seed of Terak and Kasheron being united once more. He instructs the Keeper of the Domain to grant Kasheron’s kin and the kin of his followers the rights and privileges accorded to all others of the Terak Kirillian peoples, and looks forward to the formal granting of Kasheron’s Quarter to the Tremen Feailner’s people on his return.’

Kira stared at Marin in amazement, half expecting him to break into uproarious laughter at his own joke.

Instead his expression gentled. ‘The Feailner’s recognised your kinship claim, Lady.’ And as Kira continued to gaze at him blankly, added, ‘It’s a cause for celebration for your people.’

‘But not for yours?’

‘It will be a hard thing for Sarnia to accept, and the Marken won’t help,’ admitted Marin. ‘Is there a message you would have me take back?’

What was she to say? Why did you delay so long? Why have you suddenly decided to believe me? Thank you? I love you. The responses were either graceless or inadequate, or both, so she shook her head.

‘I’ll bid you a good night then,’ said Marin.

The message Marin had delivered to Farid meant that Farid was still in the Meeting Hall when the sun rose the next day. He’d carried out his Feailner’s instructions to the letter, and now stood at the window trying to fend off his weariness with a mug of cotzee, and waiting for the inevitable visitor.

‘Right on time,’ he muttered, watching the figure move swiftly across the courtyard.

His father must have only just received Tierken’s declaration, which Farid had transcribed for each of the Marken and had delivered to their houses. And Tierken had accurately predicted Rosham’s reaction.

I understand that my acceptance of kinship claim by the descendants of Kasheron and his followers will cause consternation to some in Sarnia. I leave it to your considerable powers of persuasion to ensure that the process of recognition and establishment of rights is carried out promptly and smoothly.

He was going to need more than powers of persuasion, thought Farid, as he heard the rapid approach of footsteps. In fact, at this moment, Farid would have preferred to be out at the Rehan preparing to face Shargh spears and flatswords.

Then the door was flung open and his father stormed in.

‘I’ve come for confirmation that this is a mistake,’ said Rosham, thrusting the message-paper under Farid’s nose.

‘I cannot give such confirmation.’

‘Surely you’re not saying that this act of . . . of treachery is deliberate?’

‘Be careful of your words, Father.’

‘I knew the Feailner had taken a liking to this southern woman, but I hadn’t realised the pleasures she afforded him were so seductive as to make him forget both his honour and his duty!’

‘Father!’

‘Do not pretend this decision is motivated by anything other than lust!’ exclaimed Rosham, rounding on Farid. ‘You know as well as I do that her claim is driven only by her wish to insinuate her ragged tribe of tree-dwellers into the richness of our city.’

‘You insult the Feailner and the Leader of the Tremen!’

‘The Leader of the Tremen!’ snorted Rosham. ‘Do you know where the Leader of the Tremen is now? The Feailner’s woman? In the Caru Quarter, where she belongs. No doubt she makes a tidy profit for herself while the Feailner’s not present to grant her every whim!’

‘Lord Rosham! You will retract those words immediately or be expelled from the city!’

Laryia stood in the doorway, colour high, her face as hard as her voice.

Rosham checked himself. ‘I meant no insult to you, Lady Laryia,’ he said curtly.

‘Nevertheless, you have insulted me, and the Feailner, and the Lady Kira. You will retract your words if you wish to remain in Sarnia!’

‘With respect, Lady, you do not have the authority to expel anyone from the city. Only the Feailner may do that.’

Laryia strode into the room. Farid had never seen her so angry, nor so controlled. When she’d first come to Sarnia with Tierken, she’d been only sixteen seasons – a pretty, unsophisticated Kessomi girl who idolised her brother. Since then, Laryia had become the assured hostess of all ceremonial occasions and a skilled manager of the domestic affairs of the Domain. But what Farid hadn’t noticed till this moment was her determination and courage. Now she stood toe-to-toe with one of the powerful Marken, and stared him down.

‘You are mistaken,’ said Laryia. ‘In the absence of the Feailner, the Feailner’s family assumes authority over the Sarnia Guard. The Keeper of the Domain will confirm this.’

Rosham swung back to Farid.

Farid cleared his throat. ‘The Lady Laryia is correct. The Keeper of the Domain administers the city, but it’s the Feailner or, in his absence, his kin, who command the Guard.’

Rosham nodded stiffly. ‘I withdraw my words and express regret for any perceived insult.’

It was a poor apology but Farid hoped Laryia would accept it. Expelling his father from Sarnia would only garner Marken Rosham sympathy and make Tierken’s edict more difficult to enforce.

Laryia inclined her head slightly, but didn’t drop her gaze or move, and Rosham had to edge around her to leave the room. His footsteps echoed away and Laryia slammed the door behind him with a resounding bang. The colour was still high in her cheeks and her eyes still sparked.

‘I’m sorry he’s your father, Farid.’

‘So am I.’

Laryia pulled out a chair and settled on it. ‘It’s going to be hard, isn’t it? People won’t dare say what your father did, but they’ll think it.’

‘It won’t be easy,’ admitted Farid. ‘No one remembers Kasheron and his folk with joy, and our histories say he went north, over the oceans, never to return.’

‘Did Tierken say why he’s acknowledged the kin-link now?’ asked Laryia. ‘Last time we spoke he insisted any shared blood came from before there were distinct peoples. It’s strange he’s changed his mind.’

‘He gave no reason,’ said Farid. ‘But I know Marin went to the Haelen first – on Tierken’s instructions.’

‘Tierken sent message to Kira?’

‘It appears so.’

Farid poured Laryia a cup of fruited water and a cup for himself. ‘Marin found that Kira looked a little better than the reports suggested,’ he said. ‘Is she recovered from healing Tresen?’

‘She pretends she is,’ said Laryia with a shrug, ‘but her eyes betray her. I know they change from green to gold, like Tierken’s once did, but there’s an emptiness in them that worries me. If she rested more it would help, but she’s at the Wastes again, looking for fireweed. And as only a server is there, I must return to the Haelen.’

‘So soon?’ Farid’s disappointment was plain. ‘I was hoping you were going to take breakfast with me.’

‘I’m sorry, Farid,’ she said, already at the door. ‘I’ll share supper with you instead.’

Kira had resumed her search of the Wastes only a little after dawn. The dreariness of her fruitless searching seemed to reflect the bleakness of the fighting and her endless wait for Tierken’s return. She felt weary and discouraged, and the Guard’s presence and obvious displeasure at being hauled from their beds irritated her more than usual.

‘Have either of you seen any torch-flower growing here?’ she asked.

‘The plant that gives red dye?’ said one unexpectedly.

‘I don’t know,’ said Kira, surprised he’d actually answered. ‘Is there some here?’

The Guard made his way down to the stone seat, found a stick and probed at the growth beneath.

‘I played here as a boy, and we used the plant like swords. There was a broken pipe . . .’

‘A pipe?’

‘A water-pipe, my Lady. This was a garden once and pipes brought water to help the plants grow.’ He bent suddenly and parted the mesh of rank growth. ‘There, Lady.’

A fractured tube of stone sent a seep of slimy water onto the ground.

‘Which way does it go?’ asked Kira.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘If it were used to water plants it would go along the terraces, wouldn’t it?’ she asked.

‘It’s buried. This is the only place you can see it.’

Kira tested the earth’s sponginess with her boot, went forward a few paces and repeated the action, then dropped to her knees and scrabbled through the growth. Slime soaked through her breeches and a thorny tendril left a stinging trail across her cheek but she was oblivious – for there, in a line of five or six protuberances, was fireweed.

She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.

‘Torch-flower,’ said the Guard over her shoulder. ‘Is that the plant you looked for, Lady?’

‘It is,’ said Kira, hands shaking so much she could scarcely harvest it.

‘My aunt uses it to dye her cloths,’ the Guard offered.

‘Your aunt harvests it here?’ questioned Kira anxiously, fearing that the supply might be exhausted.

‘Of course not! It’s no place for a . . .’ the Guard reddened. ‘It grows all along the north wall.’

‘In what season?’

‘Oh, in all seasons. My aunt only dyes cloth occasionally, but there’s no shortage of it.’

Kira laid the fireweed carefully in her sling and made her way unsteadily up the steps. The northern wall would catch leaf litter blown from the Tiar Forests and the run of water from the Silvercades foothills, she realised. Why in the ’green hadn’t she recognised it before? Now she had a Haelen, a Herbery, a steady supply of herbs and fireweed.

She threw back her head and laughed.

Kira’s mind buzzed with the best ways to prepare and store the fireweed as she walked back through the Caru Quarter. If there were a good supply, she could harvest it often and use it fresh. Most herbs were more potent fresh, especially if gathered before dawn, though she didn’t know if this were the case with fireweed. What she really needed to do was inspect the land adjacent to the north wall to make sure what the Guard said was correct. But first she’d grind this gathering. The fighting would be less than a day away, Laryia had told her in the last night. Kira didn’t know if it had already started, but if it had, wounded Protectors and patrolmen could arrive at any moment.

She came to the Domain gate and stopped, horribly aware of how grimy she was, and the fact that there were respectably clean citizens of Sarnia close by. She should bathe and change, but she was anxious to get back to the Herbery and prepare the fireweed paste.

Then the gate burst open and Kira jumped. It was Rosham, and for once he didn’t make a point of shunning her, coming to a stop instead.

‘The Lady Kira,’ he sneered. ‘And looking rather dirty. But then it’s hard to remain clean, given the type of activities you engage in at the Caru Quarter, isn’t it, Lady Kira?’

Kira flushed but the Guard’s faces remained impassive. Rosham was both powerful and important, and she realised that they certainly weren’t going to challenge him. She went to walk on, but Rosham stepped forward and blocked her path. Rosham wasn’t the Shargh, Kira reassured herself, as her heart quickened; he couldn’t hurt her. But then he stepped closer still and his lips curled back.

Instinctively Kira cringed, expecting a blow, but the Guard’s voices rang out and metal rasped as swords were drawn.

‘Stand back!’ they ordered.

Rosham’s glare swung to a point behind her. ‘I am the Lord Rosham. Do not dare to –’

‘Stand back or feel our swords!’

Passers-by gaped and Rosham bowed his head. Kira thought he’d bowed to her, but instead he spat, the gob of spittle landing at her feet. Then, with a final glare, he strode off.

A shocked murmur passed through the onlookers, but no one offered words of apology or regret. The Guard sheathed their swords and Kira’s feet started again, but she felt wooden.

Raise your head, a voice inside demanded. You’re a Healer! You’re the Tremen Feailner! You’re Kasheron’s seed. Raise your head! But Kira couldn’t raise her head. The hatred in Rosham’s eyes was like a corrosive fluid, filling the void left by her saving of Tresen, burning away the fragile flicker of happiness, and any hope for a future without fighting and dying.

At the mouth of the Rehan Valley, Tierken held Kalos steady as he waited for battle. Adris was to his right, but Tierken didn’t look that way, turning to the brilliant Silvercades instead. He wished he was there, with Kira, but was glad things were drawing to an end. The Shargh were gathered just beyond the western rise, and this day and those that followed would be long and filled with blood.

To the south-east of them, the Ashmiri waited also.

‘They’ll join the fight only if they see us broken,’ Caledon had predicted – maintaining their ‘honour’ whichever way things turned, thought Tierken bitterly.

The tension of the waiting men stained the air and Tierken rolled his shoulders to ease his own. Adris’s mount began to dance, as ready for battle as its rider, but all Tierken felt was a savage determination to obliterate the Shargh and, with them, every future threat to his peoples and lands.

Scouts screamed warning but there was no need – the sound of the Shargh horses was like thunder. They came in a solid line, their riders shrieking and shouting, Shargh on foot streaming in their wake. Tierken and Adris’s men loosed arrows as spears sliced the air, then drew swords as the gap between them and the mounted Shargh narrowed. But instead of spurring forward to meet their enemy, at the last moment, they jerked their horses sideways.

The Shargh’s momentum carried them through the mounted Terak–Tain lines, the Terak and Tain hacking and slashing as they passed, but making no attempt to follow. Behind the lines of mounted Terak and Tain, Tain on foot loosed more arrows, many finding their targets, but the main force of the mounted Shargh surged onward, up the Rehan Valley.

Tierken and Adris’s men galloped to meet the Shargh advancing on foot. There were close to two hundred, Tierken calculated swiftly, to their fifty. On Adris’s signal the Terak and Tain split to form a swiftly moving circle around their enemy. Their aim was not to overpower the Shargh, but to drive them like goats. They kept out of spear range, but stayed close enough to pick targets. Tierken guided Kalos with his knees as he loosed arrow after arrow into their midst.

Gradually the moving circle of horsemen forced the Shargh west, back towards the Rehan River. A wedge of Shargh broke through and ran north after their comrades, but there were still close to a hundred and fifty in the encircled group by the time they neared the Rehan. The last few days of fine weather had sped the Silvercades’ snow-melt, and the river roared in its bed.

When Adris and Tierken’s men were about twenty lengths from the river, they dissolved the circle into a line, drew their swords and charged.

The result was as Caledon had foreseen. Unaccustomed to facing a solid wall of screaming, sword-wielding men on horseback, the Shargh broke and ran. Some fled northward along the bank, but most were forced into the water, the bank soon empty of all but the dead and dying. The river would claim some, but many would struggle ashore downstream.

Tierken and Adris’s men paused only to haul their own wounded onto horses before they sped north again. They stayed out of spear range of the Shargh who’d broken along the banks or escaped their encirclement earlier. The Terak and Tain who carried wounded kept east, but the main force streaked towards the Rehan Valley. Already smoke billowed ahead.

They swept past the place of the initial clash, and dead horses came into view. The mounted Terak and Tain aimed at the Ashmiri horses because they were easier targets, and their slaughter forced the Shargh back onto the ground. Their loss would also send a potent warning to the Ashmiri.

As they galloped deeper into the Rehan Valley, there were so many dead horses, or wounded riderless ones, that they were forced to slow. Tierken kept his gaze on the pall of smoke, knowing that if their strategy proved successful, the main Shargh force would soon come flying back. If it didn’t, the entire valley could burn.

His heart pounded and, despite the carnage, he urged Kalos to greater speed once more, passing the first of the flaming houses the Shargh had ignited. The southern settlements had had to be sacrificed to lure the Shargh to where the valley narrowed. Here Caledon waited with the Tremen, the Tain troopsmen and five Terak patrols commanded by Jonred. The fighting would be fiercest here as the Shargh would be desperate to force a way through.

Tierken had reluctantly placed the Tremen here, due to their skill and practice in fighting under trees. The defenders would have the advantage of the rocky slopes to either side, as well as a barricade of burning timber. Horses feared fire, and would also be driven back by swords and arrows. But if this failed, and the Shargh broke through, Tierken and Adris would be forced to chase them through the devastated Rehan Valley, all the way to Sarnia.

Time seemed to slow, then a single horse bolted from the smoke, Adris bringing it down with an arrow. Tierken wrenched Kalos to a halt, heart smashing against his ribs. Smoke billowed from the valley but no more horses appeared. The rest of the Terak and Tain caught up and formed a line, but still nothing happened. Caledon had failed, thought Tierken in panic – then a stampede of wild-eyed horses thundered from the murk.

Tierken shouted in jubilation.

The Terak and Tain line again jerked their horses clear of the mounted Shargh at the last moment, slashing at them before spurring after them.

The plan had succeeded. Now the Tain troopsmen and Tremen would drive the unhorsed Shargh out of the Rehan’s mouth and then remain there under Caledon’s command to guard the entrance. In the meantime, Tierken and Adris’s men would use their momentum to chase the mounted Shargh south until nightfall. Jonred’s men would follow, pursuing the Shargh who were on foot. Once the Ashmiri saw this, Tierken thought it unlikely they would enter the fray.

There would be a tag-team of relentless hunting. Jonred’s men would chase and kill, while Tierken and Adris’s men rested and trapped their food, then they’d change places. Day and night, the latter aided by torches, they’d hound the Shargh south across the Sarsalin. There’d be no rest and no food for their quarry.

Any who survived would be pursued over the Azurcades until claimed by hunger and exhaustion.

It was just after nightfall when the first of the wounded from the Rehan Valley fighting reached Sarnia, and they had scarcely found pallets enough for them when the next wave arrived. Kira and Laryia cleaned and laved wounds with fireweed, stitched and bandaged, or set bones and dulled the shock of the injured with sickleseed. They worked through the night, aided by servers.

Kira spoke only to instruct Laryia or the servers, and it was dawn before there was enough of a lull for Laryia to return to the Domain. She found Farid asleep in the Meeting Hall, head resting on his arms, surrounded by message scrolls. Laryia collapsed beside him, picked up a piece of fruit and ate mechanically. After a while, Farid woke and stared at her in surprise, his face pale against the stubble of his jaw.

‘How goes it in the Haelen?’ he asked.

‘Twenty-three dead and forty-one wounded, half of whom might also die.’

‘The fighting was ferocious in the Rehan Valley,’ said Farid. ‘But I think the worst is over. Tierken and the Tain King will push the Shargh south and the Lord Caledon will hold the Rehan. You can expect more wounded until they’re south of Cover-cape, then they’ll take them to the Tain’s Haelen.’

‘I don’t know if I can stand any more wounded,’ admitted Laryia.

‘You need rest. Go to your rooms and sleep.’

‘I can’t. Kira’s alone in the Haelen.’

‘Aren’t there servers?’ said Farid.

‘Servers aren’t Healers, not like Kira. In fact, no one’s like Kira. She doesn’t fear the blood like I do, nor holding gaping wounds together to be stitched, nor . . .’ Laryia’s voiced cracked and Farid rose and went to her, gathering her into his arms and holding her while she wept.

‘Kira’s seen this before, in her own lands and in Maraschin,’ he said, stroking Laryia’s hair. ‘She’s used to it, that’s all.’

‘I now understand her hatred of metal,’ sobbed Laryia.

‘Without swords, we’d be slaughtered like the Tremen.’

Laryia’s sobs quieted and she wiped her face dry.

‘Does Healer Tresen continue to recover?’ asked Farid.

‘Yes. Does Tierken ask after him?’

‘Tierken asks after you, and Kira of course, but I wonder whether I should speak of Healer Tresen now every time I speak of you.’

‘He’s just one of the wounded, Farid. Would you name them all?’

‘Perhaps I’ll just speak of you then – for the time being.’

Laryia managed a smile. ‘I thank you.’

‘But we both know it’s best for Tierken’s safety that his mind stays on the fighting,’ cautioned Farid. ‘I’ve no doubt Kira’s welfare proves enough of a distraction for him. I don’t want to add you to his concerns as well.’

‘He has nothing to fear for me,’ said Laryia. ‘I know my own heart.’

‘And Healer Tresen’s?’

‘I know that too.’

Farid picked up a message cylinder, and turned it over in his hands. ‘You also know that gossip flies swifter than the wind, and certainly swifter than any of my messages.’

‘It will tell nothing more than that the Lady Laryia works in the Haelen with the Lady Kira, and that both labour in the care of the wounded. And it follows that when Healer Tresen is well enough to be moved, he will join his kin, the Lady Kira, in the Domain, and continue his recovery there.’

‘That I will have to tell Tierken,’ said Farid.

‘By all means, Domain Keeper,’ said Laryia. ‘I would expect no less.’

Thunder rumbled across the Braghans but Tarkenda barely heard it, her thoughts taken up with what Ormadon had told her: the ebis herds thinned, and while the wolf numbers had grown, the absence of gnawed skulls and torn hides suggested it was not only wolves who raided the herds at night, but warriors from the Grounds. There was hunger among the old, and among the join-wives and children of Arkendrin’s followers. If left unchecked, she knew, it would not only seed theft, but murder.

Drops of rain started, building quickly until they drummed against the sorcha like ebis on the run. Tarkenda was glad of the rain, for it washed the air clean of the funeral smoke blowing from beyond the Braghans, and the smell of charred bones that rode upon its back. The Northerners’ custom was to burn their dead too, but Tarkenda knew from her visions that it wasn’t the Northerners’ spirit-selves the flames loosed to the sky, but the Shargh’s.

Tarkenda knew Palansa hoped that Arkendrin was among those who burned, and so did Tarkenda, despite having birthed Arkendrin and nursed him at her breast. Her care was for the young Chief now, not for the one who hoped to destroy him. But the Sky Chiefs had long favoured Arkendrin over those who fought at his side, and there was nothing in her mother’s heart that told her her second son was dead.

The rain that sluiced off the sorchas on the Grounds drenched the northern foothills of the Braghans too, where Arkendrin had crawled under a tangle of shrubs. He hated the wall of trees hemming him in, the groaning branches and the stagnant pools of air. But at least they hid him from the filthy horsemen. On the plain, gobs of orange light moved inexorably closer, but he stayed where he was.

It was fitting that he was alone – only the true and rightful Chief having had the strength and courage to endure. One way or another, his blood-ties had failed him. Many, including Irdodun, had thrown themselves into the water before the stinking northern horses. Others, like the Weshargh Chief, had turned tail and galloped away, seeking to save their cowardly skins. But the Sky Chiefs didn’t favour those who insulted them. That had been clear since they’d snatched the earth from beneath the Soushargh’s feet.

The rain dwindled and Arkendrin strained into the darkness with his one functioning eye. Then, when he felt safe, he pulled a hunk of meat out from under his shirt, tearing off chunks and swallowing them whole. The Grounds had cheeses and smoked meats, meats roasted over warming fires, milk and sherat, the softness of pelts and hides. To reclaim these things, he must fill his belly and fuel his legs, and seek the Sky Chiefs’ indulgence.

The horsemen held the plain, and if he were to survive he must first journey up towards the Sky Chiefs. He searched the darkness, then placed a portion of his precious meat next to the trees in recompense for the breach he must now commit. Then, palming his forehead, he hauled himself upright and limped away into the shadows of the Braghans.

In her alcove in the Haelen, Kira sat hunched in a ball, too frightened to sleep. It was quiet beyond the curtain, but giving in to sleep meant enduring terrifying dreams of Kandor’s death mixed with the agony of the fiery tunnel. And sometimes, now, Kandor stared at her as he died and his face became Tierken’s.

She knew the dreams were triggered by the unrelenting taking of pain, but she had no choice but to continue to do so. The wounded now suffered a journey of almost four days to reach the Haelen, arriving far too late for sickleseed to be of use, or anything else. The only thing Kira could offer was a peaceful death, and that meant enduring the burning tunnel with them.

Farid had said that once Tierken was south of Cover-cape Crest, the wounded would go to Maraschin, but Kira couldn’t recall when he’d said it. Night and day had become a blur of taking pain, cleaning, stitching, binding and holding those who died.

A door slammed, making her start violently, and sounds of sobbing and groaning penetrated the alcove. Kira forced herself upright and her legs to function.

‘You’re not telling me you’ve slept,’ said Laryia, busy cutting a putrid bandage from a man’s thigh while a server hovered with a bowl of water. Kira made no response, simply bringing her hands down over the man’s chest. Fortunately his pain wasn’t severe and her stay in the tunnel was mercifully brief.

‘And no doubt you’ve not eaten either,’ went on Laryia, waiting with fireweed while the helper bathed the wound.

Laryia had become adept at haranguing, as well as healing, thought Kira dully, as she slipped her hands under the shirt of a second man. He looked Tremen but was probably Kessomi. The Tremen were safe with Caledon, less than a day away – if there were such a thing as safety.

A hand gripped her arm and it was a moment before Kira had the wit to realise it was Laryia. ‘No more,’ hissed Laryia.

‘One more,’ said Kira.

‘No more!’

Kira tried to shrug her off, but Laryia’s grip was surprisingly strong as she dragged Kira out of earshot of the server.

‘Have you seen yourself of late, Kira? No, I know you haven’t. You haven’t left the Haelen since this began. That’s almost a moon, Kira! You barely eat and I know you don’t sleep, and this taking of pain . . .’

Kira stared at her dumbly, distracted by the fact that Laryia looked different, her face honed, her eyes darker against her flawless skin.

‘Are you listening, Kira?’

‘One more,’ repeated Kira, not having the strength to say anything further.

‘Only if you agree to go back to the Domain and rest – for at least three days.’

Kira nodded, finding it easier to let her head fall backward and forward than to move it from side to side.

The last of the wounded men was almost to the wall of flame at the tunnel’s end and Kira had an overwhelming urge to journey on past him into death. Kandor was there, and rest and peace, but then her Healer-self roused, and dragged her shivering and sweating back to the Haelen.

Laryia held her upright with one hand, and managed to fill a cup with beesblest and hand it to her. ‘Drink,’ she ordered.

Kira gulped it down obediently.

‘Now, up to the Domain,’ said Laryia firmly.

Kira came out of the Haelen into the sunshine and blinked. Things were too bright, as if the sky had lost a layer of skin. The Domain path was also steeper and longer than she remembered. She kept her eyes down and watched the movement of her feet and of other feet disappearing to either side, like water flowing round a rock. She barely noticed that passers-by stopped to stare at the Healer that had saved so many lives. Then the bottom of the Domain gate came into view, swung away and clanged shut behind her.

Kira raised her head. The Silvercades gleamed against the brilliant sky and memories of Eris’s last words surged back, as bright as candle flame: You know where I am if you need me.

For a moment Kira was unable to move forward or backwards, then she stumbled towards the stables, heaved the saddle onto her mare, and watched her hands buckle the harness as if they belonged to someone else. Then she was mounted, and at the Domain gate.

‘Where is it you would go, Lady?’ said one of the Guard.

‘Kessom.’

‘It’s a full day’s ride, Lady, and we’re past noon. At this time of season, the Gorge is likely to be flooded too.’

‘Kessom,’ repeated Kira.

There was a long pause, then orders were issued and soon, other horses came alongside. Kira was barely aware of them, her head filled with a single thought. I need you, Eris. I need you, Eris. I need you, Eris.

The movement of her mare kept rhythm with this mantra and the sigh of the wind in the Tiar Forests, so Kira hardly noticed the daylight ebbing, or the steepening of the lands around. It was the roar that finally penetrated her consciousness, as the icy mist filled the air and beaded on her cape. They had stopped, and the Guard had dismounted to confer. Then one came back to her.

‘This part of the journey’s dangerous, Lady. The river’s high and the path hard even in daylight. There’s been rain, too. Guard Storsil and I will take you and the mare past first. But then we must leave you for a time and return for our horses. There’s no threat once we are past.’

He held out his hand and Kira realised that he wanted her to dismount. She did so clumsily, and he fastened a length of rope around her waist, reminding her of what Jonred had done when he’d rescued her from Ember Chasm.

Storsil took one end and led the way while the second Guard held the other end and followed, leading her mare. There was a black roaring to one side and Kira realised it was the river surging through the Gorge. She could hear the snort of the mare, and glanced back to see her eyes roll white. The mare’s fear woke her own, and awareness grew of their danger. This was where Tierken’s father had been found drowned.

The Guard who followed kept up a constant murmur to soothe the mare, and Kira suddenly understood the reason for their strange mode of travel. If Storsil slipped, he would let go of the rope, rather than drag her into the water with him. The same with the Guard who walked behind. They would drown. But if Kira slipped, she would be held by both of them.

It began to rain, and the slickness of the path increased. It also made it harder to see. Kira’s night vision was acute, as was most Tremen’s, from the seasons spent in the muted light beneath the trees, so her fear was mainly for the Guard who she’d forced to accompany her. Storsil slipped twice, but each time managed to grab bushes before he went over the edge. Kira had no idea how the Guard behind her fared, not daring to look away from the path. Sweat slid down her back, despite the icy rain, and it seemed an age before the way broadened and the roaring faded.

The Guard came to a halt, their relief obvious. ‘We must leave you here, Lady, while we return for our mounts,’ said Storsil, undoing the rope. ‘There is nothing to fear, for the danger’s all behind us. Do not go on, though. We will be as swift as possible.’

‘Please be careful,’ said Kira. ‘And don’t hurry. It doesn’t matter if I wait the rest of the night.’

Storsil nodded, and as Kira watched the pair disappear back into the murk, she wondered if it would be the last time she saw them.

The dirges had been sung and the only sound now was the spit of burning flesh as the flames engulfed the pyres. Tierken stood with bowed head, his men to either side completing the circle. Further out on the plain, the Tain burned the Shargh. If the decision had been Tierken’s, he would have left them to the marwings and wolves, seeing no reason to honour in death those who’d had no honour in life. But Tierken was in Adris’s lands and the Tain King acted as he saw fit.

It was their last night together before Tierken turned north, leaving Adris’s men to finish off the Shargh who’d so far escaped. Together they’d hunted Shargh over flatlands and stonelands, under moonlight and starlight, through storms and days as clear as glass. The Weshargh Leader had been felled with his horse and, without him, his warriors had proved easy pickings. Of the Soushargh they’d seen no sign.

Scurried back to their skin huts, Adris had said contemptuously. Tierken was less sure. But alone, he doubted the Soushargh were a threat. The Cashgar Leader had escaped, bearing the mark of Jonred’s sword upon his face, but most of his warriors now fed the fires behind Tierken. The Ashmiri had taken their animals east again, having wisely chosen to herd, not fight.

The flames sank, and with a final bow Tierken made his way back to camp, Adris coming forward and handing him a cup of ale.

‘Let us give thanks to Meros and Irid, to the strength of our men, and to a friendship regained between our peoples,’ said Adris.

‘And to our last night together,’ added Tierken, as they drained their cups. There was no need to talk now of treaty and obligation, or of loyalty and trust. They were as brothers, and that was enough.

The night was fine and the dawn gentle, Tierken on the move before the sun crested the horizon. He kept Kalos’s pace easy, although he yearned to gallop all the way to Sarnia. There was still danger, despite the apparent emptiness of the plain, and it only took one spear to lose a man or horse. Tierken refused to surrender either, especially through carelessness.

He’d had no messages from Sarnia for half a moon, nor had he expected any. Their pace and dispersal over the Sarsalin made it difficult for messengers to track him, and Tierken preferred they not risk their lives in the attempt. The last news he’d received had been from Marin, which consisted of what Farid sent in a scroll, and what was said by the gossips.

Farid wrote that Kira had not yet fully recovered from her saving of Tresen, but refused to leave the Haelen to rest, and Marin told him that Kira’s selflessness had earned her respect and affection in Sarnia. Tierken would have preferred she was held in contempt, if the price of such respect was her health.

The other news from both Farid and Marin was that Laryia continued to keep company with Tremen Healer Tresen. Perhaps the call of blood to blood ran in his family, thought Tierken dryly, contemplating his feelings for Kira. The first reports from Farid had made Tierken wonder whether it was sympathy Laryia felt for Kira’s clanmate rather than affection, but the messages since, both official and unofficial, suggested more.

Tresen was being nursed in the Domain by Niria, and Laryia never went to his rooms. She met Tresen only in the courtyard, when he was carried there by the servers on a special chair, in full view. They sat close but didn’t touch. Yet the gossips agreed that the Lady Laryia had never looked more beautiful, and that the cause of her joy was Tremen Healer Tresen.

Laryia had always been beautiful and it wasn’t any supposed change in her looks that convinced Tierken she was in love, but her caution. Laryia had long shrugged off rumours seeded by the time she spent alone with Farid. They can believe I share my bed with Rosham, for all I care, she’d once scoffed. Well, she certainly cared now.

The journeying was pleasant, the dwinhir performing their dances in the distance and young silverjacks breaking from the grasses before them. Only the rotting remains of Ashmiri horses and the occasional Shargh corpse covered in squabbling marwings marred their pleasure. Tierken and his men spat on the first in contempt at the Ashmiri’s duplicity, and on the second in hatred.

The warmth had had its effect on the Silvercades too, the Breshlin the deepest Tierken had ever seen it. The rushing water came almost to Kalos’s girth. Tierken forded first, then secured a rope back across to aid the smaller horses. And then, despite his eagerness to reach Sarnia, he set camp early, knowing that his men needed time without fighting or travel. They sang that night, although there were no lay-links, for the fighting had forced the herders far to the north or to the shelter of Sarnia’s walls.

As was usual, the Kirs sang of herding and the Kessomis of the mountains, but the Terak and Illians sang of the women they’d left behind. Tierken had heard their songs countless times before, but never had they affected him as they did now.

Camp was broken before dawn and they were halfway to Ges Grove when the scouts reported a messenger. Tierken rode on to meet him, enjoying the hard gallop as much as Kalos, and eager for news.

It was Ayled, who had been with the patrols stationed at the back of the city.

‘I’ve searched for you these past days, Feailner,’ he said, handing him the message cylinder.

Tierken read quickly and his hand clenched on the message-paper. ‘How many days?’

‘Four since I set out, Feailner.’

Kira had gone to Kessom at a time when the boil of water through Glass Gorge roared like the gales in the Silvercades. What had possessed Farid to let her go? One slip on the upper path was all it took. There was no way out of the torrent, and no second chance.

‘Take message to Anvorn to bring the men in,’ snapped Tierken. ‘I go to Sarnia.’

He wrenched Kalos around and rode hard till dusk, rested Kalos briefly then rode hard again. It was dusk on the second day when the walls came into sight, Kalos going with his head down and Tierken feeling scarcely better. He briefly acknowledged Caledon and the Tremen he commanded as he passed through the Rehan Valley, but didn’t stop.

A storm of silvery peals and chimes greeted him as he neared the wall, and people lined the path to cheer him and throw flowers as he went on up to the Domain. He waved to them and forced himself to smile. During the long days of fighting, he had imagined his triumphant homecoming with pleasure, but now all he felt was anger.

Ryn waited at the stables and they embraced. ‘It’s good to have you back, Feailner,’ he said, eyeing Kalos. ‘You’ve worked the stallion hard.’

‘His work’s not finished. I’ll need him on the morrow.’

‘The next day, Feailner.’

Tierken sighed. ‘The next day then, Horse Master.’

He hurried towards the courtyard where Farid and Laryia waited, and was less than halfway to them before Laryia sprinted to him and leapt into his arms.

‘Thank Irid you’re safe,’ she repeated over and over again, her face wet with tears. ‘I love you so much.’

‘And I you,’ he said, tightening his grip, then released her to embrace Farid. ‘It’s good to see you, Keeper.’

‘And you my friend,’ replied Farid.

‘I’ll join you shortly, Farid, but first I must speak with my sister.’

Farid bowed. ‘I’ll await you in the Meeting Hall,’ he said.

Laryia led the way to her rooms and settled at her table, watching as Tierken paced. His face was harder and leaner, and his prowling like that of a fanchon readying to attack.

‘Kira went to Kessom without me or Farid knowing,’ she said quietly.

‘The reports said she was ill. Why didn’t you care for her?’

‘There were too many wounded for either of us to rest. As soon as I could, I sent her back to the Domain. That’s when she went.’

‘Then what possessed Guard Leader Tharin to let her go?’

‘He warned her of the state of the Gorge and advised her not to go. You know that’s all he can do. When she refused his advice, he sent Guard with her.’

‘So three drown instead of one! Have you message from Kessom?’

‘No. They wouldn’t risk travel.’

‘So we don’t know if any of them survived the Gorge?’

‘No.’

Tierken paused with his hands on his hips, staring out at the Silvercades. ‘Why go to Kessom anyway?’ he demanded, pacing again.

‘I think Kira knew she needed the care of another Healer. The constant taking of pain –’

‘I forbade her to do that!’

‘Kira’s a Healer, Tierken! Without that skill, many who live would be dead. Tresen would be dead!’

Laryia flushed and Tierken turned on her. ‘The reports say that there’s love between you.’

‘The reports are true.’

‘Is it love?’

‘I know the difference between sunlight and shadow, Tierken.’

‘The Tremen don’t marry, Laryia. I won’t have you as “his woman”.’

‘Tresen understands what our customs demand. We wait only for your permission.’

‘And if I withhold it?’

‘You’ve no reason to. You’ve recognised the Tremen as kin.’

‘You realise that as Kira can’t return south, Tresen will have to. After Kira, they say he’s the best Healer. Tremen Leaders are chosen on Healer skill.’

‘We’ve spoken of it,’ said Laryia.

‘You would go to Allogrenia with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, my choice is to lose you or to lose Kira.’

‘You’ll never lose me,’ said Laryia, going to him and taking his hands. ‘If Sarnia now welcomes Kasheron’s seed, then Allogrenia will have to welcome us.’

Tierken said nothing.

‘I know this is hard for you, Tierken, especially after the terrible fighting. But I’m asking for your blessing to marry the man I love, and with whom I want to spend the rest of my days, whatever those days might bring. Will you give it to me?’

Tierken contemplated her grimly. If Laryia married Tresen she would be far from him, far from the safety of the walls and the protection of Terak patrolmen. But the alternative was to deny her his permission to marry and hope that her misery would pass and she would love someone else in time. No doubt there were many people in Sarnia who hoped he’d love someone else, too.

Laryia still waited and Tierken kissed her formally on each cheek. ‘I love you, Laryia, and desire your happiness above all else. If you believe it lies with Tresen, then I give you my permission and my blessing to wed him.’

Laryia’s eyes widened and she threw her arms around his neck. Tierken felt wetness soak into his shirt.

‘Too much weeping,’ he said.

‘They’re tears of joy,’ said Laryia thickly.

‘I must join Farid now to discuss what’s happened in my absence, and what progress has been made on the Wastes. On the morrow, I will go to the Rehan Valley to speak with Lord Caledon and the men there. I intend to keep the valley guarded until after the next moon and need to arrange replacement patrols. The next day I’ll go to Kessom.

‘Depending on what I find there, it could be another moon before I return. That should give you ample time to make your marriage preparations. How is Tresen?’

‘He grows stronger each day, but cannot yet walk.’

‘When would you wed then?’

‘At the beginning of summer.’

It would be a good time for two weddings, thought Tierken, even though Kira had refused to marry him before, offering him only a Tremen bonding. Tresen’s willingness to marry, however, proved that Tremen traditions were no real impediment to marriage. Tierken knew he had Kira’s love, and now the fighting was finished he had time to gain her trust as well.

He sighed, feeling the effects of the long moons of fighting, and realising that he could make no plans for his own Marriage Walk until he knew whether his bride-to-be had survived the perilous journey through Glass Gorge.

Tierken timed his journey to Kessom so that he would pass through Glass Gorge in daylight, both to search for signs of Kira, and to avoid risking the Gorge path in the dark. The thunder of the Silver Falls was audible from the Frost Glades, and by the time he neared the Gorge, spray fell like rain. Kalos tossed his head and snorted and Tierken had to dismount. The lower path was submerged by a boiling torrent of water, full of mud and broken branches. He stared down at it, filled with dread, and then turned towards the upper path.

It showed evidence of horses, and of large boots, but of no smaller ones. The prints were deeply cut, too, which meant that the path had been wet. Kira and the Guard had left Sarnia a little after midday; it would have been night before they’d reached here. Darkness and a slick path – it was hard to think of a more deadly combination.

He stroked Kalos’s neck as he edged along the path, his eyes on the surging water below. Even if all three of them had slipped in, there might be no trace, but the presence of bootprints going both ways suggested that at least one of the Guard had survived the trek. The knowing brought him no comfort at all.

Tierken forced himself not to hurry, not wanting to end his days in the water, or to lose Kalos, and it seemed an age before the path broadened and he was able to mount again. He continued as quickly as the land allowed, but it was well dark before he reached Kessom. For once the stable master, Robrin, was nowhere to be found.

There was no sign of Kira’s mare either, but these weren’t the only stables in Kessom, and Robrin oversaw the others as well. Tierken had to spend precious time rubbing Kalos down, working swiftly before sprinting up the path to Eris’s house. He beat on the door, barely paused, then beat again.

Finally Eris opened it.

‘Is Kira here?’ he demanded.

‘Yes. Kira and the Guard arrived safely.’

‘Thank Irid! She’s in Laryia’s room?’ he asked, following Eris in and snatching up a lamp.

Eris’s bony hand closed over his arm. ‘Let her be. She sleeps so lightly you’ll wake her, if your thumping hasn’t already. There’s time enough on the morrow.’

Tierken followed Eris to the cooking place and threw himself into a chair. ‘Tell me how she is,’ he said.

‘Kira was exhausted when she arrived, but that was a moon third ago,’ said Eris. ‘Since then she’s slept and eaten, and gathered, worked herbs into salves and pastes, and sat with me.’

Eris poured cotzee for Tierken and loaded cheese and maizen bread onto a plate, but Tierken barely noticed, his eyes boring into her.

‘But is she well?’

‘Exhaustion and a constant dealing with death will make anyone ill, and Kira is no exception. But she will heal. All she needs is time to see what is good and beautiful in the world again.’

‘I don’t know how long I can stay; there’s much to be done in Sarnia. Has Kira spoken of me?’

‘No.’

‘Of the Lord Caledon then?’

‘No,’ said Eris, then smiled at Tierken’s expression. ‘Don’t fret, Tierken. When you first brought Kira here, I saw her love for you, and it’s no different now. But you must give her time.’

Tierken went to his boyhood room not long after, expecting not to sleep, but the fighting had left him with a deep weariness and the sun was well up before he woke. He hurried to the cooking place but only Eris was there, busy at her grinding.

‘Kira still sleeps?’

‘Kira sleeps less than you,’ said Eris. ‘She gathers for me and will be back soon. Sit and have your breakfast.’

Tierken fidgeted around the cooking place, straining for the sound of her return.

‘Sit,’ ordered Eris.

Tierken sat. His neck crawled and he tried to distract himself by watching steam from the maizen mash make patterns in the air. Finally the outer door opened and closed and footsteps approached. Then the cooking place door opened and she was there. Her hair was longer and fairer than he recalled, and it fell over her face as she bent to extricate herself from the herbal sling. He’d stood, though he had no recollection of doing so, and as she straightened her face filled with wonder.

Then she was in his arms, the feel of her both strange and familiar, simultaneously making him whole and conscious of loss. Kira clung to him, skin and bones, eyes the colour he’d only ever seen at her most upset.

‘I want you now, before this dream finishes, before I wake,’ she whispered.

‘It’s no dream, I’m here with you, in Eris’s house, in Kessom.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Ah, that proves it’s not a dream,’ said Tierken. ‘In a dream I’m sure you’d believe me, but in waking life you never did.’

‘Not never!’

‘Not often then,’ corrected Tierken, maintaining his bantering tone despite being shocked by her dark eyes and thinness.

Eris had disappeared, so Tierken spooned out the mash while Kira picked up the herbs that had spilled from her sling. She stared at him and he watched her, so that neither made a good job of their task.

Kira ate little but Tierken stopped himself from scolding her. Her hand rested on the table, and he covered it with his.

‘You wear Kasheron’s ring,’ she said.

‘The ring of both our peoples.’

‘Why did you accept the kin-link?’

‘Caledon and Farid added more knowing to what you’d told me,’ said Tierken, not wanting to rake over old quarrels.

‘Is the fighting finished?’

‘Yes. The Shargh won’t be turning their murderous eyes north again, or south. Your people are safe.’

Kira dropped her head and there was a long silence. ‘No more wounds, no more dying, no more death,’ she murmured at last. ‘Have you spoken with Laryia about Tresen?’

‘Yes. I know all about Laryia’s love for your clanmate, and his for her. She tells me Tresen’s happy to marry her, so . . .’

Kira’s hand clenched under his and Tierken stopped; there would be time later to return to the subject of marriage. He smiled and smoothed the hair from her face.

‘On the morrow I’d like to take you into the mountains, to the Kristlin and the Foaling Fields, and to all the beautiful places I roamed in my growing,’ said Tierken. ‘Would you like that?’

‘Yes,’ said Kira. ‘I would.’

They set off early the next day, Tierken shouldering a heavy pack filled with food, Kira carrying only warm clothing, a sleeping-sheet and a Healer’s kit in hers. The first part of the journey was through the lands where she’d gathered, but they gradually climbed higher, the mountains soaring in front of them and Kessom dropping away below. The allogrenia groves thickened and small mountain streams tinkled over stones, crystal clear and shockingly cold.

Tierken kept the pace easy, and regularly called rest breaks, when they would perch on boulders and eat maizen bread and dried fruit. He named the snowy birds that pecked insects from the stones, and showed her the burrows of mead-mice, mountain hares and whitejacks. Smaller paths ran off here and there, mossy from small use, and dwinhir glided overhead.

‘Still dancing,’ he told her with a smile.

Kira said little, struggling with the bleakness that had driven her from Sarnia, and which continued to cloud her thoughts. But she didn’t try to claw her way out of it, her Healer-self knowing that time and rest would send cure. All that mattered was that Tierken was safe and that they were together.

Kira watched him as they went. He was leaner and more muscled, his movements more abrupt, and he scanned their surrounds continually as he walked. But when he looked at her and smiled, he was the same, his tenderness like a shaft of sunlight, making her heart sing.

They took their midday meal high above Kessom. Eris’s house was hidden by alwaysgreens but Tierken pointed out Thalli’s house, the Keshall and the stables.

‘Have you named your mare yet?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘She’s been left nameless far too long,’ he chided. ‘We can think of names as we journey. I’ll start by nominating Beautiful, after you.’

‘Your men name their horses after the weather or the mountains,’ said Kira, dullness blunting her pleasure in his compliment.

‘Yes, but it’s not necessary. Laryia called her mare Chime, and I called Kalos after an old Kessomi word for strength. Is there something in Allogrenia you might name her after?’

‘There’s the mira kiraon, but I can’t name her after myself. The other owls are the hanawey and the frostking. Then there are springleslips and tippets and honeysprites – which are birds – or lissium, which is a plant with a sweet white flower. There are moon moths and silver moths and flutterwings . . .’

Tears slid down her face, and Kira wiped them away. She’d rarely cried in Allogrenia, or in the terrible times since, but was annoyed that she’d wept most days since being in Kessom. Eris had told her it was exhaustion and would pass.

Tierken drew her into his arms, but still Kira felt foolish and weak, like a child who had no control over her feelings.

It was early evening before Tierken led her off the track and through a stand of slender, white-trunked trees to a single-roomed building. It had a shingled roof and its timber walls were silvered with age. A shelter-hut, Tierken told her, built by the early Kessomis; similar huts were scattered all through the Silvercades to aid the traveller. The window was shuttered, making it dark and chill inside, but Tierken soon had a fire burning, nuts roasting and water heating for cotzee.

The smell of roasting nuts reminded Kira of the Bough, of Miken’s longhouse, of her early days with Tierken’s patrol, and some of the cloudiness in her head dissipated. She became aware of the firelight sliding over Tierken’s hair and reached out to touch it. She’d forgotten how soft it was, and he turned his head and smiled. It was Kandor’s smile but also his own.

‘I want you,’ she whispered.

Tierken lifted the pan of nuts from the fire and turned to her. ‘We’ll do things properly this time, Kira, like Laryia and Tresen have.’

Kira stared at him in confusion, trying to recall how Laryia and Tresen had behaved, but that time was lost in a fog of dying and death. All she could remember was Laryia sitting beside Tresen’s pallet in the Haelen, and then, once Tresen had been moved to the Domain, Laryia reporting how he fared.

Kira half shook her head, knowing only that she wanted Tierken’s love. She reached for him again, but he held her hands in his.

‘Laryia and Tresen have had the benefit of more time together than we have,’ he said. ‘Tresen loves Laryia and will show his love by following Terak customs and marrying her. Laryia might go to your lands, but whether she goes or stays in Sarnia, the honour and respect rightfully accorded her can only be maintained if she’s Tresen’s wife, not his “woman”.

‘There’s been no time for you to come to trust that I would never give you cause to regret marrying me in the Terak way. We have that time now, Kira, and I have my mother’s pledge-bracelet here with me. I’ve already asked you to marry me twice, and I won’t ask you to marry me a third time this night, for I know it’s too soon for you, but I will ask you before we return to Sarnia. Until then, we’ll court as my sister and your clanmate have.’

Kira understood little of what he’d said, other than he was to deny her his love. She pulled her hands free from his. ‘You don’t want me,’ she said.

‘I want you more than anything in the world – but as my wife. Until we’re pledged, I want us to enjoy being together, speaking of all the things we need to know and share about each other to be happy in our marriage to come.’

Abruptly, anger did what the kindness of Laryia, Farid and Eris had failed to – it sliced through the shroud of dullness enclosing her. And what she saw, sparkling with the clarity of the mountain streams, was the choice Tierken offered her. To have his love – the sweet feel of his skin next to hers, the ecstasy of him within her – she must wear metal and promise to stay in Sarnia forever. That was the trade he offered, no matter how nicely he dressed it up. If there was to be love, it was to be on his terms.

Tierken handed her a bowl of nuts and a cup of cotzee and Kira nodded her thanks. When she’d finished, she pulled her sleeping-sheet out and lay down next to the fire.

‘The bed’s softer,’ said Tierken, gesturing to the raised wooden platform behind them, a grass mattress already in place.

Kira said nothing. She was very tired, and despite her racing thoughts, it was only a short time before she was asleep.

Kira woke with stiff, sore muscles from the previous day’s trek, and it was late morning before they eased. She’d taken very little exercise in Sarnia, even before the fighting had confined her to the Haelen. In Allogrenia she had roamed far and wide, regularly setting her sleeping-sling in the treetops when her journeying took her more than a day from the Bough. But in Sarnia, she could only journey within the walls, and after a time, she was loath to even do that, for she was never alone.

The presence of the Guard meant she must consider her every action and word, even down to refraining from cursing if she stubbed her toe. And if she somehow managed to forget their presence, eyes slid sideways from those she passed or peered at her from behind shutters. It was scarcely better in Kessom, as Storsil and the other Guard, Farsrin, insisted on accompanying her as she gathered.

And even here, where sunny meads stretched away, dotted with white and yellow flowers, Tierken sought to confine her with metal and marriage. He spoke of the Foaling Fields they’d reach later that day, of how the bloodline of the stallion Ralis – brought from beyond the Oskinas in seasons long past – ran truest in the horses there, and of how horses of his line were sought after in all the northern, western and eastern lands. It was a bloodline never traded from his family, he said, and Kalos, Chime and Kira’s own mare were all Ralis’s direct kin.

His words fed Kira’s anger from the previous night, for Tierken had obviously gifted her the mare on the expectation of her joining his family through marriage. So Kira’s ownership of the mare was dependent on Tierken’s ownership of her. There seemed little point in naming the mare then, for Kira had no intention of becoming Tierken’s property.

As the day wore on, her anger enlarged to include Tresen as well, for his speedy acquiescence to Terak ways had simply strengthened Tierken’s belief that Kira’s objections to marriage were unreasonable and could be overcome.

The constant churn of thoughts robbed her of any enjoyment in their travel, and Kira bit her lip, struggling to impose order on her weary brain. Perhaps her objections were unreasonable. Perhaps the whole notion of marriage had become entangled with everything else she’d had to fight Tierken for: recognition of the kin-link and aid for the Tremen; the creation of the Haelen and her right to gather, heal and take pain; and freedom to come and go without begging his permission.

But she had offered to bond with him, and that meant staying in Sarnia and having to accommodate nearly every other Terak custom. But it hadn’t been enough. And now Tierken punished her by withholding himself.

They reached the second shelter-hut in the mid-afternoon, and Tierken set the pack inside. Then taking Kira’s hand, he led her to where the trees gave way to a solid wall of boulders. He slipped between them and Kira gasped as she saw that the land fell away in a dizzying drop. And far away at its base, sheltered by the sides, she could see horses.

‘The smaller dark ones you can see are the first of this season’s foals. All silver horses are born dark, but lighten over their first three seasons. Your mare’s reached the colour she’ll remain. Have you thought of a name for her yet?’

‘No.’

‘I still favour Beautiful,’ said Tierken with a smile, his fingers tilting her face to his.

Kira stepped back. ‘We can’t kiss, remember.’

‘I never said that. I just want us to take things more slowly, to spend more time getting to know each other, so you learn to trust –’

‘You didn’t ask me what I wanted,’ interrupted Kira.

‘I thought you loved me,’ said Tierken quietly.

‘I do! But you won’t have me! You want this other thing, where I’m with you but not with you!’ Kira struggled to steady her temper and failed, her fury feeding off the long moons of frustrated longing for him.

‘You think that by holding yourself apart, I’ll marry you. But I won’t marry you or Caledon or any man! The Tremen don’t marry!’

Tierken’s face was suddenly very cold. ‘Tresen’s pledged to marry Laryia. Are you saying he’s lied to my sister, and to me?’

‘He’s only doing it to please her!’

‘And you’re not willing to please me?’

Kira pushed a shaking hand through her hair. ‘I offered to trade Allogrenia to please you, to never see Miken and Tenerini and Kest again to please you – but I can’t change into a Terak to please you. I’ll always be a Tremen Healer.’

‘Without marriage you won’t be a Tremen Healer – you’ll be akin to a Caru woman!’

‘I don’t care what’s said about me on the streets of Sarnia,’ said Kira. ‘I don’t even care if Rosham spits at me again. All I care is that you give me your love!’

Tierken’s hand flashed to his sword. ‘Rosham spat at you?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kira, regretting her slip. ‘As long as you’re with me, nothing matters!’

‘You don’t understand anything about Sarnia if you believe that!’ he said, already striding back towards the hut. ‘I regret that our sightseeing in the Silvercades must be cut short. I’m returning to Sarnia. You will remain in Kessom till the end of spring when you’ll be collected for Laryia’s wedding.’

He was walking so fast that Kira had to run to keep up. ‘I don’t care about Rosham, Tierken; it’s not important.’

Tierken reclaimed his pack from the hut and slammed the door shut. ‘Terak ways aren’t Tremen ways. To insult the kin of the Feailner is to insult the Feailner himself!’ he said, setting off.

‘The insult was aimed at me, Tierken. For my sake, let it be,’ she begged.

‘This started before your time, and I’m going back to finish it.’

‘But I want you here with me!’

He stopped and looked at her. ‘If that were true, Kira, you’d marry me.’

For the rest of the day, Kira had to use all her strength just to keep Tierken in sight, and by the time they reached the next shelter-hut, she was so weary that she simply crawled into her sleeping-sheet.

Tierken built the fire, then heated water and roasted nuts. ‘Don’t go to sleep before you eat,’ he ordered, but Kira was already drifting, slipping almost immediately into the nightmare of Kandor’s death.

The blade’s flash as it slashed Kandor’s throat made her wake with a scream, and she lay panting in fright. Her shirt was drenched with sweat, and Tierken crouched over her.

‘Tell me what you dream, Kira.’

‘No!’

‘I want you to share these things with me, to trust me,’ he said.

She turned on him furiously. ‘How can I trust you when every time I don’t bow to your will you take back your love? When I have to pretend to be other than I am to gain your approval? When you say you want me, but walk away when I displease you? Caledon was right when he said you’d never accept me!’

‘Caledon! You seem to believe that he’s immune from error and the desire to arrange things to his own liking.’

‘Where is he now?’ said Kira.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because he helped save Allogrenia, and Tresen, and he helped me in the Azurcades. I want to see him again, to speak with him, to thank him. Has he gone back to Talliel?’

‘He journeys to Maraschin, but will be invited to Laryia’s wedding. Then I presume he’ll return to Talliel, for there’s nothing to keep him here.’

Kira sat up and pushed the hair from her eyes, thinking of the thumbelin’s sweet music and of how Caledon had sheltered her on Shardos. ‘I’ll miss him,’ she said in a small voice.

Tierken said nothing, the crack of burning wood filling the silence, then she felt his fingers on her face. He caressed her cheek, then slowly turned her face to his. His lips were soft on her mouth, his kisses gentle, and she shut her eyes as her need of him woke. His kisses grew harder and deeper, until she clung to him, overwhelmed by her want of him, but then he pulled back, leaving her hungry.

‘Is Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan still willing to bond with the Terak Feailner?’

She stared at him in confusion. ‘I’m willing,’ she said uncertainly.

‘Then explain to me how it’s done.’

‘The . . . the couple who are to bond come before the Tremen Leader at Turning – that’s a celebration to mark spring turning to summer. There’s a time during the celebration – usually near the end – when those who are to bond step forward and recite their pledge.’

‘That’s all? There’s no exchange of tokens and nothing’s written down?’

‘No. The Clanleaders and others who attend take the news back to their longhouses and it’s known quickly throughout Allogrenia who has bonded.’

‘So . . . as you’re the Tremen Leader, and can’t come before yourself, would it be sufficient for us to recite this bonding pledge? Or must we have witnesses? Laryia and Tresen are to wed at the start of summer but I want to keep this separate.’

‘I don’t think we need witnesses,’ said Kira, unable to recall any precedent.

‘Then let us delay no longer,’ said Tierken, rising.

Kira felt dizzy at the pace with which things were unfolding. On the rare occasions she’d thought about bonding, it hadn’t been dressed in travel-stained clothing with her hair dishevelled, but nor had her imaginings prepared her for the power of her feelings for this man. It wasn’t the ending of spring either, but then, she wasn’t in Allogrenia. There was no precedent for anything that had happened.

‘If you speak first, I can follow your words – unless the man must speak first,’ said Tierken.

‘I don’t think it really matters,’ said Kira, drying her sweaty palms on her breeches and taking a steadying breath.

‘I, Kiraon of Kashclan, daughter of Maxen, daughter of Fasarini, sister of Merek, sister of Lern, sister of Kandor, speak now at Turn– speak now, that I choose Tierken of the Terak Kirillian as bondmate and Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.’

Kira smiled at Tierken through her tears as he began his pledge.

‘I, Tierken of the Terak Kirillian, son of Merench, son of Lyess, brother of Laryia, speak now, that I choose Kiraon of Kashclan as bondmate and Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.’

Kira kissed Tierken formally on each cheek. ‘Welcome to Kashclan,’ she said tremulously.

‘I didn’t realise Kashclan came with the pledge,’ he said, bending down and putting more wood on the fire. ‘It’s late and we have a long journey on the morrow to Kessom. It’s best you get some sleep, Kira.’

‘You’re still going back to Sarnia?’ she asked in bewilderment.

‘Of course,’ said Tierken. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

The last of the ghastly parade of Shargh survivors didn’t straggle back to the Grounds until after the new moon. They bore sword slashes and arrow wounds, crushed bones from the stamp of the massive northern horses and bones broken from falls. Many of those who’d escaped battle injuries were weak from lack of food and coughed like the gurgle of streams. They told wild tales of the Northerners calling on magic to spring from trees, to raise rivers into flood and their ability to go without food and sleep for days on end. And they told of the Ashmiri’s betrayal.

Few were willing to blame Arkendrin outright, or the Sky Chiefs, but there was bitter talk within the skin walls of sorchas, and wailing as many of those who’d managed to survive the long trek back sickened and died. Irdodun was one of the few who’d escaped unscathed, and it was his join-wife and daughters who tended Arkendrin.

Arkendrin’s eye socket was filled with pus and he burned with fever, his ravings audible from the top sorcha. Palansa kept Ersalan within, fearing that the drift of ill vapours from the lower sorchas might infect her son. She hoped the wound would claim Arkendrin’s life, but the Sky Chiefs had already shown that they had no intention of calling Arkendrin to them yet.

He still had a part to play in the Last Telling, Tarkenda had told her, but what it might be Palansa didn’t know. Arkendrin’s hunting of the gold-eyed creature had already brought much of the Telling into being – and all of it ill. And now the rout of their warriors meant that there was nothing to prevent the Northerners coming south.

The notion filled Palansa with terror, and as Ersalan smiled up at her, she held him close until she steadied. Tarkenda seemed to think the Telling was like the Thanawah within its banks, its route already laid out, but Palansa believed that it was also a warning, and that to know what was to come was to be given a chance to avoid it.

Coming to a decision, Palansa went to where Ormadon and Erlken sat outside the door.

‘Send Irason to me,’ she said.

They looked surprised, but Erlken rose to do her bidding.

Palansa wandered around the sorcha while she waited, returning Ersalan’s smiles despite her distracted thoughts. Eventually a gravelly voice sounded and Palansa bade Irason enter.

He palmed to Ersalan, then to her, but he was so bent he was scarcely taller after he’d straightened.

‘How might I serve the Chief and the Chief-mother?’ he asked.

Irason served Arkendrin, but the old Shargh had something Palansa needed. ‘You can teach me the northern tongue,’ she said. ‘And you can start now.’

Tresen and Laryia sat together next to the owl fountain. The woodwrights had built Tresen a chair that could be carried and, as the courtyard caught the warm spring sunshine, Tresen had flicked off his coverings. But his wasted legs made him grimace in disgust. Much of what had passed since his wounding had been a blur of unconsciousness and pain, but his first glimpse of Laryia remained clear.

Her beauty still enthralled him, but now he knew her sweetness and strength. Laryia spoke to him as if he were already recovered, as if the only impediment to their going to Allogrenia was the need to saddle horses. Nor would Laryia countenance any difficulty in settling into life there. Having been raised in Kessom, she was well used to trees, she had assured him, and Kira had told her much about the Tremen manner of living.

When the wound ached and he trembled with weakness, Tresen wondered why Laryia had chosen him when she could have had any hale man in Sarnia – or in the rest of the Terak lands, for that matter. Then her hand would close over his and she’d smile, and his doubts would vanish.

As they sat in the sun, they spoke of the Kashclan longhouse again, for Laryia was eager to know as much as possible about it. Then bells sounded in the lower city, and Laryia stopped in puzzlement.

‘Tierken’s back,’ she said. ‘He’s been gone less than a moon quarter. I hope the news isn’t ill.’

They waited in silence, both fearing that Kira had drowned in Glass Gorge, but neither willing to say it. Then the Domain gate swung open and Kalos cantered through, Tierken handing the stallion to Ryn, and barely pausing before coming quickly towards them.

‘I fear the news is ill,’ whispered Laryia, her gaze on her brother’s face, and she clutched Tresen’s hand without realising it.

‘Tremen Healer Tresen,’ said Tierken to Tresen, with a nod. ‘I hope your recovery continues?’

‘It does. I thank you, Feailner,’ said Tresen.

‘Is Kira safe?’ asked Laryia.

‘She’s in Kessom and will remain there for the time being,’ said Tierken, his attention still on Tresen. ‘I regret I must rob you of your company for a short while, Tremen Healer. I need speak with my sister of matters that occurred during my absence in the south. We shouldn’t be long.’

Laryia hastened after Tierken to the Meeting Hall, holding her silence until they were within.

‘Why have you come back so quickly?’ she asked. ‘Is it well between you and Kira?’

‘We’ve bonded.’

‘Oh, Tierken!’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. ‘I’m happy for you.’

‘You shouldn’t be,’ said Tierken, disengaging himself. ‘It means Kira’s status remains scarcely higher than a Caru woman’s.’

‘All’s not well, is it?’

‘I brought you here to find out why you neglected to tell me that Rosham spat at Kira,’ said Tierken, ignoring Laryia’s question.

Laryia’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know he had,’ she said. ‘Of course, I knew Rosham was furious you’d recognised the kin-link, but that was to be expected.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I’ll not repeat his exact words but I threatened him with expulsion, and he apologised – after a fashion.’

‘Tell me what he said!’

‘That Kira was like a Caru woman who had used her body to make you forget your obligations and duties,’ said Laryia reluctantly.

‘He’s fortunate I’m only going to expel him,’ fumed Tierken.

‘I ask that you don’t.’

‘You think these things are acceptable?’

‘Of course not! But if you expel him, he’ll attract sympathy and use it against you and Kira and Tresen’s people. There’s a better punishment.’

‘Which is?’

‘Make Rosham irrelevant,’ said Laryia.

‘What mean you?’

‘Bypass him and the rest of the Marken, Tierken. Speak directly with the trader leaders. With the Wastes built on and occupied, the traders will have far greater demand for their goods. Involve them in the procurement of building supplies too.’

Tierken frowned as he considered her words. ‘Anything else, Feailner?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ replied Laryia, undeterred. ‘You need to consider Farid. His loyalty is to you and the Domain, but Rosham is his father. It would hurt and shame him to have Rosham expelled.’

‘Yet you threatened Rosham with expulsion.’

‘Yes, and it would have given me a great deal of pleasure. But the Tremen must gain the city’s acceptance, and the trader leaders are the key to that, not Rosham and his followers.’

Tierken nodded abruptly. ‘I think you’re right. But if Rosham shows even the slightest disrespect to Kira or any other Tremen in the future, he’ll never pass the gate again. You can let Farid know.’

‘I will.’

There was a short silence.

‘So,’ said Laryia carefully. ‘Has Kira recovered?’

‘No, but Eris assures me that rest away from the effects of fighting will cure her.’

‘And so you’ve bonded?’

‘For what it’s worth,’ said Tierken, wandering restlessly around the room. ‘It was that or nothing.’

‘Tresen’s told me that bonding is very serious,’ said Laryia.

Tierken didn’t respond and Laryia tried again. ‘Tresen’s also told me that Kira’s refusal to marry might be due to her father. Apparently he was a cold and domineering man.’

‘And Healer Tresen’s suggesting I’m the same?’

‘No, of course not! He suggests Kira’s frightened of being controlled, and of marriage meaning having to stay with you whether she wanted to or not,’ said Laryia.

‘Is that how Tresen views marriage, Laryia? Being forced to stay with you even after things turn sour?’

‘If I had any doubts about Tresen’s love for me, or mine for him, I wouldn’t marry him, Tierken.’

‘And if I had any doubts about my love for Kira, I wouldn’t have asked her to marry me – twice. It seems you’ve been more fortunate in your choice of Tremen than I have, Laryia.’

‘Things might change, Tierken. I think Kira just needs more time. It’s obvious she loves you, and if she bonded with you she clearly wants to be with you.’

Tierken shrugged and took his leave of Laryia. But as he made his way along the balcony, it came to him that Laryia was right. Everything that had happened in Kessom pointed to Kira wanting him. His eyes narrowed and his steps slowed as he realised that his strategy in dealing with her had been completely wrong. He hadn’t defeated the Shargh by fighting the way they wanted, and he would never gain Kira’s agreement to marriage by doing as she wanted – by being her bondmate.

He came to a stop and stared down at the owl fountain. In retrospect, it had been a wise decision to leave Kira in Kessom – without him – till the end of spring. And given her need to grow strong again, an easy one. But it wasn’t going to be easy when she came back to Sarnia, for either of them, not if his new strategy was to succeed.

Miken pushed the shutters wide, letting the soft breeze freshen the closed air inside the hall. The Kashclan long-house was crowded, but the music had fallen silent as the players joined the dancers refreshing themselves at the tables laden with food and drink. The lissium garlands adorning the walls added to the heady scents of the night air, while above the canopy, a full moon sent silvery chinks to the forest floor.

The last full moon of spring, Miken mused, his eyes on the movement of the guarding Protectors deep in the trees. Because the Bough remained unbuilt, each longhouse now celebrated Turning within its own walls. There was chatter and even laughter from his kinsfolk behind him, and while Miken knew that he had much to be grateful for, he yearned to know what unfolded beyond Allogrenia’s borders.

There had been no attacks since the Lord Caledon had left, five long moons ago, taking the Tremen volunteers and Tresen with him. Tresen might have been dead – and unmourned – for all that time, or he might be safely with Kira in the northern city, the fighting over with and the Terak Kirillian triumphant. Or the victorious Shargh might be swarming past the Sentinels at this very moment, hacking their way through Kest’s patrols and pushing on towards the longhouses.

Tenerini came to Miken’s side and her warm hand closed over his. They had no need to speak, for each knew the thoughts of the other. They stood with hands clasped, staring out into the night, sending their silent messages of hope and love north – to wherever their son might dwell.

The last full moon of spring passed before Tresen took his first faltering steps. He was appalled by his weakness, but Laryia was delighted to see him walk and her encouragement gladdened him. He still slept much of the day and Laryia spent that time helping Arlen in the Haelen. Arlen’s arrival in Sarnia, along with the Tremen Caledon had commanded, was most welcome, especially as Kira remained in Kessom. The Haelen was almost as busy as it had been during the fighting. Aching backs, children’s coughs, men with sprains and breaks, and women whose babes either refused to suckle, or suckled too much and then whooped the milk back up. The Marken and their families kept away but, increasingly, they were the exception. It seemed as if the rest of Sarnia were making up for having been denied healing for so many seasons.

Many of those who visited asked after the Lady Kira, and expressed hopes for her quick return to health; her exhaustion and consequent sojourn in Kessom seemed to be widely known.

Wedding preparations also occupied Laryia. The next Mid-market fell too late to trade for more gowns, so she took those she’d traded at the last Mid-market to the Kir metal-workers, whose skills allowed them to draw metals out to thread-like thinness. Laryia had them fashion intricate patterns of silver into the neck and cuffs of her gown, and make a circlet set with white and blue stones for her hair.

She had Kira’s green gown similarly ornamented with gold, and a gold circlet with green stones made. Before the last banquet, Kira had pledged never to wear metal again, but it couldn’t be helped. The Marriage Walk was traditionally led by the Feailner and his consort, and although Kira was Tierken’s bondmate, rather than his wife, it was essentially the same thing in Laryia’s view, and meant that Kira must be properly attired.

Laryia thought about Kira often, but there had been no messages from Eris as to how Kira fared. Eris was uncommunicative by nature, especially if her words must be directed towards the ‘stone city’, and so Laryia’s only news came from the men who brought herbs from Kessom, now that Glass Gorge was less dangerous. All they reported was that the Lady Kira was to be seen out gathering.

They made no mention of her bonding to the Feailner, and nor did Niria, who had a keen ear for what was said in the city. Farid didn’t speak of it either and, given his closeness to Tierken, it suggested he didn’t know. Tierken’s secrecy made Laryia uneasy, as did the fact that he seemed angry about the bonding, rather than glad. But she held her silence. It was for Tierken to announce his changed status at the time and place of his choosing, not her. In any case, it would be announcement enough when he led the Marriage Walk with Kira beside him – resplendent in the green and gold gown.

Tierken spent long days in the Rehan Valley; there was an enormous amount of rebuilding to do and it gifted him sufficient exhaustion to sleep at night. Even so, he found the slightest sound woke him; he often found himself on his feet with drawn sword before he recollected he was safe in the Domain.

As well as working to restore the Rehan settlements, Tierken met with the trader leaders to plan the development of the Wastes. Laryia’s suggestion that he deal more directly with them had born fruit, strengthening his feailnership while simultaneously sidelining the Marken. And despite the occasional allusion to the ‘uncertain’ status of the Tremen Leader – the implication of which he grimly ignored – Tierken was surprised by how much goodwill Kira’s selfless healing had generated. The positive sentiments of the trader leaders might have made Tierken proud of her had he not been forced to witness Laryia’s wedding preparations. And knowing that Tresen was willing to do what Kira refused continued to infuriate him.

In Kessom, Kira’s longing for Tierken was temporarily displaced by her anxiety about Eris. The elderly Healer had fallen ill soon after Tierken had left, burning with fever and wracked with a pain that she refused to let Kira take. Eris prohibited any message being sent to Sarnia, not wanting to disrupt the wedding preparations.

Kira ministered to her through the long nights, but Thalli helped during the day and Jafiel came too. He was close to twelve seasons, leggy and awkward and with a dry sense of humour that reminded Kira of Kandor. He made her laugh, and for the first time since Kandor’s death, she was able to find joy as well as sorrow in her memories of him.

As the days passed and the mantle of snow crept up the mountains’ shoulders, Kira roamed further and further afield. She came to know the high meads and to delight in the small valleys with their clear icy streams. The crisp air seemed to soak up the alwaysgreen’s spice, stirring longing for Allogrenia but sating it too.

On one ramble, she came upon a dwinhir nest with three eggs, and returned often to watch the mated pair warming them. She wished Tierken was there to share her pleasure and excitement as the eggs hatched into clumsy chicks, and felt it a cruel thing to be without him straight after their bonding.

Kira made light of them being apart so as not to concern Eris, and reminded herself often that, as Feailner, Tierken was less free than other men to follow his personal wishes. And, though Kira had told Eris of their bonding, she and Eris mainly spoke of Tresen and Allogrenia, for Eris was keen to know of her grand-daughter’s intended husband, and of where Laryia would live.

‘Allogrenia’s more like Kessom than Sarnia,’ said Kira, as they sat together in the cooking place. ‘But I fear Laryia will miss the Silvercades, and I know she’ll miss all the pretty things at Mid-market. No traders go to Allogrenia.’

‘If Terak go there, traders will follow. And it will be better for Laryia if it’s so. You already know how hard it is to live among strangers.’

‘The Tremen will welcome Laryia,’ said Kira defensively.

‘Will they? A Terak Kutan?’

‘Laryia’s a Healer,’ said Kira. ‘And she’ll go to Allogrenia as the bondmate of the Tremen’s best Healer.’

‘Second best,’ corrected Eris with a smile.

The illness had left Eris fragile, but her eyes had lost none of their shrewdness. ‘I wonder whether you’ve thought through fully the implications of your bonding – the fact that you must give up so much,’ she said.

‘I’ll not pretend that it won’t be hard,’ admitted Kira. ‘I’ve known for a long time that having Tierken meant not having Allogrenia, and that I can’t be both here with my bondmate and there with my clanmates.

‘But I need to go back one last time. When I left, I didn’t think I’d live to cross the Dendora, let alone return. I was running, too terrified even to look back. I’ve never been to the alwaysgreens where my family is buried, never stood beneath their boughs and listened to my family’s voices in the whisper of leaves. I need do that.’

As the moon waxed large again and the end of spring approached, Kira’s impatience to see Tierken became unbearable. She fidgeted about the cooking place or spent her time at the stables, scanning the track for horses. As soon as he arrived, she planned that they’d make a dash to the dwinhir nest. The chicks were half fluff and half feathers now and she knew Tierken would enjoy seeing them as much as she did.

But when horses finally appeared on the path from Sarnia, they bore only Guard Leader Tharin, Guard Second Daril, and a young female server who carried clothes and ribbons to dress Kira’s hair.

‘The Feailner orders that we leave late this night, so that we reach Sarnia at midday on the morrow, and reminds you that celebrations for his sister’s wedding have commenced. He sends clothes appropriate for the occasion and looks forward to welcoming you home.’

Tharin’s face was emotionless, but Kira felt the opposite. She had assumed that Tierken would be coming himself, not sending Guard. To add to Kira’s disappointment and upset, the server insisted on dressing Kira’s hair there and then.

Kira had to still her boiling emotions while the server laboriously braided her hair, weaving in silver and black ribbons. The clothes the server had brought were black too, ornamented with silver. There was a high-collared jacket split at the back for riding, black breeches, and black knee-high boots also embellished with silver. The colours of the Domain, Kira realised apprehensively, which she was now part of due to her bonding.

She changed into them and came back to the cooking place.

‘You look every part a queen,’ said Eris.

‘I feel every part a traitor to Kasheron, wearing this metal,’ muttered Kira.

‘The Tremen and Terak are one now,’ Eris reminded her.

‘Metal’s still prasach.’

Eris smiled and continued her grinding, but Kira’s throat tightened as she looked at the elderly Healer, and at the comforting familiarity of the room she’d soon be departing. The fire flickered low and the air was sweet with drying herbs.

‘I don’t want to leave here, Eris, or you,’ she said tremulously.

Eris set her grinding aside. ‘You don’t want to be with Tierken?’

‘I don’t want to be in Sarnia. The people stare and there’s too much stone.’

The complaint sounded childish, even to her own ears.

‘You’re strong, Kira. You will make a place for yourself there, as you have here.’

‘I’ll come back and visit you again soon, Eris.’

‘I ask that you don’t,’ said Eris. ‘This is my last spring, Kira, and you’ve seen too much of death already. We’ll make our farewells now, and you’ll remember me as I am this night – our last together.’

Kira stared at her in horror. ‘But how do you know?’

‘We’re both Healers, and you ask me that?’

‘But there are things I can do!’ cried Kira, tears starting. ‘I can –’

Eris placed her fingers on Kira’s lips, silencing her. ‘We are of the green and growing, you and I. We know of seed-fall, understand the uncurling of new leaves, accept the slow creep of decay as death reclaims life. You saw it in the forests, and it’s here in the allogrenia groves, and in the ice that burns brighter than fire, then slides back into water. It’s given to Healers to know when to heal – and when to let go.’

Eris cradled Kira’s wet face in her hands, as she had on the night Tierken had first brought her to Kessom.

‘I say to you now what I’ve said before. Give yourself time to heal – and kindness.’

Then she kissed Kira on each cheek, and hobbled from the room.

The day was like full summer when Kira and her escort reached Sarnia. Tierken watched her progress up the Domain path from his vantage point in the lee of the Domain gate. His strategy forbade him from greeting her outside, but the fact that the path was already decorated with flowers and black-and-silver pennants in preparation for Laryia’s wedding on the morrow also prevented such a meeting. To travel it now with Kira would be to parody the Marriage Walk – and he hadn’t the stomach for it.

Once Tierken had issued orders to the Guard to escort Kira back from Kessom, word of it had spread – as it usually did – and crowds appeared, no doubt anticipating seeing the Feailner’s bride-to-be. Tierken smiled grimly as he contemplated the gossip. Those whose sons she’d healed would say that the gold-eyed Healer had returned, but more would grin slyly and say that the Feailner’s woman would soon be warming the Feailner’s bed.

Kira was about midway up the path when a cheer began. Tierken had no idea who had begun it but he was pleased to see that Kira wasn’t cowed by it as she’d been when he first brought her to Sarnia. She sat straight in the saddle, and even waved in greeting. His blood quickened as she neared, for the Domain colours highlighted her fairness, and the silver ribbons in the braid around her face glinted like a crown. She’d gained weight, too, her gauntness replaced by soft curves.

The party entered the Domain and Kira slumped with relief, then saw him, her face lighting up as she leapt from the mare and bounded into his arms. The sense and scent of her woke a fierce desire and he wondered how he’d borne their moons apart and how he’d possibly bear what was to come.

Finally she drew back. ‘I greet you, bondmate,’ she said tenderly.

‘You look well,’ said Tierken. ‘Are you well?’

‘How could I not be well, now I’m with you? And you’ll be pleased to know that on the journey here I named the mare. I’ve called her Brightwings after the iridescent moths that live in Allogrenia.’

‘A pretty name,’ said Tierken, his gaze roving over her.

He took her pack from the escort and steered her swiftly across the courtyard.

‘Sarnia looks lovely with all the flowers and flags,’ she said, panting slightly as she almost had to jog to keep up. ‘People seem happy and excited too. I suppose it’s a wonderful thing to have a wedding so soon after the fighting.’

‘Yes it is,’ said Tierken, pulling her along the balcony after him, and into her rooms.

He slammed the door and turned the key, then took her in his arms again. His kisses were so urgent that she felt breathless, then he picked her up and carried her to the sleeping-room, where he swiftly removed her jacket and shirt, and loosened the lacings on her breeches. His mouth moved from her neck to her breasts, and she shut her eyes, anticipating his skin next to hers.

But he didn’t undress, instead holding her clamped against him as he entered her, thrusting again and again till his need was sated. Kira’s hunger for him remained and she began to unbutton his shirt, but he stilled her hand.

‘No time for that now,’ he said, neatening his clothes. ‘I must outline the wedding schedule so you know what’s expected.’

Kira struggled to concentrate, disconcerted by the abruptness of his love-making.

‘The celebrations begin with a breakfast banquet which Laryia will host with me in the Meeting Hall. All peoples who make up the Terak Kirillian, or who are allied or treatied to us, are represented. I’ve asked Farid to escort you and I’ve instructed Niria to bring you a selection of gowns and help you prepare.

‘The marriage ceremony will commence at midday at the wall gate. Laryia tells me she’s had a special gown arranged for you. Again, Farid will escort you. The custom is for the Feailner and his consort to lead the betrothed couple from the wall gate to the Domain gate with the wedding guests following in order of status. As I’m unmarried, Laryia’s partnered me in the past, but obviously that’s not possible in this instance, so I’ll perform the duty alone. The Marriage Walk provides an enjoyable spectacle and allows the citizens of Sarnia to offer their best wishes to the couple.

‘The couple then pledge before the Marken before returning to the Meeting Hall for the wedding banquet. The celebrations make for a long day, and as you’ve travelled through the night, I suggest you get some sleep now so that you’ll be fresh for the morrow.’

He nodded and the door shut behind him, leaving Kira alone and feeling both off balance and bereft. Tierken loved her, had made love to her, but she needed time simply to lie in his arms and speak with him. Or to lie in his arms in silence, knowing he was there. She sighed as she dressed. Tierken had responsibility for the wedding preparations and much else to do, apart from stay with her, she reminded herself. Once the wedding was over with though, she’d have all the time in the world with her bondmate.

The realisation that she had a bondmate swept over her anew and she laughed suddenly and flopped back on the bed. Then there was a knock and she leapt up, hurriedly smoothing down her clothes.

It was Laryia and Tresen, and Kira stared at her clanmate in astonishment.

‘You look so well,’ she gasped.

Apart from being thin and moving with care, Tresen looked as he always had. Kira laughed again, this time in relief, and embraced him.

‘You also look well, clanmate,’ said Tresen, with a broad smile. ‘And I congratulate you on your bonding. May you and Tierken find the same joy and happiness as we have found.’

‘I wish you joy and happiness on your bonding also,’ said Laryia, as she kissed Kira on the cheek. ‘Now, I’ll leave you two together, for I know you’ve had little chance to speak since you both came north. And Kira, sometime this day Niria will bring the dress you wore to the banquet at Mid-market. I’ve had it ornamented, and a circlet made for your hair. You’re going to look so beautiful as you lead the Marriage Walk with Tierken.’

‘I’m not leading it with Tierken. Farid’s to partner me,’ said Kira.

‘But . . . being Tierken’s bondmate is virtually the same as being his consort. You should walk with him,’ said Laryia.

‘The morrow belongs to you and Tresen, not to me,’ said Kira. ‘I’m well content with how Tierken has arranged things.’

Laryia nodded but still looked troubled as she left.

‘Sit, clanmate, and conserve your strength,’ said Kira to Tresen. ‘From what Tierken has said, the morrow will tax you greatly. And before you get too comfortable, show me that wound.’

‘Always the Healer,’ said Tresen, as he slipped off his shirt.

‘Yes,’ said Kira. ‘So you know better than to lie to me about your pain. How is your breathing?’

‘I won’t be sprinting anywhere.’

‘No,’ she said, gently probing. ‘The spear damaged your lungs. Still, you look better than I dared hope.’

‘I hadn’t realised the healing power of love,’ said Tresen soberly, as he put his shirt back on. ‘Between you and Laryia, I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate. Your love pulled me back into life, and Laryia’s love gave me reason to stay here.’ He paused. ‘How is it with you and Tierken?’

‘As you’ve seen,’ said Kira with a smile. ‘I love him and we’ve bonded.’

‘But that’s not enough for him, is it?’ said Tresen, looking at her sideways.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Tierken’s told no one in Sarnia that he’s bonded to you. Farid doesn’t even know, and Farid’s his closest friend. And he’s refused you your rightful position – as his consort – at his side in the Marriage Walk.’

Kira looked at him in dismay and Tresen gentled his voice. ‘To truly accept the kin-link, Tierken has to accept our customs. Both Laryia and I have told him in various ways that, in Tremen terms, you are as married to him as Laryia and I will be by this time on the morrow. But everything he’s done to date, or hasn’t done, tells me that he hasn’t accepted the bonding.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘I’m your clanmate, Kira. We grew together and I love you. I have to say it.’

There was a strained silence, and it was Kira who broke it. ‘It was an immense thing we asked of the Terak, in accepting Kasheron’s deserters back into the city. Full acceptance of us, and Tierken’s full acceptance of me, will take time. I’m prepared to be patient.’

Tresen frowned as he recalled Caledon saying something similar about his own preparedness to wait for Kira. Now Kira was saying the same thing about Tierken. It seemed that the only person not required to be patient was the northern Feailner.

‘Laryia and I won’t be going back to Allogrenia until Terak patrolmen have “secured” it, whatever that means. I’m not sure Kest will be too pleased, but I can understand Tierken’s concerns. And of course, I want Laryia to be absolutely safe too.

‘I’m happy to act as Leader on my return, Kira, if that’s what the Clancouncil wants, but my guess is that no new Leader can be appointed until you have formally renounced the leadership.’

‘I could send a message with you,’ suggested Kira.

‘I don’t think that would be sufficient.’

‘I’ll ask Tierken about visiting Allogrenia then, but I don’t think now is a good time,’ said Kira.

Tresen didn’t think that any time would be good for the northern Leader, but he held his tongue.

As it turned out, Tresen and Kira didn’t enjoy much speech together at all, for Tresen tired so quickly that Kira soon had to help him back to his rooms. As they came out into the courtyard, Kira was surprised by the number of richly dressed strangers strolling about, and remembered that Caledon was probably somewhere in the Domain as well. She longed to see him, but people paused in their conversations at her approach and, after the quietness of Kessom, she felt the need to hasten back to the sanctuary of her rooms.

Niria appeared soon after, with a meal for Kira and an armful of gowns. Wanting to honour her bondmate, Kira selected the black and silver colours of the Domain, despite the gown being heavy with metal. Having a Terak bondmate meant making compromises, she told herself, and Tierken would be pleased by her choice. When he came later she’d also have a chance to tell him about the dwinhir hatchlings too.

Kira sat by the window and watched the Silvercades pass through their glorious hues of pink and orange, then cool to blue as the sun slipped below the horizon, but Tierken didn’t come. Instead, Tresen’s words returned to trouble her. Tresen had never liked Tierken, and Kira believed that her clanmate’s dislike coloured his judgement of Tierken’s actions. Tresen didn’t know that it had been Tierken who had asked her to bond in Kessom, and nor did her clanmate fully comprehend the depth of animosity to Kasheron in the north. The ill feeling towards Kasheron was reason enough for Tierken to keep their bonding a secret – though not to keep the news from his closest friend.

The idea was unsettling enough to give Kira a poor night’s sleep, so that she was up, dressed and waiting when Farid arrived at dawn. In the clear light of a new day, it was easier to dismiss her fears, and seeing Farid again restored her sense of wellbeing. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her as well.

‘It gladdens me to have you safely back,’ he said, gripping her hands.

Kira was reminded of his kindness during the bleak days of fighting and was comforted that he was to guide her through this important day.

‘I beg your pardon that I didn’t have a chance to greet you yesterday,’ he said, as they made their way along the balcony. ‘Between Laryia’s wedding, opening up the Wastes, and rebuilding the southern Rehan, it’s been an extraordinarily busy time.’

‘By contrast, I’ve been very lazy in Kessom,’ said Kira lightly.

‘I’m sure that’s not the case. I’ve heard reports that you gathered and shared your healing in your usual generous manner.’

Kira glanced sideways at him, debating whether to tell him of the bonding. The courtyard was drenched in sunshine and a happy day lay ahead filled with celebrations for Tresen and Laryia – two people Kira loved. She couldn’t imagine Tierken would mind her sharing her joy with Farid, given that the Keeper was discreet and that Tierken trusted him absolutely.

‘What is it?’ asked Farid, with a smile.

Other ornately garbed men and women were moving towards the Meeting Hall, and there were curious glances in their direction. Kira lowered her voice.

‘Tierken and I have bonded.’

Farid jerked to a stop. ‘Bonded?’

Kira laughed, unable to contain her excitement. ‘It’s the Tremen equivalent of Terak marriage.’

‘But when?’

‘When Tierken came to Kessom after the fighting. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

‘May you have a long life with clear skies,’ said Farid, still looking stunned. ‘I would have thought –’

‘I think Tierken’s only told Laryia and Tresen. Many in Kessom know, but not even my people know here. He wants to give the city time to get used to their kin having come north again, without trying to explain what bonding is. But I wanted you to know.’

There was no time for Farid to say anything further as they’d reached the Meeting Hall doors where Tierken and Laryia were greeting their guests. Servers then escorted them to their seats and Kira eagerly scanned the tables for Caledon – until Farid reminded her that the Talliens were neither part of the Terak Kirillian nor joined by treaty or alliance. Tresen wasn’t at the banquet either, as he was saving his strength for the ceremony to come.

Guests continued to stream in: the darker Kirs, the tall muscular Illians and Teraks, and the slightly built Kessomis. Even Ashmiri were there, but not Uthlin or his son. The Tremen Protector Leaders came straight to Kira and greeted her formally, and Kira had to blink hard to clear her vision.

Tierken didn’t rise to speak until well into the meal, and then he spoke only briefly. He welcomed all the Terak peoples in turn – listing the Tremen after the Kirs and Illians, but before the Kessomis – and then those allied with or treatied to the Terak. He finished by toasting Laryia and speaking of his joy at her imminent marriage. Then he sat down.

Kira stared at him, trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t look in her direction. The guests finished their meals and conversations, drifting outside to the bright courtyard, and Farid escorted Kira out too. She yearned to speak to Tierken, but was reluctant to delay Farid, who she knew had other important matters to attend to.

She’d only been back in her rooms a moment before Niria appeared to dress her hair and help her into her gown. The server reported excitedly that the Domain path was already thick with people.

‘You look like Queen Kiraon herself, come back to life,’ said Niria as she tweaked the gown into place. ‘She was Kessomi with fair hair and gold eyes, and favoured green and gold too, or so the tales tell.’

Kira felt more treacherous than queenly, horribly aware of how much metal she had already worn that day.

Farid’s eyes widened when he saw her, and he continued to glance sideways at her as they made their way down to the gate along a side street. On the day of a wedding, it was considered ill fortune to use the Domain path to descend, and the narrow street they used was crowded with other richly attired men and women who were also part of the marriage procession.

Black-and-silver ribbons and banners of material hung from doorways in honour of the Feailner’s sister, and Kira smiled at the children whose noses were pressed against the windows of the houses.

‘The beautiful Tremen Feailner,’ said Adris, falling into step beside her. ‘You look very well indeed.’

Kira flushed as his black eyes roved over her. ‘King Adris, it’s good to see you once more. I am very relieved that you escaped the fighting unscathed.’

‘You doubt my sword skill?’

The heat in Kira’s face increased. ‘By no means. You’ve been formally introduced to the Domain Keeper?’ she asked, gesturing to Farid.

‘Of course,’ said Adris, his gaze remaining on her.

‘I’ve yet to see the Lord Caledon,’ said Kira. ‘Is he in front or behind us?’

‘It’s hard to tell in this crowd. You’ll see him at the banquet though. I know he’s keen to speak with you.’

‘And I with him,’ said Kira. ‘Do you know when he intends to return home?’

‘I think that depends on you.’

Kira was aware of Farid’s silence, but if Adris noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

‘I’ve bonded with the Terak Feailner so the Domain is now my home,’ she said. ‘Bonding’s the Tremen form of marriage,’ she added.

‘Not quite, from what the Lord Caledon tells me,’ said Adris pleasantly. ‘But I’ll let him know your happy news. I’m sure he will wish to congratulate you in person.’ Then, with a nod, he lengthened his stride and drew ahead.

They reached the base of the wall and made their way along in its cool shadow until they came to the gate. There was a long line of dignitaries already assembled there but Farid escorted Kira past them up the line, a hush descending as they passed.

‘They admire your gown,’ murmured Farid.

‘But not my bloodline.’

Farid smiled. ‘You look exquisite. It’s just that Sarnia’s not used to gold that lives.’

‘What about the Feailner’s eyes?’

‘Now which Feailner would that be?’

‘Which would you prefer?’ asked Kira, her tension lessening.

‘It’s hard to choose. They’re both my favourites.’

Kira laughed, at ease again. ‘Are Tierken, Laryia and Tresen late, or are they hiding in this crowd?’ she asked, peering about.

‘They wait in the Marriage House. It’s just behind the stables over there. It was built especially for the happy couple to rest in while the Sarnia Guard persuade their guests to form a line. This can take quite a while, as it’s perplexing for those who think they’re the most important people in Sarnia to discover that they’re the sixth most important, or the twenty-third. No one likes moving back.’

‘Does that mean we’re the most important people in Sarnia?’ asked Kira, as she and Farid took up their position at the top of the line.

‘Indeed it does – after the Feailner, who leads, and the pledged couple, of course. I always come next, as Keeper of the Domain, then the highly placed members of the Kir, Illian and Kessomi communities follow. But because this is the marriage of the Feailner’s sister, those we’re allied to have been invited and must be slotted in. King Adris is placed highly because of the renewed friendship between the Tain and the Terak. The only marriage more important than this will be the marriage of the Feailner himself.’ Farid faltered, looking mortified. ‘I beg your pardon, Kira. I didn’t mean –’

‘I know you didn’t,’ Kira reassured him.

The people behind fell silent, craning their necks to the left, and Kira and Farid followed suit. Then a cheer went up from the crowd as Tierken walked slowly forward wearing the Domain black and silver, a circlet of silver bright against his dark hair. Kira’s heart sped as she looked at him, and the joyous wonder of their love broke over her anew.

Laryia and Tresen followed, and the cheering increased as they took their place behind Tierken. Laryia sparkled in blue, her beauty heightened by her radiant smile, and Tresen wore the Domain black and silver. But his face was pale and Kira watched him anxiously. There was a brief hiatus as black-clad music-makers took up position, then with a clash of thumb cymbals, the Marriage Walk began.

Bells joined the cymbals, then pipes, soft drums and thumbelins, the tinkling music rippling in a happy wave that carried them up the path. Flowers rained down, thrown by the crowd, and Kira laughed in delight. Those gathered along the way cried ‘long life’, ‘clear skies’ and ‘burn bright’ – wishes for happiness and prosperity that Farid said came from their herding past.

Once the procession had passed, the bystanders fell into step behind, following the wedding guests up to the Domain gate. Here the Marken stood to either side of Rosham, with the city’s trader leaders gathered behind them. With a final clash of cymbals, the music stilled and the crowd hushed.

Tierken went forward and took his place in the midst of the Marken, turning to face the crowd and forcing Rosham to move sideways or stare at his back. Then Marken Milsin stepped forward and in a sonorous voice outlined the gravity of the step the couple were about to take. Milsin eventually fell silent and then Tresen and Laryia turned to face each other. Tresen’s pallor had increased, but he spoke steadily, completing his pledge. As Laryia began hers, Kira glanced beyond them to Tierken and smiled, but although he looked directly at her, he didn’t smile back.

Laryia finished her pledge to love and live together until death, then Tresen took the pledge-bracelet from Laryia’s right wrist and slipped it onto her left one. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause, but Kira barely heard them. Her heart thundered in her ears and despite the warm day, she shivered. Perhaps Tresen had been right about Tierken after all.

The servers had been busy since the breakfast banquet, and the Meeting Hall was now festooned with flowers, silver chimes and black ribbons, the tables set in crisp white. Metal platters and goblets gleamed in the light of lattice-worked lanterns, and perfumed candles lent the air a sweet scent. The seating order was much as it had been at the Mid-market banquet, with the addition of Tresen to the top table; Kira and Farid were seated at the closest lower table, along with Adris, Caledon, and the more important of the lesser traders.

Conversations hummed amidst the clang of metal, but Kira barely attended to them, her attention focused on Tierken. Just one tender glance from him would be enough to reassure her, but he was conversing with two of the trader leaders. Kira knew that Tierken still wanted to marry in the Terak way, and that having to watch his sister do so would have been hard for him, but the more she considered how Tierken had looked at her, the more frightened she grew.

Finally she turned to ask, ‘Could you grant me a favour, Farid?’

‘Of course.’

‘Could you change places with the Lord Caledon? I need to speak with him.’

‘By all means,’ said Farid.

He rose, whispered to Caledon, and then Caledon settled beside her. ‘You look very well, Kira. Your time in Kessom seems to have done you good,’ he said.

‘I’ve also been fortunate that those I care most about have survived the fighting,’ she said, touching his hand.

‘Adris tells me that congratulations are in order.’

‘Yes. Tierken and I have bonded,’ she said, forcing a smile.

Just a short time ago, passing on such news would have brought her joy, but now doubts gnawed.

‘Then I wish you both long life and happiness,’ said Caledon, inclining his head. Kira said nothing and Caledon considered her calmly. ‘It’s unclear to me why you aren’t sitting with your bondmate given your new status.’

‘I think the Terak have enough things to come to terms with over the recognition of the kin-link and the granting of Kasheron’s Quarter to us without adding a bondmate,’ said Kira.

‘You think? Or Tierken thinks?’

‘We both think,’ said Kira.

‘When exactly will Tierken acknowledge you then?’

‘I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it.’

Caledon smiled and sipped his drink. ‘I admit I was surprised when Adris informed me of your news. I’d heard nothing about it from the Marken, or the trader leaders, or even the Tremen Protectors. If I had bonded with you, Kira, the whole world would have known by now.’

Kira flushed. ‘Tierken still has difficulties in Sarnia,’ she said, but the excuse sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

‘That might be true, but I don’t think it’s the reason he’s denied you your rightful place at the top table, or acknowledgement of you in the Marriage Walk. I think the reason is as we discussed the last time I was here – namely that Tierken doesn’t accept who and what you are.’

‘We’ve bonded,’ said Kira, having trouble meeting Caledon’s eyes.

‘I’ve no doubt that you’ve bonded with him, but I see little evidence that he’s bonded with you.’

Kira said nothing. ‘Perhaps it’s best I return to my seat,’ he said then, glancing beyond her.

Kira knew Tierken must be watching them but she gripped Caledon’s hand. ‘Pledge me you won’t leave Sarnia without saying goodbye. I couldn’t bear to have you suddenly disappear.’

‘As you’ve chosen the Feailner over the Placidien, I can’t see that it would make any difference.’

It was the first time Caledon had alluded to how her meeting with Tierken had interrupted their growing love. And although his clear grey eyes held none of Tierken’s hardness, Kira suddenly understood how much she’d hurt him. She dropped her head, but he raised it, for once careless of the gaze of others.

‘I’ll not leave without proper farewell on the condition you pledge me not to stay with any man who brings you unhappiness,’ he said.

‘I’ve bonded,’ reiterated Kira woodenly.

‘And Miken’s explained to me what that means.’

‘I’m not faithless,’ said Kira. ‘I didn’t bond on a whim.’

‘As I’ve said, it’s not your commitment that concerns me.’ Caledon lowered his voice. ‘The test of love is trust, Kira. Where there is no trust, love will fail. If all Tierken needs is a little more time to return the trust you’ve already given him, then I will leave you gladly, knowing you’ve found happiness – for if anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. But I don’t believe it will be so, and I don’t want you to remain here in misery under the misapprehension that you’ve failed in some way, or that it’s your fault.’

The intensity of Tierken’s gaze was beginning to draw the attention of others.

‘People are staring,’ she muttered.

‘I’m waiting for your answer.’

‘I pledge it,’ said Kira, desperate to put a stop to the interest they were generating.

Caledon rose and, with a small bow, made his way back to his seat. Farid returned and launched into an animated description of how the rest of the night would proceed.

Kira kept her gaze on his face as if fascinated by his words. In truth, she was struggling not to panic, the certainties of just a few days ago scattered to the winds. For once Caledon hadn’t minced his words, and what he’d said fed the black hole of her own doubts.

She wanted Tierken close, the reassurance of his touch and the smile that was just for her, but she didn’t trust herself to look at him again, fearful that his expression would confirm what Tresen and Caledon had warned her of. The music-makers began and conversations hushed as Laryia and Tresen made their way down from the top table to the dance floor, then applause broke out as they began to dance. But Tresen looked so pale and uncertain in his movements that Kira feared he would collapse.

The dance steps were slow and intricate, and the applause fell into the same rhythm. Then Tierken rose and made his way down. Kira’s heart pounded but he walked past her without a glance and onto the dance floor and, with a bow to Tresen, took Laryia’s hand. It was Tresen who turned towards Kira, his face so pale that Kira rose hurriedly and met him halfway. Her lack of familiarity with the steps didn’t matter as Tresen barely had the strength to move, and as the Marken and the trader leaders and their wives came to the dance floor, Kira eased Tresen towards the door and they slipped out into the cooler night air.

‘Are you in pain from the wound or are your lungs giving you difficulties?’ she asked, as he sagged against the wall.

‘Pain,’ gasped Tresen. ‘It’s been . . . a long day.’

‘I can solve that,’ said Kira, busy with his jacket buttons.

Tresen’s hand closed over hers. ‘No. I do feel . . . a little better now.’

‘I know what you feel, Tresen, my hand’s burning through your shirt. And I don’t intend for this special night to be ruined for either of you.’

Kira slid her hand through the openings in his jacket and shirt and was immediately engulfed by the fire in the tunnel. Then she was back outside the Meeting Hall, Tresen now supporting her.

‘I’ve never decided whether you bear the most wonderful gift, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan, or the most terrible curse,’ he said softly, bringing his forehead to hers.

‘Definitely the first, clanmate,’ she said, still dizzy.

The door opened and Tierken appeared. ‘Your wife wonders where you are, Healer Tresen.’

‘I thank you, Feailner,’ said Tresen. But he didn’t release Kira. ‘All right now?’

‘Yes,’ said Kira. ‘Enjoy the rest of your wedding day.’

Tresen bowed to Tierken and disappeared back inside the Meeting Hall, but Tierken remained where he was.

‘Tresen wasn’t feeling well,’ said Kira. ‘I was –’

‘I saw what you were doing.’

Tierken’s inference was plain. ‘Tresen’s my clanmate. He’s –’

‘Married to my sister, a pledge which is binding, unlike the arrangements the Tremen make. I know you’re ignorant of the difference, Kira, but I didn’t realise Tresen was too.’

Kira stared at him in dismay. ‘Are you suggesting –’

‘You disrupted the last celebration I hosted here,’ went on Tierken. ‘I was hoping you’d matured since then, or at least learned some manners. It seems I’m to be disappointed on both counts.’

The door shut behind him and the anxiety she’d carried since dawn flashed to anger. Wrenching open the door, she stormed back in to the celebrations. The dance floor was crowded, Laryia and Tresen now leading thread-the-leaves and Tierken speaking to a beautiful woman with jet-black hair. Farid, Caledon and Adris were all partnerless, though, and she strode to their table.

‘Lord Caledon,’ she said, ‘I’ve shared rain, wind and thunder with you, but never a dance. Would you do me the honour?’

‘The honour and pleasure is mine,’ said Caledon, rising.

But Kira had only been dancing with Caledon for a short while before she realised that she’d made a terrible mistake. His sweet spice scent invaded her senses, reminding her of his Shelter, and making the temptation to remain in his arms overwhelming.

If I had bonded with you, Kira, the whole world would have known by now, he had said.

Kira had intended to ask Adris to dance next, then Farid, determined not to suffer a repeat of the humiliation of the Mid-market banquet, but she felt so unnerved by the feelings Caledon had roused that when the dance had finished she excused herself and hastened back to her rooms, turning the key in the lock behind her.

For a long time she simply leant against the door, but then she sat down at the table and forced herself to consider every unpalatable thing that had happened since her return to Sarnia. And, apart from the time immediately after her arrival, what was apparent was that Tierken had shunned her. And this night, he’d made his views on the worthlessness of bonding abundantly clear. Why, then, had he asked her to bond?

They had been in the shelter-hut in the Silvercades and the nightmare had woken her. Then they’d argued over Caledon. Her breath caught in her throat. Tierken had bonded with her to keep her from Caledon. The notion was so shocking that she struggled even to consider it. But then she realised that if Tierken had bonded with her only to keep her from Caledon, it didn’t mean that he didn’t love her, it meant that he didn’t trust her, and she already knew that.

Kira’s breath sifted between her teeth. It made her choices very clear indeed. Either she must wait for his trust and acceptance to grow, or she must break the bonding.

Kira felt physically ill. She had never known any member of Kashclan to break their bonding, for it was never entered into lightly, and never without love. And she did love Tierken. She rose and went to where the moonlight streamed in through the window. Then, with a shock, she realised that it was the first full moon of summer, and that meant Turning had already passed in Allogrenia. She was now eighteen, and Kandor would have been fourteen, had he lived. Kira squeezed her eyes shut and considered all the people who lay beneath the alwaysgreens, who’d been robbed of their chance to live – and to love.

There had been many times when her father had accused her of being untrustworthy, of not fulfilling her undertakings, of failing in her duties. And since then she had failed at so many other things: to protect Kandor, to share her knowing with Kest, to seek the Clancouncil’s permission to leave Allogrenia. And she had broken faith with Caledon. Was she now to fail at the most important undertaking of all? Her bonding?

Whatever Tierken’s motivations, she’d bonded with him in full knowledge of its implications. She loved Caledon, but with Tierken it was like finding another part of herself. And that meant that her only course was to wait for him to gift her his trust, no matter how difficult, or how long, that wait might prove to be.

It was dawn before Tierken left the banquet. Laryia and Tresen had been sent off to their rooms earlier – enveloped in the traditional storm of clapping and throws of white and red petals, and some of the older guests had gone to their beds soon after, leaving the dance floor to those of fewer seasons.

Tierken had overheard comments about Kira’s beauty all day. It had been Laryia’s special day, and his sister had looked exquisite, but Kira’s eyes, fairness and the gold in her hair and gown had set her apart. If she were his wife he could have kept her beside him and proudly shown her off, but he could hardly flaunt his woman in such a way. Instead, he’d had to watch her on Farid’s arm, and then endure her dancing with Caledon. He’d be glad when the Tallien was back in his own lands, despite his aid in battle.

Tierken paused outside his rooms and eased his tense shoulders, his nerves as knotty as they had been during the fighting, when attack could come from anywhere at any time. Laryia’s rooms were silent and Tierken doubted that Tresen would have the strength to bring his sister any joy this night. He found it ironic that Laryia had married a man too injured to take her in love, and he had taken in love a woman who refused to marry him.

Irid must have somehow got their fates mixed up!

As soon as the wedding guests had departed, he would send men to ensure the way was safe for Laryia and her new husband to make the journey south. They’d have to go around Watchan Spur, the easternmost end of the Azurcades, for horses couldn’t cross Shardos, and he’d need to consider how Terak patrols could be accommodated in the Tremen lands. He certainly wasn’t going to leave Laryia’s safety in the hands of Protectors.

Kira’s door suddenly opened and, startled by the unexpected movement, he spun, his hand going to the empty place at his belt.

‘I bid you a good morning, bondmate,’ she said.

She was dressed for riding, the dark green shirt and breeches hugging her slim form and reminding him of just where all her curves were.

‘I’d rather you didn’t call me “bondmate”,’ he said tightly.

‘Then I bid you a good morning, Feailner.’

‘Call me Tierken, like you usually do.’

‘Then I bid you a good morning, Tierken. Will you join me on a ride?’

‘I thought you’d be too tired. I presumed that was the reason you breached custom by leaving the celebrations before the married couple.’

‘I beg their pardon, and yours.’ Her voice was steady despite her lightening eyes. ‘I didn’t realise staying was a requirement,’ she said, quickly moving off.

‘I will ride,’ Tierken called after her.

Kira made no reply, moving in swift strides across the courtyard. She had saddled Brightwings and was just tightening Kalos’s harness when Tierken appeared, having changed into the browns and greens of a patrolman. They headed east till they reached the Steelwater, then turned south along its banks, Tierken riding by her side, but saying little, even when she asked him a direct question.

Kira wished she’d ridden alone after all. At least Brightwings seemed to enjoy the excursion, and was keen to go faster. On an impulse, Kira let the mare have her head and she sprang away. Kira crouched low in the saddle, urging her to greater and greater speed. Tierken shouted something, but the world was an exhilarating blur of river water and emerald grass. Then she heard the pound of Kalos alongside and Tierken leaned over and grabbed her rein.

He brought the mare to a violent stop, jumped down and wrenched Kira from the saddle.

‘Don’t – ever – do – that – again!’ he shouted.

Kira jerked back and they confronted each other, Tierken panting with fury, Kira shocked at being abruptly unhorsed.

‘Why not?’ she shouted back.

‘If she went down, she’d be killed and so would you!’

‘Ryn says she’s sure-footed.’

‘Nothing’s sure-footed at that speed,’ gritted Tierken. ‘I thought you’d outgrown your recklessness!’

‘I’ve never been reckless!’

‘Jumping from trees, jumping from windows, going to Kessom in snow-melt, taking pain. The list goes on. Shall I continue?’

‘Don’t bother.’ She snatched up the mare’s reins but Tierken’s hand fastened on her arm. Some of his anger stemmed from yesterday’s wedding, she knew, but her blood was up too. ‘I’m bonded to you Tierken, not married,’ she said, looking down at his hand. ‘You don’t own me.’

‘That’s not what marriage is!’

‘It’s not what bonding is either!’

He dropped his hand. ‘I want you to pledge that you won’t risk yourself,’ he said.

‘Pledge? You’re very keen on pledges, aren’t you – except your own.’

‘My own?’

‘Our bonding,’ said Kira tightly.

The look of contempt on his face was fleeting but unmistakable, and Kira quelled the impulse to leap on Brightwings and gallop away.

‘I know you don’t understand Tremen customs, Tierken. I know you think that because a bond can be broken, it will be broken. But it’s no more likely to be broken than a marriage. I’ve listened to your men brag of the women they’ve taken when they’re away from their wives. But when I bonded to you, I undertook to take no other lover and to spend the rest of my days with you. And I meant it.’

‘I suppose that explains why on the night your clanmate marries my sister, I found you in his arms.’

‘My clanmate was in such pain that I feared he would collapse,’ she said furiously. ‘I took his pain so that he might enjoy the rest of his wedding day with Laryia. And as you know, Feailner, taking pain leaves a residue of illness that takes a little time to pass.’

She swung herself back up onto Brightwings. ‘Tresen’s all I’ve got left and I love him. I won’t beg your pardon for that, Feailner!’

Kira resisted the urge to spite Tierken by galloping Brightwings flat out all the way back to Sarnia. While she was too angry to care whether she was flung to her death, she did care whether Brightwings was injured or killed. If Tierken really believed she’d take her clanmate as a lover – on his wedding day – then despite all her resolutions from the previous night, spending even one more moment in the Domain was pointless.

Kira couldn’t bear the thought of going directly to the Domain on reaching the city, so stopped at the Haelen. She hadn’t been there since she’d fled to Kessom and was relieved to see it was quiet now, with the pallets empty. She looked around in satisfaction, knowing that the northern wall gave a good supply of fireweed and that she need never again fear being unable to cure Shargh wounds.

Arlen was there, busy extracting a large splinter from a woodcutter’s hand, and Kira waited while he salved the wound and sent the man on his way.

‘It is good to see you, Tremen Leader,’ said Arlen with a bow.

‘It gladdens my heart to see you also,’ said Kira. ‘Can you tell me where the Protector Leaders are to be found?’

Seeing the Protector Leaders at the breakfast banquet had reminded Kira of how remiss she’d been in her responsibilities as Tremen Leader. She had been appalled to realise that she didn’t even know how many of her people were in Sarnia, let alone where they dwelled.

‘I know where Protector Leader Dendrin is,’ said Arlen. ‘But the others might be beyond the gates. We’ve been told by the Terak Feailner that we’re on leave until the next full moon. But now you’re here, surely it’s your commands we’ll be following?’

‘I’m in agreement with the northern Feailner’s present orders. You need time to rest and recover before returning to Allogrenia.’

‘There might not be many of us to return,’ said Arlen.

Kira faltered, dismayed to realise that she’d also failed to inquire about the Tremen dead.

She swallowed dryly. ‘How many of our people were killed?’

‘I don’t know exactly, Tremen Leader. I wasn’t thinking of those who can’t return to Allogrenia, I was thinking of those who might not want to.’

Kira eyed him closely, then smiled in relief. ‘What’s her name, Arlen?’

‘Resa. She’s the sister of Patrolman Rein, whose family I’m staying with. I thought I could work here in the Haelen, and make my trade that way – if you think there’s sufficient need of healing in Sarnia.’

‘There’s sufficient need of healing in Sarnia for many Healers,’ said Kira, finding the notion of trading healing repellent – but given how the city functioned, probably inevitable.

‘Protector Leader Dendrin says Terak will go to Allogrenia too,’ said Arlen. ‘Will they accompany you on your return, Tremen Leader, or go later?’

‘I’ve bonded to the Terak Feailner and will remain here.’

‘But you’re the Tremen Leader,’ gasped Arlen.

‘Healer Tresen will likely replace me – if the Clancouncil judges him the best Healer, of course.’

‘You’re our best Healer,’ insisted Arlen.

Kira moved towards the door. ‘When you see Protector Leader Dendrin, please send him to me at the Domain. I need to speak with him.’

When there was a knock at her door a short time later, Kira expected it to be Dendrin, but it was Tierken. He was still in high temper from their argument that morning but Kira was determined not to continue the quarrel. Instead she was about to take the opportunity to ask him about the number of Tremen dead, when she realised that her people in Allogrenia wouldn’t even know that the fighting had ended.

‘They won’t know for at least two more moons,’ confirmed Tierken.

‘But they’ll fear they’ll have to deal with a victorious Shargh with too few Protectors to defend them.’

‘Blame Kasheron for taking his followers so far south,’ said Tierken. ‘It’s a long journey from here. But I didn’t come –’

‘I must know how many Tremen were killed in the fighting.’

‘I can’t tell you,’ said Tierken impatiently.

‘But you know how many Terak were killed?’

‘Of course,’ said Tierken.

‘And Adris knows how many Tain died?’

‘I’m not familiar with the Protectors like I am with my own men,’ he explained tersely. ‘After Pekrash died, we combined forces, and then when the fighting came north, the Tremen were led by the Lord Caledon.’

‘So Caledon would know who was killed and where they’re buried?’ pursued Kira.

‘He’d know who was killed. But we followed Terak funeral practices.’

‘Which are?’ she asked.

‘Burning.’

‘But that means their voices have been silenced forever,’ she whispered.

‘The flames loose the spirit to the sky so that the spirits of the dead are all around us,’ said Tierken. ‘More lives would have been lost had we spent our strength seeking out groves and digging graves.’

Kira had paled and her eyes darkened, so distressed by his revelations that Tierken couldn’t resist taking her in his arms. The feel and scent of her flooded through him and he closed his eyes. He carried a residual weariness from the long days and nights of fighting, of not knowing which of his men would die next, or whether he would live to see another dawn, and he was weary of fighting her. He wanted her married to him, safe in Sarnia, her status assured, and a return to the predictable routine of patrolling and administering the city. But to have these things, he must continue with his stinking strategy. He released her and stepped away.

‘Stay with me, Tierken,’ she said, her face filled with longing. ‘We’ve only come together once since we bonded.’

‘That’s your choice. If I’d brought you back from Kessom as my wife, we’d be sharing rooms like Laryia and Tresen next door. As it is . . .’ He managed to shrug. ‘I’ve explained to you before that Sarnia doesn’t understand or accept bonding.’

‘That didn’t stop you sharing my bed earlier.’

‘It was ill considered,’ said Tierken. ‘Since I’ve been working closely with the trader leaders, I’ve come to understand more of the . . . subtleties of the city.’

Kira’s chin came up and he tensed for an argument.

‘I don’t think it’s Sarnia’s “subtleties” that are the reason, or that the city doesn’t understand or accept bonding,’ she said. ‘I think it’s you.’

It sounded like the Tallien’s words again and his suspicions about her relationship with Caledon flared.

‘You think or the Lord Caledon thinks?’ he demanded. ‘He’s expressed those sentiments about me to you before, and I don’t know how many times since. His reasons are obvious, for we both know he desires you. But what really intrigues me, Kira, is whether you desire him.’

‘I’m bonded to you!’

‘A temporary arrangement you can break whenever you feel like it.’

‘You can break the bonding too, Tierken. If you can’t tolerate the embarrassment of a Tremen bondmate, if you don’t want the seed of the contemptible Kasheron, if my gold eyes and Healer habits create too many difficulties for you as Feailner, if you no longer love me –’

Her voice broke and Tierken turned away, unable to bear the look on her face.

‘Lord Caledon will be able to supply a list of the Tremen dead,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll ensure he records one before he departs on the morrow with King Adris. If you wish to farewell either of them, I suggest you get some sleep. They leave at dawn.’

When Kira arrived at the stables early the next morning, she was surprised to see two Terak patrols waiting there as well as Adris’s Guard. The horses stomped and snorted as Adris and Tierken stood conversing together, and Kira wondered whether the presence of the patrols meant that the Sarsalin was still under Shargh threat. If it were, the danger to the Tremen remained, she thought worriedly. Caledon stood a little apart, busy adjusting his mount’s harness, and Kira was careful to go to Tierken and Adris first, greeting Adris with a bow. She wished him a safe journey, and he replied courteously, then Tierken handed her a scroll.

‘The lists you requested from the Lord Caledon,’ he said.

Kira thanked him and went to Caledon, who was already mounted. ‘You have the lists, I see,’ he said.

‘How many, Caledon?’

‘Forty-eight.’

Kira’s shoulders sagged but she kept her voice steady as she asked, ‘Do you return home now, or journey south with Adris to Maraschin?’

‘I go south with the patrols to Maraschin, where we’ll leave the horses; then I’ll continue on foot with the patrols over the Azurcades to your lands.’

‘The patrols are going to Allogrenia – with you?’ gasped Kira.

‘Yes. The Feailner prepares the forest for the arrival of his sister. And given my acquaintance with Protector Commander Kest and the Clanleaders, he accepted my offer to ease what could be a difficult introduction between kin. I’d assumed he’d discussed these arrangements with you – as his bondmate and Tremen Leader,’ said Caledon.

Kira stared at him speechlessly and he gentled his voice. ‘Is there any message you would have me pass to your kin there, Kira?’

‘Just tell them I’m safe – and happy,’ she said.

‘I will tell them that if you wish,’ said Caledon, then leaned over the side of his horse and lowered his voice. ‘Remember your pledge to me.’

Kira nodded. ‘You’ll come to Sarnia again, won’t you, Caledon?’

‘If the stars will it. May their grace keep you safe, Kira.’

She nodded numbly as Tierken came and stood behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

Kira watched the party move off, wishing with all her heart that she was going with them. The Domain gate clanged shut and then Tierken’s hand steered her back across the courtyard.

‘You should have told me you were sending men to Allogrenia,’ she said.

‘You knew I had to ensure Laryia’s safety; it made sense to take up the Lord Caledon’s suggestion to use him as an intermediary. According to him, he’s trusted by your people. Is that not the case?’

‘As Tremen Leader, I should have been told.’

‘Soon Tresen, or whoever your people choose, will take on the leadership. Then –’ He stopped as Tharin approached.

‘Yes, Guard Leader?’ he said.

‘Tremen Protector Dendrin is at the gate. He requests speech with the Tremen Leader.’

‘Show him to the Meeting Hall,’ said Tierken, before Kira could speak. ‘Why does Dendrin seek you?’ he asked her.

‘I want to know where my people are in the city, how many are intending to stay here, and how they envisage making enough trade to live. And I’ve never thanked them for their sacrifices in defeating the Shargh.’

‘I have a full list of where the Tremen are billeted, and at last count forty-one were definite in their plans to stay, at least for another season, and will shift into the houses in Kasheron’s Quarter as soon as they are complete.

‘Some have expressed interest in remaining as Protectors by joining the Terak patrols, and others have already put their woodworking skills to use with the woodwrights fitting out the new houses; some need longer to fully heal their injuries before travelling. In my capacity as Commander of both the Terak and the Tremen – granted to me by the ring you sent – I’ve thanked the Tremen for their service.’

‘I still need to speak with him,’ said Kira stubbornly.

‘If you wish,’ said Tierken. ‘I must meet with Marin now to plan the next patrol.’

‘You’re not going away before Tresen and Laryia leave, are you?’

‘I need to ensure the eastern route over the Sarsalin is clear, but I’ll be back around the full moon to properly farewell them,’ he said, nodding to her briefly then moving away.

Protector Leader Dendrin simply reiterated what Tierken had said and, feeling superfluous, Kira went down to the Haelen. But for once, no one in Sarnia had scalded or cut themselves, woken inexplicably wracked with pain or eaten something Irid or Meros had cursed. Arlen was in the Herbery grinding sorren, in the company of a pretty brown-eyed woman, and it was clear they preferred to be alone.

Desperate for something to distract her from her thoughts, she strode back up to the Domain and saddled Brightwings, deciding that she might as well continue her interrupted exploration of the Rehan Valley. Guards Farsrin and Storsil accompanied her, but the beauty of the Steelwater and the flash of water birds breaking from its surface soon soothed away her frustration at having them tag at her heels.

The sun was westering before Kira came to the first of the burned houses in the southern Rehan Valley, bringing Bright-wings to a halt as memories of the Bough’s destruction swept over her. The wood was black and twisted and a charred odour hung in the air.

‘It will be full dark before we reach the city if we don’t return now, Lady,’ said Farsrin eventually.

Kira turned Brightwings north, though it took her a long time to shake off the sense of bleakness.

To her surprise, Tierken was waiting in her rooms, and for the first time since her return to Sarnia, he seemed relaxed. No doubt Caledon’s departure had helped to restore his humour, thought Kira.

‘How far did you ride?’ he asked.

‘To the burned houses.’

‘We’re in the process of rebuilding what was destroyed, as are the Tain. No doubt your people are too.’

‘Well if they are, I won’t have the chance to find out.’

‘Not for a little while. But Terak and Tremen patrols will journey back and forth, and in time the route will become safer. Then you can visit.’

‘I thought you’d defeated the Shargh,’ said Kira, bridling over Tierken’s assumption of control over her movements.

‘Most of the Cashgar and Weshargh warriors were killed, but the Soushargh took little part in the fighting. And even a defeated people will attack travellers if they deem themselves stronger than their quarry.’

‘If the Cashgar and Weshargh men are dead, what will happen to their families?’

‘I have no idea, and nor do I care. The Shargh chose their murderous path and they’ve slaughtered our women, children and old people, not to mention our men. If their folk now die too, then perhaps Irid has a sense of justice after all.’

‘Are your gods so cruel that they punish the innocent?’

‘I didn’t come here to discuss the Shargh or our gods.’

‘What did you come here for?’

‘To see you,’ he said, bringing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. ‘To have time together before I go south.’

Kira bit back a sarcastic comment about him behaving in an ‘ill-considered’ way, for his nearness and touch had woken her hunger for him.

He undressed her slowly, his love-making as gentle as in their early days. His scent, the silk of his skin, and his mouth soft and hard on hers, healed the anger and uncertainty of the previous days, and as she lay in his arms afterwards, listening to the strong beat of his heart, she felt completely safe and loved.

But for how long? Until her refusal to wed him ignited his anger again? Until he remembered she was Kasheron’s cursed seed? Until he tired of her?

By the time Kira woke the next day, Tierken had gone. She rolled over and inhaled his scent from the sheets, knowing that she should be used to the briefness of their time together, but instead finding it more and more difficult. Even when Tierken was in the Domain, his disdain for the bonding kept him away most of the time. Either that, or he was becoming like the patrolmen who sought out women other than their wives. Although Tierken’s passion had seemed undiminished the previous night, it had been eight days since he’d last come to her bed. He’d been content to sleep alone, while for her, each night that she must curl up without him – knowing that he slept just a short distance away – was a torture. And now he was on patrol again – for a whole moon.

She thought enviously of Tresen and Laryia in the rooms next door. They seemed in perfect accord, but maybe Laryia’s love for Tresen wouldn’t last either. Kira half shook her head, reminding herself that she had resolved to give Tierken time to understand the nature of bonding. Perhaps the whole moon he now had would be enough – or perhaps not.

At least it was a warm sunny day – perfect for the work ahead, she thought, as she made her way to the Wastes. She intended to occupy the time of Tierken’s absence by clearing the growth from around the fireweed. Farid had suggested she wait for Tierken to authorise men to do it instead, but she needed something to do other than wandering about, endlessly rehashing their arguments and longing for his return.

It was pleasant among the bloom of weeds and herbs, the hum of bees and the sappy scents, and she could even forget the bored shufflings of the Guard. Stone- and woodwrights went past carting tools and supplies, and the sound of building reminded Kira that one day the Wastes would truly be Kasheron’s Quarter.

The weather remained fine, and she worked until dusk each day, her back aching and her hands blistered, but her mind blessedly empty. And slowly, as the time passed, Queen Kiraon’s garden began to re-emerge.

Sometimes, as Kira worked, she’d pause to imagine the always-green stump replaced with a live alwaysgreen, the stone seat intact, and the terraces covered in brightly flowering herbs. There was no reason why the streets in Kasheron’s Quarter couldn’t be clothed in greenery too, and she began to consider what types of trees and shrubs would be best suited to the city and how water could be brought to them. Once the rest of the city’s residents saw how pleasant such plantings were, she was sure they would be amenable to extending the green and growing into their own Quarters. Then it would be a green city, rather than a stone one. She remembered the beauty of Queen’s Grove in Maraschin.

Tresen’s recovery continued apace, and sometimes Kira wondered whether it were indeed the healing power of love, as he’d suggested. And as Tresen grew stronger, Laryia began to teach him to ride. Kira happily lent him Brightwings and Laryia took him on short excursions beyond the gate, then on half-day journeys as his skill and strength grew.

Then, one morning, Laryia came to tell Kira that she and Tresen were to visit Kessom. ‘I need to farewell those there,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come? I’m sure Tierken wouldn’t mind.’

Tierken wouldn’t, but Eris would. ‘It’s best you have time alone with your grandmother and your friends,’ said Kira, bending to pick a leaf from her breeches so that her hair hid her face.

Tresen and Laryia’s absence, on top of Tierken’s, brought home to Kira just how lonely the Domain could – and would – be. While Queen Kiraon’s garden kept her busy during the day, she’d grown used to sharing the occasional meal with the newly married couple, or chatting with them as they moved about the Domain preparing for their departure. Now she missed these times terribly.

Increasingly, she began to seek out Farid in the Meeting Hall. He was happy to share a meal with her and to discuss the histories of the Terak or the functioning of the city or anything else she asked about. Kira’s early judgement of Farid as being honest and true proved to be accurate, but she was also delighted to discover that he had an irreverent sense of humour. She found herself laughing more in his company than she had in her entire time away from Allogrenia. And, as the days slipped past, her trust in him also grew, so that she spoke to him of her life in the forests, of how she needed to return there to make her farewells, and of how she planned to seed Sarnia with the blooms and birdsong of her homeland.

The moon grew large again and Tresen and Laryia returned, but there was still no sign of Tierken’s patrol. Kira’s impatience gradually turned to fear. Kalos might have gone down, or the patrol come under wolf attack, or Shargh attack, or attack by some foul Sarsalin storm. The more she thought about it, the more the possibilities for injury and death multiplied.

Farid reassured her more than once that a pledge to return around the full moon could mean up to five days before or after.

It was just as well Healers weren’t so imprecise, Kira thought, as she made her way to the Illian Quarter one morning, otherwise they’d be splinting the legs of people with broken arms! The Guard trailed behind her as usual, but she’d been in this part of Sarnia often enough now not to have to ask them for directions.

She was to visit Atasia, who was wife to Borin, and distant kin to Niria – not that the kinship mattered. What did matter was that Atasia was close to birthing her first child but, due to a childhood accident, she walked with a heavy limp. She’d gone under a wagon, Borin had told Kira, and had been lucky to survive. But unlucky the accident had happened in Sarnia, thought Kira, where bone-setters were frowned upon and unskilled. Atasia’s limp came from a badly mended pelvis, and that was going to make the birth difficult.

The door was opened by Atasia’s mother, Matice. ‘Thank Meros you’ve come,’ she exclaimed. ‘I think it’s begun.’

‘But she has another moon to go,’ said Kira, struggling to adjust her eyes to the house’s dimness.

The birth had started, and Kira took Atasia’s pain, then settled down to wait. The day wore on and the noise in the street outside ebbed, then Borin arrived home. He was an immense man, as gentle as he was large, and every time the door opened, Kira could hear his deep rumbling voice as he conversed with the Guard.

Matice came and went, her face etched with worry, and it was almost dawn before the tiny babe slithered safely onto the bed. Matice cried but Atasia laughed with joy, the sound bringing Borin, who cradled his wife in his massive arms, even as she cradled their daughter. It was an image that stayed with Kira as she summonsed the Guard from their dozing, and they made their way back up to the Domain. She was still thinking of it as she passed the Domain stables and saw Kalos in the yard.

Kira sprinted across the courtyard, dashed up the steps and along the balcony. Her rooms were empty, as were Tierken’s, and she rushed on to the Meeting Hall and flung open the door.

Tierken was sitting in conversation with Farid, and Kira launched herself into his arms.

‘You’re back,’ she cried in delight.

‘I’ve been back since midday yesterday.’

‘We can finish this later if you wish, Feailner,’ said Farid with a smile, gathering the papers together, but Tierken stopped him.

‘We’ll complete it now, Keeper. When I’ve finished here, we’ll take our midday meal together, Kira,’ he said, setting her down dismissively, his attention back on the records.

Feeling awkward and foolish in front of Farid, Kira made her way to the door. Tierken was annoyed that she hadn’t been here waiting for him, she sensed, but she’d waited for him every moment since he’d been gone. Weary and disgruntled, Kira returned to her rooms, but she’d scarcely closed the door when there was a knock. She opened it eagerly, half expecting to see Tierken, but it was Guard Storsil.

‘My Lady, Tremen Healer Arlen requests you come to the Haelen urgently.’

Kira hurried across the Domain and down the path to the Haelen, knowing that Arlen would only summon her if something serious had happened.

Arlen’s expression confirmed her worst fears.

‘A badly burned child has been brought, Tremen Leader. A cooking place accident, two days ago.’

‘Two days ago?’ panted Kira, chest still heaving as she followed Arlen between the pallets. ‘Why didn’t they –’

‘They sought aid from within the city for her first. Some sort of scented lamp oil by the smell of it.’

Kira wrenched back the curtain to reveal a woman with a face swollen from crying and a man who looked like he hadn’t slept for days. They were embroiled in a harshly whispered argument but fell silent as Kira appeared. The child’s face was so bloated it was impossible to tell she was a girl, and an oily sheen lay over the broken and weeping skin.

Kira tried to ease the girl’s sleeping-shirt aside, but it was stiff with ooze and took skin with it. Fighting back tears, she instead laid her hands over the top of the material, finding the terrified child already at the end of the tunnel . . . Then Kira was back in the Haelen, swaying, and Arlen caught her arm.

The girl’s eyes were swollen shut but she moved her hand and the woman gasped.

‘She’s no longer in pain,’ said Kira to the parents hoarsely. ‘Speak words of love to her, reassure her, hold her.’

Then Kira stumbled back through the curtains to the Herbery, grabbed a bowl and was violently ill. She felt worse than usual, and as the room began to blur she let herself slide down the wall, clutching the bowl in front of her.

Arlen crouched beside her. ‘You look most unwell, Tremen Leader.’

‘I feel . . . most unwell,’ said Kira, retching.

‘Will you hold down beesblest if I make you some?’

‘Just get me some water, Arlen. When I’m feeling better, I’ll go back to the Domain and sleep.’

Arlen fetched water, but that ended up in the bowl too. Then, despite Kira’s protestations, he lifted her and carried her to a pallet, tucking a cover over her and bringing a clean bowl.

She needed to go back to the Domain to meet with Tierken – he would be scathing at her lack of punctuality – but she was too weak to get off the pallet. The cover was making her warm and she gave up the struggle and let sleep come.

It was fully night before Kira woke. Arlen had left a lamp beside the pallet and she picked it up and made her way unsteadily to the alcove where the burned child had been. The girl was dead. That day Kira had seen the joy of Atasia and Borin at the birth of their daughter, and the grief of another mother and father at the death of theirs. Was it Meros’s or Irid’s will that one child should come safely into the world, while another be snatched away? Or just chance – like the spear that missed one man but plunged into another?

As Kira made her way up to the Domain, her thoughts went to the Shargh children who’d never again see their slain fathers. The sky was full of stars, but Kira didn’t share Caledon’s belief in their prescience or his ability to find comfort in them. They looked like shards of ice to her, cold and distant, and as unfeeling as the city’s stone. What did they care for the grief of a mother or father, or for a child’s suffering?

Kira stopped at the owl fountain as she usually did, and sluiced her hand through the water, thinking of the Drinkwater, of the water fights she’d had with Kandor and Tresen. It was like looking back on someone else’s life, at a person she scarcely recognised or knew.

‘Are you going to come up, or stay there all night?’ came Tierken’s voice from the balcony.

‘Come up,’ she said, grateful that he didn’t sound angry.

Her legs ached and, despite her sleep in the Haelen, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed.

‘I beg your pardon that I didn’t join you as planned,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I was called to the Haelen.’

‘A case beyond the abilities of Healer Arlen?’ asked Tierken.

‘Yes.’

‘So, given that your skills are the talk of Sarnia, the ill person now rests comfortably?’

‘No, she . . .’

Her belly heaved and Kira dashed to her rooms, just reaching the bowl before vomiting. She was aware of Tierken’s steadying hand, but the nausea continued in waves.

‘You took her pain?’ he asked, as she hung panting over the bowl.

‘Yes.’

‘I forbade you to do that, not that you ever take any notice,’ he said.

‘I don’t think –’

‘No, you don’t, do you? How ill will you have to become before you do think – about yourself, and about those who care about you?’

Kira felt too weak to argue – and she was starting to fear that her illness wasn’t just from taking pain. When she’d first begun clearing the Wastes, her forearm had blistered. At the time she thought she had brushed against nettles, but Niria had since told her of northern plants that spread their poisons through the skin.

‘Finished?’ asked Tierken.

Kira nodded and he rinsed out the bowl, then moistened a cloth so she could wash her face.

‘You need to sleep,’ he said, taking her hand, then exclaimed and peered at her palm. ‘What in Irid’s name have you been doing?’

‘Clearing the overgrowth from Queen Kiraon’s garden – where the alwaysgreen stump is. There are herbs I need growing there.’

‘The Lady of the Domain doesn’t grub about in the Wastes. Sit down,’ he ordered, and eased off her boots.

‘Then can you trade for men to clear the growth?’ said Kira, determined not to argue with him.

‘Yes, but not for a while. There’s too much else to be done. I’ll ensure Farid arranges a supply of herbs for you from Kessom in the meantime. Now lie down, Kira.’

Kira did as she was bid, feeling a wave of tenderness for Tierken at his concession. ‘I thank you,’ she said.

‘Now, time for sleep,’ he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

‘I want you to stay.’

‘You’re as white as the Silvercades. We’ll breakfast together on the morrow – unless you’re called to the Healen again.’

Kira still slept when Tierken returned the next morning and he stood in the doorway and watched her. He’d missed her so much on the patrol that he’d all but decided to abandon his strategy of denying her intimacy. Rather than inclining her towards marrying him – as a means of them being together openly – it seemed to be making her even less trustful of him. And the night he’d spent with her before leaving had reminded him powerfully of the pleasures of her body.

But now that he was back, all the old unresolved problems crowded in on him again. Once Laryia had gone to Allogrenia, Kira would be the Lady of the Domain, in every sense of the word and, with no Marriage Walk to cement her status, it was imperative that she act the part. Her unbraided hair was as wild as a young patrolman’s, and she still insisted on dressing like a Kessomi. At least those two things could be easily remedied.

Then, as she turned in her sleep, and the cover slipped lower to reveal her slim shape, his need of her pushed all other thoughts aside. He went to the bed, leaned over and brought his mouth to hers. Kira’s eyes jerked open, then suffused to a soft gold.

‘Your time in Kessom clearly agreed with you,’ he said, quickly unbuttoning her shirt and pulling it off.

She wriggled under his touch as his lips moved over her belly to her hot moistness. He slowed his passion to match hers, intent on feeding her need of his love-making – and her need of him. Kira clung to him gasping as Tierken finally fell back, then propped herself up on her elbow, and looked him in the face.

‘I love you,’ she said.

It was a declaration painful in its intensity, her lack of artifice reminding him of the night Marin had brought her to his camp. In their time together her face had revealed fear, longing, anger, frustration, sadness and love, but he’d yet to see much happiness or contentment. But with the Tallien gone and the Tremen leadership soon to be Tresen’s . . . He smiled as he considered the diminishing number of impediments to Kira being completely his.

The sun had risen and there was much to do in preparation for Laryia and Tresen’s journey. He sat up, but her grip on him tightened.

‘Stay, Tierken. We never have time to be together.’

‘Well, I can partly remedy that,’ he said with a grin, disappearing into the bathing-room and running the bath. ‘If you want more time together, join me,’ he called.

Kira followed, hesitating in the doorway, and he smiled. ‘Haven’t you ever shared a bath with a naked man?’ he asked.

‘I have with Tresen, when I was about four seasons,’ said Kira.

‘No offence to your clanmate and my sister’s husband, but I don’t think that counts.’

Kira had never seen this playful side of Tierken before and she smiled tentatively as she took his proffered hand. But when she was only partly in, he jerked her forward and, with a shriek, Kira fell on top of him, causing a wave of water to slop onto the floor.

‘That wasn’t fair,’ she spluttered.

‘Ah, you don’t know the rules of bathing with naked men.’

‘What are they?’

‘You’re about to find out.’

Kira smiled often as she recalled what had followed, but it wasn’t helping her compose the message she must give to Tresen to carry to Allogrenia. It was difficult to write in any case, as it wasn’t just about her intention to resign the leadership. As the Tremen’s primary Healer, it also meant that she was withdrawing her care. It went against everything she’d been trained to do, wanted to do, lived to do. And even knowing that Tresen would be there, and that he was a skilled Healer, brought her no comfort at all. Whatever excuses she made, her actions reeked of treachery and desertion.

Sending a message, rather than going herself, made it worse too. It was as if her own selfish needs – such as staying with her Terak bondmate – took precedence over the needs of her people.

As the day wore on, the struggle within made the nausea stir again and she mixed a calming draught of silvermint, sipping it as she thought. Any renunciation of the leadership must be done in person, she concluded. It would be more final then, both in actual fact, and in her mind. Dipping her pen in the ink, Kira began to write, the message short and to the point. She announced her bonding to the Terak Feailner and her intention to live out her days in his lands. And she undertook to return to Allogrenia before the next Turning to resign her position as Leader.

In the interim, she invited the Clancouncil to take whatever actions they saw fit to ensure the security of the Bough as the centre of healing. It was a broad enough missive for them to elect another Healer Leader immediately, or an interim Leader, or go on as they were at present. The defeat of the Shargh should lessen the urgency for another Leader in any case.

Another season would give Tierken enough time to become sufficiently sure of her to allow her to travel to Allogrenia – or, even better, to come with her. She longed to show him the stands of chrysens and the rise of brightwings at dusk, and for him to share with her the deep silence under the sheltering boughs. Kira sighed as she slipped the message into the cylinder and sealed it. She’d need to tell Tresen its contents, given that he was likely to act as Leader, or, if the Clancouncil didn’t want to wait, become the actual Leader on his return. But she needn’t tell anyone else.

Kira pored over the map she’d copied from the Writing Store, tracing Tresen and Laryia’s intended route. They would first journey south-east across the Sarsalin to Watchan Spur – the most easterly point of the Azurcades – then south-west, crossing the Mahnwah River before entering Allogrenia through Barclan Octad. The land between the Mahnwah and Allogrenia was marked as Cashgar Shargh to the north, and Soushargh to the south, and Kira shivered.

The route also looked far longer than the more direct way over the Azurcades, and Kira calculated the distances swiftly. The journey would take at least a moon, she realised in dismay. The eastern lands also seemed emptier of groves and springs, unless she’d simply neglected to transcribe them. All she’d been interested in when she’d copied the map was finding a way back to Maraschin.

Kira was still pondering the map when Tierken returned.

‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.

‘I copied it from one in the Writing Store. I wanted to learn more about the Terak lands.’ Which was true. ‘It seems a long way from here even to the edge of Allogrenia,’ she added.

‘A moon each way,’ confirmed Tierken. ‘But barring mishaps and foul weather, I’ll be back in time for the start of autumn.’

‘You’re going?’

‘Yes.’

‘But . . . then I can come too,’ she said excitedly.

It would be a pleasant journey with Tierken, Laryia and Tresen. And once they reached Allogrenia, she could renounce the leadership, visit the alwaysgreens where her family were buried, and make her farewells. She could also show Tierken –

‘No,’ said Tierken.

‘But . . . there’s no reason why I can’t come. Then I can meet with the Clancouncil and –’

‘There are many reasons why you can’t come. This isn’t some jaunt, Kira. We must pass between the Cashgar and Soushargh lands, and we both know that your presence would draw attacks. I’ll not increase the risk to Laryia because you find it hard to keep your pledge to stay here.’

‘It’s not about my pledge to stay here,’ said Kira, struggling to remain calm. ‘I’ve told you before that I need to visit Allogrenia to properly make my farewells.’

‘And we agreed you’d wait.’

‘But surely it would make sense, given that you’re taking patrols to guard Laryia and Tresen, and that you’re to meet with the Clancouncil –’

‘I never said I was to meet the Clancouncil.’

‘But if you’re going to Allogrenia –’

‘I’m going to the edge of the forests, not into them,’ said Tierken. ‘The patrols I sent with the Lord Caledon will meet us there, and take over Laryia’s protection. Then I’ll return.’

‘Why go all that way and not visit the other part of your peoples?’ asked Kira, wondering at the actual depth of Tierken’s acceptance of the Tremen.

‘I have the settlements in the southern Rehan Valley to rebuild and Kasheron’s Quarter to make habitable,’ said Tierken. ‘And that’s on top of the normal administrative and patrol duties of being Feailner. The trip will already cost me more time than I can afford.’

‘Then don’t go.’

‘If my sister must journey, then I intend that she does so in safety,’ said Tierken.

‘Marin or Jonred would ensure that. Or don’t you have confidence in their skills?’

Tierken’s face hardened. ‘You’ll remain here.’

There was a long pause and then he softened his voice. ‘My being away will give you time to grow accustomed to the duties the Lady of the Domain performs. But if you’d rather, I’ll arrange an escort to take you to Kessom. Farid and Room Master Mouras can carry out Laryia’s duties in your absence, and we can discuss them again on my return.’

‘I’ll stay in Sarnia,’ said Kira.

‘Whatever you wish,’ said Tierken.

None of it was what she wished, thought Kira bitterly.

‘We’ll leave before dawn. I know Laryia and Tresen will be disappointed if you’re not at the stables on the morrow to farewell them. As I will be, if you fail to farewell me,’ he added with a smile.

‘I’ll be there.’

The door clicked shut and Kira’s gaze jerked to the top of the map, to where Talliel was marked. But she gritted her teeth and turned away. Was she a child to consider running off every time things didn’t turn her way? The two moons would pass and Tierken would be back. Then she would have his love again, as sweet as it had been in the last nights. All she had to do was survive until then.

Caledon was less than a day’s journey into the forest when he was intercepted by Protector Commander Kest’s patrol. And while the Tremen Protectors greeted their returning comrades with great joy, the presence of the Terak fighters caused consternation. A mêlée erupted and Kest bawled orders for the Protectors to adopt guarding formation while Caledon ordered all his men, both Terak and Tremen, to lay down their weapons.

The raucous exchange continued, though, as the returning Tremen tried to explain what had taken place beyond the trees and to introduce their Terak friends, the cacophony so great that it took Kest some time to restore order.

‘With your permission, Protector Commander, I’ll explain our presence,’ said Caledon.

Kest nodded, feeling that Caledon’s return must surely augur well, but refusing to give way to hope. A swift head count revealed only around fifty of the returning men were Tremen, and if that meant that the other ninety or so had been killed, there’d be neither hope nor joy among the longhouses.

Caledon stepped forward and the attention of Kest’s men swung to him.

‘For those who didn’t meet me on my first visit to Allogrenia, I am Caledon e Saridon e Talliel. I come now from the northern lands of your kin – the Terak Kirillian – to tell you that the fighting is ended and the Shargh defeated.’

A collective sigh went up from the Protectors, and Kest shut his eyes in relief.

‘This is neither the place nor time to tell all that has happened. That is a tale of many nights, and one best told to you by your Clanleaders. But this I can say: Your Leader, Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan, is safe and well in the north. The northern Leader, the Feailner of the Terak Kirillian – who resides in the northern city of Sarnia – extends welcome to you as his kin, and invites you to visit his city and reside there if you wish. Some of your comrades who volunteered to fight outside the trees have chosen to remain there, at least for another season. In turn, some of their Terak comrades, who you see here now, have come to your lands.

‘They do so at their Feailner’s command, for the Feailner’s sister, the Lady Laryia, has bonded with Healer Tresen. The northern Feailner sends men to help the Protectors here ensure the safety of his sister, who will arrive in Allogrenia towards the end of summer.’

There was astonished silence followed by a storm of speech.

Kest felt as amazed as his men, but was shrewd enough to note what Caledon had omitted. If the northern Feailner had opened his city to the Tremen, he’d surely expect the Tremen lands to be opened to him. And Caledon hadn’t mentioned when Kira would return. If she were Caledon’s bondmate, Caledon would have announced it. But he’d said that she was in the north.

Kest summoned Protector Leader Bendrash and gave him quick instructions, then Bendrash ordered the Protectors back into patrol formation and marched them off.

‘I’ll journey with you,’ said Kest to Caledon. ‘There’s still much I would know, beginning with who commands the Protectors in Sarnia, and who is to command the Terak now here.’

‘Kira gave the ring of rulership to the Terak Feailner when Commander Pekrash was killed. The Feailner has commanded the volunteer Tremen since.’

Kest’s breath whistled between his teeth. ‘And Kira remains in the north, you say?’

‘Kira has bonded with the northern Feailner,’ confirmed Caledon.

‘But I thought –’

‘That Kira would bond with me?’ said Caledon. ‘So did I, when I was last here. But much happened in my absence, and in the times since. And perhaps is still to happen.’

Caledon glanced back to the waiting Tremen and Terak. ‘In answer to the second part of your question, Commander, the Terak Feailner instructed me to hand control of his men to you. The Terak patrolmen are aware of their Leader’s orders. Perhaps we should continue our journey and I can tell you more as we walk.’

‘Perhaps we should,’ said Kest.

By the time they neared the Kashclan longhouse four days later, Kest knew most of what had happened beyond the trees. And it seemed paradoxical to him that while the momentous events in the north had passed them by completely, they had changed Allogrenia forever. Forty-eight Tremen had lost their lives, and a host of others had been terribly injured, including Healer Tresen.

Another forty-one had delayed their return to Allogrenia, perhaps permanently. And so might their Leader – Kiraon of Kashclan – the greatest Healer Allogrenia had ever birthed. On the other hand, Healer Tresen returned with a Terak bondmate, the northern Feailner’s sister no less. And forty-two Terak patrolmen had now joined the Protectors – temporarily at least.

There was much the Clancouncil must deal with, the most important being the question of leadership. But they might actually put it aside – for at long last, the Bough could be rebuilt.

Kira delayed only two days after Laryia, Tresen and Tierken had departed before she returned to clearing Queen Kiraon’s garden. Although she’d intended to accede to Tierken’s wish that she not ‘grub about’ there, being among the green and growing was the only thing that made the wait for him bearable. Kira also began to understand Laryia’s keenness to have her friendship, when Kira had first come to the Domain. The servers were pleasant, but the ‘dignity’ of the Domain prevented them from befriending her, while Arlen looked after most of the healing needs of the Haelen, or was occupied with Resa. That left Farid as her only source of company, but he was busy with the building in the Rehan and in Kasheron’s Quarter.

To have time with him, she now had to seek him out either early in the morning, before his duties began, or late at night, when they had ended, so they often breakfasted and ate their evening meals together. Farid passed on the messengers’ reports as to the progress of Tierken’s party, and gave her updates on the building in Kasheron’s Quarter. And Kira told him, in more and more detail, her plans to make the stone city flower.

The moon waxed to full then waned again, and Kira knew from the messengers that Tierken, Tresen and Laryia had reached the forests without incident. She could scarcely bear to think of them in her homeland – without her. And when she could endure the frustration of the wait no longer, she galloped Brightwings hard and fast through the Rehan Valley, using reckless speed to scour her frustration away.

The last time she’d ridden so, she’d lost the Guard completely, and while they hadn’t dared complain to her, they’d certainly expressed their displeasure to Farid.

‘The fault’s not mine that the Guard’s horses are slower than Brightwings,’ Kira had said in response to Farid’s reprimand. ‘It’s actually Tierken’s fault,’ she’d added sardonically.

Farid hadn’t been amused. He had enough to do, he told her, without having to deal with concerns over her safety. The Domain Guard were charged with her protection, and would be punished if they failed in their duty. And if Kira brought about their failure, their punishment would be her fault.

His words revived painful memories of the beating Slivkash had suffered when she’d slipped away from him to gather, shortly after Tierken’s patrol had first found her. Kira had stormed out of the Meeting Hall, her temper not helped by knowing that Farid was right. When she’d calmed, she’d gone back to apologise and, unexpectedly, Farid had hugged her, his sympathy bringing her close to tears.

‘I know it’s hard for you here, Kira,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go to Kessom for a time? I’m sure Eris would welcome you, as would the friends you made there on your last visit.’

But Kira had shaken her head, knowing that the pledge she’d made to Eris – not to return in the last part of Eris’s life – was binding.

The celebrations in the Kashclan longhouse at Tresen and Laryia’s arrival lasted till dawn, although Tresen and Laryia had retired to their rooms well before then. The journey from Sarnia had exhausted Tresen, as had having to comfort Laryia in their travel through the trees. Given how cheerful she’d been on the journey, Tresen had been shocked by her distress in farewelling Tierken. She’d clung to her grim-faced brother and sobbed, while Tresen had stood uncomfortably by, fearing that Laryia regretted marrying him.

Laryia had assured him tearfully of her love many times since, but it hadn’t alleviated Tresen’s guilt at having taken her from her home, nor his anxiety for Kira, whose face had been filled with an even deeper despair as they’d ridden away.

Caledon sat with Miken throughout the evening, wanting to spend as much time as possible with the Kashclan leader. It was men like Miken and Kemrick, and perhaps the Morclan leader Marren, who would be instrumental in continuing the Terak–Tremen unification, and Caledon’s increasingly urgent star-thoughts suggested that the unification must continue.

Caledon knew that the northern victory over the Shargh had as much potential to seed war as it had to seed peace. Tierken had fought with the ruthlessness characteristic of the Terak line, an inclination for brutality kept dormant by the long peace, a peace that had also disguised the loss of the Terak’s healing part. Now, made strong by victory, and their hatred of the Shargh renewed, it would take little provocation for the Terak to sweep the Shargh settlements away, and even turn their arrows and swords on the Ashmiri.

Nowhere in the stars was the murder of innocents countenanced, even given that the child who ran, singing through the trees, could one day grow to be a warrior who killed. And there were certainly none among the Tremen – the healing part of the Terak – who would permit such slaughter. The breach between Kasheron and Terak – that had left both peoples like broken-winged birds, and which the coming together of Kira and Tierken had mended – mustn’t be allowed to fracture anew.

‘My bond-daughter seems to be settling well,’ said Miken, leaning closer to be heard above the music. ‘Tenerini and I are already fond of her.’

‘The Lady Laryia is well loved in the north,’ said Caledon, pondering once more the meaning of Tresen and Laryia’s union.

The joining of the Terak Feailner’s only sister with the man who must surely become the Tremen Leader was certainly more than chance. But whether Tresen and Laryia’s marriage was intended to strengthen the unifying effect of Kira and Tierken’s bonding, or replace it should it break, Caledon didn’t know.

‘Do you journey to your home in Talliel when you leave us, or visit the Tain King?’ asked Miken.

‘Talliel – most probably,’ said Caledon.

He missed his sister and her daughters, especially Pisa, and knew that his father fretted. However, potent dreams had lately invaded Caledon’s sleep, and he’d have to wait till he cleared the trees to see what the star-fire told. Only then would he know which way to turn his feet.

Six days after the start of autumn, and after Tierken should have returned, Kira thrust nuts and fruit into her pack and set off down the Rehan Valley. She wanted a ride that was long and testing enough to exhaust her sufficiently to sleep. So when she and the Guard reached the valley’s mouth, Kira let Brightwings have her head. The mare stretched out in a hard gallop and Kira stood in the stirrups and laughed as the wind rushed through her hair. The sky was gloriously blue and the grasses fragrant, making Kira feel as if she could go on forever, but the Guard were far behind, so in the end she checked the mare, intending to circle back. She didn’t want to give Farid cause to reprimand her again.

At that moment, Kira saw movement ahead. She glanced back anxiously, but her Guard were nowhere to be seen, most probably still beyond the last rise, or the one before that. Whoever it was ahead, it was unlikely to be Shargh, she reassured herself, and then the movement resolved itself into a group of silver horses and she smiled in delight. It was Tierken’s patrol – at last.

She urged Brightwings on, not halting till she reached him. ‘Welcome home, my Lord,’ she said, bowing as his men did.

But Tierken’s expression was stony.

Farid’s messages told of Kira working in the Wastes, despite her undertakings not to, while the messengers told of the Feailner’s woman laughing with the Keeper, both late at night and early in the morning, the inference clear that she enjoyed his company in the time between as well.

It didn’t matter whether Tierken believed it true or false – the insinuation undermined Kira’s already tenuous position. And now she greeted him with all the impudent freedom of a Caru woman – loose on the plain, the Guard who always accompanied a Lady of the Domain glaringly absent.

‘Where are your Guard?’ he demanded.

‘Just a little behind. I wanted to give Brightwings –’

‘If they’re so far behind they can’t be seen, they’re worse than useless. My orders were that you not go anywhere without them.’

Tierken’s position as Feailner, and the silence of the watching men, demanded Kira bow her head and beg his pardon, but fury built instead. She’d spent two lonely moons longing for his return, and now he hadn’t even the grace to greet her.

‘You’re confusing me with a Terak, my Lord,’ she said, using the title ironically now. ‘I’m not a Terak, and I’m not yours to command.’

With that, she wrenched Brightwings around and galloped back towards Sarnia, passing the disconcerted Guard and only slowing when it was too dark to see. The Guard still hadn’t caught up by the time she’d reached the Domain, and by then her temper had given way to shame.

A Terak Feailner must always be that in front of his men, Caledon had once warned her.

Kira hurried up to her rooms, wanting only to crawl into bed, but she bathed, using the soap she knew Tierken liked, and brushed out her hair in front of the fire. The only way she could make amends was to beg his pardon when he came, and pledge never to defy him in public again. The patrol shouldn’t be too far behind, she thought as she settled at the table, but the fire burned low and the next thing she was aware of was her head resting on her numb hands, and Niria setting her breakfast down.

‘You should take your rest in your bed, Lady,’ she chided.

‘Is the Feailner in the Meeting Hall?’ asked Kira, trying to get the circulation in her hands going again.

‘The Feailner told me in the last night that he and the Keeper would breakfast after they’d been to the Illian Quarter,’ said Niria, pouring Kira a cup of cotzee. ‘Is there aught else I can get for you?’ she asked.

‘No . . . I thank you,’ said Kira.

Niria bustled out but Kira remained at the table, staring into space. While she could understand that Tierken was angry, the fact that he had shunned her, after being away more than two moons, frightened her. She’d believed that once the fighting was finished, they would have time together – but she’d been wrong. And she’d believed that Tierken would come to trust her, in spite of his contempt for bonding – but she’d been wrong about that too. The love that had brought them together was fracturing – but they weren’t drifting away from each other, they were being torn apart by violent argument after argument. And Kira didn’t know how the destruction of their love could be stopped. Even marriage wouldn’t mend the breach, she knew, for at last she saw that she could never be what Tierken wanted.

It was near midday before Tierken had finished going through the trading records with Farid, and they sat together over mugs of ale. The rebuilding of the southern Rehan settlements had been completed in Tierken’s absence, and the houses in Kasheron’s Quarter progressed well. All was in order and further advanced than he’d dared hope possible, and his relationship with the trader leaders also sound. In fact, his feailnership would be at its most settled and successful, if it weren’t for the antics of his ‘woman’.

‘At the new moon, I’ll take a patrol north,’ said Tierken.

‘So soon?’ said Farid in surprise.

‘It’s near nine moons since I’ve been that way, and I need check the southern Ashkal and reacquaint the herders there with their Feailner.’

‘I meant that you won’t have been back long,’ said Farid. ‘Kira missed you terribly this last time.’

‘I’ll be instructing her on her responsibilities in the Domain before I go. You and Mouras have enough to do without taking on her duties as well. And I’ll be speaking to Kira of other matters, one of which I must raise with you now.’

Farid glanced at his face and set down his mug.

‘We both know how the gossip runs in Sarnia, Farid, and that the loose tongues would have had you and Laryia married a dozen times. But Laryia’s reputation remained intact because Laryia knew how to conduct herself. Kira doesn’t. Thus far I’ve been patient, but there’s a limit to how much I can tolerate when the talk on the street suggests she shares your bed.’

‘Tierken –’ began Farid, shocked.

‘No doubt there were reasons why Kira chose to take her last meal of the day and her breakfast with you, in my absence. But that, along with her refusal to marry me, her inappropriate dress, her working like a hand-trader in the Wastes and going when and where she pleases without Domain Guard is enough to make her position in the Domain untenable. I need hardly point out that such innuendo undermines the authority you must have if you are to administer Sarnia effectively during my absence. Therefore I’m asking you not to spend time with Kira alone, ensuring that a server is present if you must speak to her, or that you meet with her only in public places, such as the courtyard.’

‘Tierken, I –’

‘I’ve asked Niria to send Kira here at midday, and will speak to her of this and other matters. Is there anything else we need to discuss, Keeper?’

‘No, Feailner.’

‘Then we’ll meet on the morrow to go over the provisioning of the next patrol.’

Tierken still didn’t greet her when Kira entered the Meeting Hall at midday. He just motioned her to a seat and began outlining the duties that Laryia had performed as Lady of the Domain. Even when she interrupted him to beg his pardon for her behaviour on the plain, his demeanour remained unchanged, shrugging off her words as if they were unimportant. He seemed perfectly calm, and his indifference added to Kira’s belief that his love for her was no more. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, and she struggled to focus on his words.

‘The present need is for you to understand your responsibilities in the Domain before my next patrol,’ he was saying.

‘Your next patrol?’ exclaimed Kira. ‘You’ve only just returned from the last one and that was more than two moons!’

‘That was an escort, not a patrol,’ said Tierken impatiently. ‘Despite not being Terak, I thought you understood that a Terak Feailner’s duties include ensuring the security and wellbeing of all Terak lands and people, not just those enclosed by the wall.’

‘And what am I supposed to do in your absence?’ asked Kira.

‘Apart from maintaining the smooth running of the Domain, you can spend time repairing the damage you’ve done to your reputation.’

‘Damage?’

‘I’m not a herder, Kira, nor a woodcutter, nor a patrolman. If I were, it wouldn’t matter to Sarnia if you dressed in breeches and wandered about alone, if you married or refused to, if you took lovers –’

‘If I took lovers?’ gasped Kira, gripping the table to steady herself.

‘You’re naive if you think that joining Farid in the Meeting Hall last thing at night, and emerging first thing in the morning, is not going to fuel gossip that you share his bed.’

‘You think that Farid and I are lovers?’

‘It’s what Sarnia thinks! I’ve spoken to Farid already and he understands the need to protect your reputation as well as his own. You’ve been here over eight moons. It’s time you became –’

‘Terak?’ asked Kira. ‘I warned you that I would always be a Tremen. I was honest about that.’

‘I’ve arranged for Mouras to meet with you here later this day,’ continued Tierken, ignoring her outburst. ‘I need go inspect the new paving in Kasheron’s Quarter now.’

‘I’m to meet the Room Master alone? Aren’t you afraid I’ll take him as a lover?’

‘If there’s anything in Mouras’s instructions you don’t understand, you can ask me on my return.’

Mouras was kindly, but he spoke exceptionally slowly and Kira couldn’t concentrate. The afternoon dragged, and as soon as she was able Kira muttered an excuse about feeling unwell and returned to her rooms. It wasn’t entirely untrue, for she did feel queasy again, no doubt partly due to her churning thoughts.

She took to her bed early, knowing that Tierken wouldn’t come, and woke the next morning to the sounds of Niria building the fire in the eating-room. Kira knew she should rise, bathe and change, but she felt too miserable. Instead she curled into a ball and forced herself to think rationally about her exchange with Tierken the day before.

There certainly continued to be curiosity about her in Sarnia, but apart from the occasion when Rosham had spat at her, she’d noticed no disparaging glances, and heard no sly whisperings or muttered insults. And she certainly hadn’t noticed any innuendo suggesting that she shared Farid’s bed. It was the same when she healed in the Haelen. Those who sought aid were genuinely respectful, and grateful afterwards.

Niria was hovering in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady, but the Feailner asked that you breakfast with him in the Meeting Hall, and that was a little time ago now. I’ve laid the gowns the Lady Laryia traded for you on the chest.’

Kira leapt out of bed, barely pausing to splash water on her face, before hurrying along the balcony. She was surprised to find Farid there too, but returned the Keeper’s smile as she joined them at the table.

‘Did Niria neglect to bring you the gowns?’ asked Tierken, eyeing her crumpled shirt.

‘No, she –’

‘Then why are you wearing Kessomi garb?’

‘It’s Tremen,’ said Kira, bracing wearily for another fight.

‘We’ll wait for you while you change,’ said Tierken.

Kira glanced from Farid’s sympathetic face to Tierken’s hard one, and some part of her knew that they had reached an ending, as inevitable as the death of early shoots under late snow.

‘I don’t intend to change, Tierken,’ she said. ‘As I told you on the plain, I’m Tremen, not Terak.’

Farid moved uncomfortably and Tierken’s jaw clenched.

‘No response to that, Feailner?’ asked Kira, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘But then, I can understand that you don’t want the unpleasantness of an argument inflicted on Farid, on your best friend – who you don’t trust with me!’

Tierken seized her arm, half wrenching her over the table as his other hand swung back. Her chair crashed to the floor and Farid gave a warning cry, but Kira was aware of nothing more than the ring on Tierken’s hand catching the light. You will obey me in the end, her father had said, after the blow.

But there was no blow. Tierken released her and Kira staggered backwards. Farid was on his feet, but Kira kept her eyes on Tierken. Then she bowed low, because it was what you did when you left a Feailner, went steadily to the door and closed it quietly behind her. The same calmness stayed with her as she filled her pack with every bit of food she could find, thrust her sword down the side, and folded the map on top.

The calmness even remained as she went to the stables and saddled Brightwings, then clipped a full waterskin to the harness.

‘Where would you ride?’ asked Storsil.

‘Just to the end of the Rehan, there’s no need for you to bring food or water,’ she said.

Birds rose from the Steelwater, and when she reached the houses, people waved and Kira waved back. But it was as if someone else sat astride the mare, watched the shadows lengthen and listened to the hoofbeats of the following Guard. When she reached the end of the Rehan she stopped and turned to them.

‘I thank you for your care during my stay in the north,’ she said.

Then she dug her heels into Brightwings’ side and the mare leapt away, Kira urging her to greater and greater speed till the ground was a blur. The Guard would follow at least until dark and probably through the night, but in the end, their lack of food would drive them back to Sarnia. She should have at least a three-day start on any pursuit. She clenched her teeth and crouched lower.

Lamps burned in the Domain when Guard Leader Tharin sought out Tierken in the Meeting Hall. Having spent an uncomfortable day in Tierken’s company, Farid was glad of the interruption, and he took a turn around the room, stretching his legs while Tierken read the message.

‘Eris is dangerously ill,’ said Tierken to Farid, then turned to the Guard. ‘Fetch the Lady Kira and have the horses saddled. We leave at once.’

‘The Lady still rides in the Rehan Valley,’ said Tharin.

Tierken cursed. ‘Then have Kalos saddled, and as soon as the Lady returns have her sent with escort to Kessom. Immediately, Tharin, whether it be this night or next dawn.’

Tharin bowed and withdrew.

‘Kira would have to choose now to demonstrate her Tremen independence,’ muttered Tierken.

Farid said nothing, still shaken by Tierken’s uncharacteristic behaviour at breakfast and wondering if it were some sort of residual aggression from fighting. Tierken had been tense when he’d first returned, but Farid had assumed that things had returned to normal. Perhaps they had, he thought soberly, not being able to recall a time when Kira and Tierken hadn’t clashed.

‘Will you take Arlen with you?’ he asked, guessing that if Kira’s ride were the result of that morning’s argument, she’d be in no hurry to return.

‘Only Kira’s skills can save Eris now,’ said Tierken, going to the door. ‘Send her immediately,’ he reiterated, and left.

Farid spent the night wandering between his rooms and the Domain gate, but by the next dawn, neither Kira nor her Guard had returned. At noon, worried now, he ordered Tharin to send more Guard in search of them and returned to the Meeting Hall to complete his work, but found it impossible to settle. The absence of Kira and her Guard seemed increasingly sinister, and he wondered if he should send message to Tierken. But it would take a full day for a messenger to reach Kessom and Tierken was already distressed by Eris’s illness. In the end, Farid decided it would be better for Tierken to curse Kira for her childishness than to have him further upset by the news that she was missing, especially as Tierken could do nothing more than what Farid had already done.

The day dragged on and by nightfall the Guard he’d sent in search of Kira and her escort hadn’t returned either. Farid began to wonder whether he’d made a fatal mistake in not sending a patrol immediately he’d known she was missing. If remnant Shargh lurked near the Rehan mouth, all the Guard could have been killed by now and Kira dead or carried far away.

Another tense day crawled past and Farid was in the process of ordering a patrol, when he heard the approach of horses.

‘Thank Irid,’ he muttered as the Domain gate opened.

It was Storsil and Farsrin, grimy and exhausted – and alone.

‘What’s happened?’ demanded Farid.

‘The Lady Kira galloped away from us and we’ve been searching for her since. We carried no food or water, so we’ve had to return.’

‘She galloped away from you in the Rehan Valley?’ asked Farid in puzzlement.

‘She went over the Sarsalin.’

‘Did she say anything before she went?’ Farid managed to ask.

‘She thanked us for our guarding of her during her stay in the north.’

Farid sent them to get food – and ordered their discretion – but remained where he was. Clearly, Kira had broken with Tierken, but to reach the safety of Maraschin she would have to survive any roaming Shargh, wolves or fanchon, and the harshness of the plain. There were also more innocent – but lethal – mishaps that could befall a lone traveller. But he couldn’t send a patrol after her, for even if they found her, the only way they could bring her back now was as a prisoner. Word of it would be throughout the city in less than a day, making Tierken’s feailnership untenable. Northern Leaders had taken lovers in the past, but none had kept women captive.

All Farid could do was send Marin with a discreet message to Maraschin to find out whether Kira had survived the trek. At least Tierken must know that.

In the darkness of Eris’s room, Tierken had lost all track of time. His grandmother had been awake when he’d arrived and when Thalli had given him her place at the bedside. He’d taken his grandmother’s hand, and had been trying to dredge up excuses for Kira’s absence, when Eris had spoken.

It gladdens me that Kira has kept her pledge not to come to my dying. She understands that all things that live reach their ending, and that she must use her strength now for her own healing.

And Tierken had still been struggling with this revelation when Eris had spoken again, little more than a whisper this time, as her strength failed.

Are you helping her heal?

The unnatural burn of his grandmother’s eyes reached past his antagonisms and arguments, his beliefs and justifications, into the very core of him.

No, he heard himself say.

Eris stared at him unblinkingly, and her words this time were scarcely more than an exhaled breath. What is it you want, Tierken?

Then her eyes had closed and she’d not spoken again. The bed cover rose and fell sporadically, and there were long silences between the rattle of each breath, but Tierken remained at her side, head bowed, gripping her bony hand in his.

As the long night uncurled, images of Eris tumbled through his mind like leaves in the wind: placing baby Laryia into his arms and telling him to keep her safe; holding him as he sobbed out his grief and rage at Merench’s funeral pyre; spitting in the direction of Sarnia as they’d ridden away; roasting nuts beside the Kristlin, the water as bright as a looking-glass under the night sky; raising her hand in farewell as he’d followed Poerin into the mountains.

Tierken didn’t think he’d slept, but when he next became aware of his surroundings, the room was full of the pale light of dawn and Eris was still and cold. He smoothed the strands of grey hair back from her forehead and kissed her, but remained beside her. The light was ebbing again when Thalli returned, and led him out into the cooking place. He was cramped and shivering, and she put a cup of cotzee into his hands, then raked up the coals until the warmth flowed over him as tenderly as Eris’s love.

Thalli said little, just hugged him and kissed him formally on each cheek, as did the Kessomis who came to see Eris, and to pay their respects to him, not as Feailner, but as Eris’s grandson. Though no one intruded on his thoughts through meaningless chatter, he wasn’t left alone. Thalli was replaced by Leos, then Jafiel, then Robrin, who finally led him by the arm to his sleeping-room and ordered him into bed. Tierken had obeyed, sleeping long and deeply, and waking to the knowing that things could never be the same.

Thalli was in the cooking place when he came back, nursing her child, who he recalled was named Kira. The child must be almost eight moons old, Tierken realised, as he breakfasted with Thalli. She had a fuzz of fair curls and Tierken wondered what colour hair a child of his and Kira’s would have. Thalli was sandyhaired, and Leos fair also, but he and Kira were opposites, except for their eyes.

Thalli was keen to know of Laryia’s journey south and of how her friend would be spending her time in the forests, but Tierken struggled to answer. He’d taken no interest in Tremen ways, apart from those that grated – such as bonding.

Finally Thalli rose and settled her daughter onto her hip. ‘It’s a fine day,’ she said as she gathered her things. ‘Why don’t you take a walk up to the southern slopes? Kira found a dwinhir nest there she was keen for you to see, although the chicks would have flown by now. The Keshall have organised Eris’s farewell for the morrow.’

Tierken thanked her and followed her out into the bright air, turning his feet up the path. While he was away, members of the Keshall would remove Eris’s body to where the pyre had been built. They would clean and set the room to rights, scattering the bed with leaves of morning-bright to gladden the hearts of those who grieved.

Among the Kessomis, such tasks were not left to the blood-kin, as they were among the Kirs, Illians and Teraks. The Kessomis followed older ways, the community giving the final rites to those who had been a part of themselves. Tierken was glad of the custom on this occasion, for despite the brilliance of the snow against the sky, and the crispness of the air, he felt as hollow as a husk.

Thalli had said that Kira had found a dwinhir nest in the southern slopes, but he’d never known dwinhir to nest that low. Even so, he searched the sky for them and, as the day wore on, listened for the higher calls of juvenile birds, finding the nest at last, long abandoned.

Its emptiness resonated, and he descended a little to a tumble of boulders and wearily settled on one. It gave a good view of Kessom, and he stared down at the scatter of houses. He had known Eris’s days were drawing to an end, but his present awful sense of lack wasn’t solely due to her death. He had truly loved just three women in his life – for he scarcely remembered his mother – and in one way or another, they were now all far from him. Eris was dead and Laryia deep in the southern forests. While Kira . . . He rubbed his jaw, forcing himself to recall their last encounter.

He would have struck her if Farid hadn’t intervened, and the knowing appalled him. Apart from the repellent notion that he was capable of deliberately hurting her, it would have destroyed all that had ever been between them. If he were to prevent it from happening again, he had to understand how he’d let himself get to such a point. His grandmother never wasted words and now he considered her last ones.

What is it you want?

He wanted Kira, but that wasn’t what his grandmother had meant. Give her time, Eris had urged him on more than one occasion. But how much time must he give Kira, he wondered irritably. It had been nine moons since he had first brought her to Sarnia, time enough for her to become . . . Terak? It was an accusation she’d flung at him in one of their recent rows, and he’d shrugged it off. Now he considered it, forcing himself to relive their other arguments as well. Her clothing, her work in the Wastes, her wish to be free of her Guard, her risk-taking, her healing and taking of pain, her insistence on going to Maraschin before the fighting, her desire to renounce the leadership of the Tremen in person, and even her relationship with Caledon.

Again and again, he stopped himself treading the same path he’d taken at the time, making himself take her part instead, considering her reactions in the light of what he knew of her and of Allogrenia. It was a long, unpleasant process, and by the time the air had begun to chill and he’d left his cold perch to return to Kessom, nothing was resolved, although his ignorance of Kira’s growing in Allogrenia was glaringly obvious. It had been a mistake to reject Caledon’s offer to pass on his knowing of Kira’s time in the south. Tierken had thought the past finished, but now he saw how potently it imprinted the present. He sifted through everything he knew of Kira’s past and it seemed to boil down to two things: Kira’s intense love for her younger brother, and her father’s lack of love for her. And neither knowing seemed to be of much use to him now.

Tarkenda ducked into the top sorcha, went to the table, drew a bowl of sherat and gulped it down.

‘Orsron’s dead,’ she said.

‘What?’ gasped Palansa, hoping she’d misheard.

Tarkenda drew a second bowl. ‘Orsron, Sansula’s son. He sickened during the night, burned as if he lay in fire coals, and now he’s dead. Just like that,’ she said, clicking her fingers.

Palansa brought a shaking hand to her mouth. ‘Poor Sansula,’ she choked, but her thoughts darted to three days before, when they’d sat together, playing with their sons in the reed beds.

Palansa hurried to the sling and laid her hand on Ersalan’s forehead. He was no warmer than usual, but her heart continued its frantic beat.

‘Arkendrin’s gone, too,’ said Tarkenda.

‘What, he’s dead?’ asked Palansa, grappling with this next piece of astonishing news.

‘No – gone, left,’ said Tarkenda, lowering herself onto a stool. ‘He’s taken Irdodun and Irdodun’s lesser blood-ties and gone.’

‘But where? Why?’

‘For the gold-eyed creature,’ said Tarkenda. ‘What else but its death can restore the vision to his rotting eye? Cure his lameness? Grant him your son’s death, your body and the highest sorcha? What else but the creature’s destruction stands between him and all he so richly deserves?’

Palansa settled opposite and searched Tarkenda’s face. ‘Have you seen this in your visions or dreams?’

Tarkenda didn’t answer and Palansa caught her hand. ‘Have you?’

‘I’ve told you what I’ve seen,’ said Tarkenda, shrugging her off. ‘The creature will be here and there will be death. But seeing isn’t enough. We already have an abundance of death. Its death won’t stop ours.’

‘But the Telling suggests that our suffering will end,’ countered Palansa. ‘Deeds long past will hunt the Shargh and funeral smoke consume the stars until the thing that draws no breath, devours the dark that feeds on death,’ she quoted.

‘It would end if we were all dead,’ said Tarkenda. ‘You forget that the creature breathes. Whatever the “thing” is, it’s not the creature.’

In the silence that followed, wailing sounded from the slope below.

‘It might not be Sansula’s blood-ties,’ said Tarkenda. ‘Warriors still die from the effects of the fighting or from the water in their lungs.’

‘Might they have brought this evil back with them?’ said Palansa fearfully. ‘This thing that’s killed Orsron? Perhaps the thing that “draws no breath” is some vile pestilence the Northerners have seeded. Perhaps they won’t even need to come here themselves to destroy us all!’

Tarkenda took her by the shoulders. ‘Calm yourself,’ she ordered.

‘I’m frightened for Ersalan,’ whispered Palansa.

‘Sometimes babes die,’ said Tarkenda.

Which was true, but it was unusual for them to die so quickly, and so unexpectedly, she thought. And Orsron had been a lusty little boy, not like some babes who were born sickly and succumbed to even the smallest ill. But voicing her fears wouldn’t help Palansa remain strong, and Palansa must be strong for what was to come.

Instead she said, ‘Keep Ersalan within for the next few days, until we see how things unfold. Orsron may have taken a chill, or been born with some flaw that only the Sky Chiefs knew of. And with Arkendrin gone, there’s at least one less risk to Ersalan,’ she added.

Palansa’s anxious expression didn’t ease. ‘For now,’ she said.

Kira went without pause, without thought and without looking back. When she came across a soak she let Bright-wings drink, and when the stars crowded the sky she slowed, but she didn’t stop. The new day showed her direction more clearly, and she struck west towards the Breshlin, reaching its banks and following the river down. At dawn on the third day, she came to the Ford and crossed, refusing to look north up its gleaming flow. She knew that Cover-cape Crest was a day’s ride further and there was a spring and the alwaysgreens for shelter. She’d rest there, if her strength didn’t fail her first.

Brightwings still seemed eager to go on, but Kira was beyond weariness and her misery was intense. Caledon had told her that the Allogrenia she’d known had ceased to exist the day the Shargh had found it. The person she’d been in Sarnia was like that now – her beliefs, hopes and dreams utterly destroyed.

Perhaps it was for the best, she pondered dully. Perhaps her lot in life was not to be a bondmate or a mother, but a Healer. It was what she’d once told her father, long ago, before the Shargh had come.

It was a little after midday when Kira became aware of a curious grey cloudbank forming low to the west. She stared at it as she rode, reminded of the snow clouds that had forced the patrol to Ember Keep on her first journey north. She wasn’t far from the same spot, she realised uneasily.

If you’re going to get early snow, it will be between Cover-cape Crest and Breshlin, Tierken had said. The northern ruler had slipped into her thoughts, but she barely noticed, horribly aware that she had no gifan, and no knowing of the way to Ember Keep. Kira hoped that the cloud front would go away, but it rolled inexorably towards her, extinguishing the sun and enclosing her like a clammy web. It wasn’t snow cloud, but a dense bank of fog.

Within a dozen paces, Kira could scarcely see a length in front, and a half-dozen paces later, she had no idea in which direction south lay. Fearful of becoming lost, she dismounted and let Brightwings graze, the air’s dampness making her shiver enough to don her jacket and cape. The mare tore at the grass contentedly, but as time wore on Kira’s legs grew tired and her back ached.

It was deep in the night, and Kira had knotted her hands in Brightwings’ mane and was dozing against her for warmth and comfort when the mare’s head suddenly shot up. Grass crunched, as if trodden on, and Kira’s scalp prickled. After a moment, Brightwings resumed her grazing, and although the mare now seemed unconcerned, Kira remained petrified that there were others nearby. It could be the Guard, but it could also be Shargh, or something else.

Kira told herself that it would be dawn soon, the fog gone, and she would be on her way to her rest at Cover-cape Crest where the trees were thick and safe.

‘You’ll like the grove,’ she murmured to Brightwings. ‘It’s –’

The mare snorted, wild-eyed, and danced sideways as a dark shape launched itself at Kira. It knocked her off her feet and leapt on top of her, then a disfigured face thrust close, its lips drawing back in a macabre smile as rough hands tightened around her throat.

After Eris’s funeral, Tierken returned to the house that was now his and Laryia’s. He wandered through the empty rooms, running his fingers over the carved wooden chests and the brittle bunches of herbs that hung drying from the roof beams, still sensing Eris’s presence. He thought of her at night, too, as he sat in the cooking place, nursing a mug of cotzee – and he thought of Kira.

The urgency of the painful soul-searching he’d engaged in on the day of Eris’s death had ebbed, leaving him resolved to give Kira more time to settle. On his return to Sarnia he’d be patrolling north in any case, and Mouras would continue Kira’s instruction in his absence. Then the duties of the Domain would increasingly occupy her days and her familiarity with the administration of Sarnia strengthen her feeling of belonging.

A new moon hung in the sky by the time the sense of Eris had truly gone, and Tierken pulled the door of the house shut behind him and set off down the path. He made his way across the small bridge spanning the Zinaidi, recalling all the times he’d chased Laryia across it, or hidden beneath to leap out and surprise her. Kalos was saddled and waiting, and Robrin embraced Tierken, standing with upraised hand as Tierken set off along the track.

Tierken kept Kalos to a gentle pace, letting him drink from the Silver River, and reached the Tiar Lookround near the middle of the following day.

The plain was clad in mist made gold by the sun, and the sun gilded Sarnia too, turning the stone a deep yellow. Tierken had felt settled in Sarnia before, but as he made his way up the Domain path accompanied by a wash of pealing bells, he knew that Eris’s death made his break from Kessom final. In fact, the only thing that dampened his sense of wellbeing was the absence of Kira’s mare from the stables.

Kira’s timing was nothing if not consistent – she was never present when he returned.

‘The Lady Kira rides?’ he asked Ryn, as he handed Kalos over.

‘I’m unsure, Feailner. The mare hasn’t been here in recent days. The Lady might have stabled her at the wall.’

Tierken stilled. ‘How many days, Horse Master?’

‘Close to eight now, Feailner.’

Tierken hastened across the courtyard, up the steps to the balcony and threw open her door. The rooms had the same derelict feeling as Eris’s house and he hurried on to the Meeting Hall.

Farid rose and bowed. ‘Welcome home, Feailner,’ he said.

‘Where’s Kira?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Farid.

‘As Keeper, it’s your duty to know!’

‘With respect, Feailner, my duty is to administer the city in your absence. It’s the Domain Guard who ensure the safety of the Domain’s residents. But they have no authority over any guest who chooses to leave.’

‘ Chooses to leave?’

‘Yes, Feailner. Eight days ago, the Tremen Leader rode to the mouth of the Rehan, accompanied by Domain Guard. There she thanked them for her care during her stay in the city, and rode away at speed. They followed as best they could, but the swiftness of her mare made it impossible for them to stay with her. They searched but as they had neither food nor water, they were forced to return.’

Tierken’s eyes flashed to a colour Farid had never seen before. ‘You’ve sent a patrol to bring her back?’

‘No, Feailner. I’ve sent Marin to confirm her arrival in Maraschin, but the Domain has no authority over a guest who chooses to leave the city.’

‘Don’t dare instruct me on the Domain’s authority!’ shouted Tierken. ‘You’ve violated my trust by not pursuing her!’

‘The Tremen Leader wasn’t our prisoner!’ Farid shouted back.

Tierken’s sword was at Farid’s throat in an instant. ‘I’ll decide the status of the Tremen Leader!’

‘I’m not your enemy, Tierken! I’m your friend and the only person in the Domain who will dare to tell you what you must know!’

Tierken’s glare didn’t lessen, but he lowered his sword. ‘Tell me what I must know then, friend!’

‘In your absence, I’ve spent much time with the Tremen Leader –’

‘As the whole of Sarnia knows!’

‘What they don’t know is how she continues to be hurt by the happenings of the time before she came here.’

‘I know of her family’s murder and of the brother whose name she screams in her sleep, Keeper.’

‘And of her father?’ asked Farid.

‘He was a cold man.’

‘It went beyond coldness,’ said Farid.

‘She told you that?’

‘Not in words. She has a singularly unguarded face, and her eyes –’

‘Tell me what she said!’

‘Her father’s antagonism increased as her healing skills grew. He accused her of provoking the first Shargh attack and stripped her of her place as Healer. This added to her guilt at having failed to protect her younger brother. In fact, I was disturbed by how many times she used the word “failed” when she spoke of herself. She “failed” for too many days to realise that the Shargh hunted her; she “failed” to discover – quickly enough – the herb that cured Shargh wounds; she “failed” to leave Allogrenia without causing more suffering, particularly to the other person she loved – her clanmate, Healer Tresen.

‘I’ve had time to ponder how this sense of failure feeds her lack of self-care, and how her father’s bullying has made her fear things that threaten to confine or curtail her.’

‘You mean she won’t marry me because she doesn’t trust me,’ retorted Tierken. ‘Hardly news.’

‘She saw being bonded as akin to marriage,’ said Farid quietly.

Tierken shrugged dismissively. ‘Anything else I must know?’

‘Yes. You should know of the plans she had for her future here with you. She spoke of firstly taking you to her lands and sharing their beauty with you, of making her farewells – properly – before spending the rest of her days here.

‘She spoke of the Wastes – Queen Kiraon’s garden, as she calls it – and of how she wanted to make it bloom again. She spoke of how the water pipes could be repaired, of replanting the allogrenia and replacing the stone seat in the centre. She spoke of the trees that she could seed in Kasheron’s Quarter, and of how water could be brought to them. She spoke of how, when Kasheron’s Quarter was alive with birds and greenery, and Queen Kiraon’s garden bright with flowers, others in Sarnia would see the loveliness of such things and welcome them into their own Quarters.

‘She spoke of the kind of trees that could line the Domain path, and how pots of flowering shrubs could brighten the Domain. She said that, in time, the Domain could combine the beauty of both the south and the north, pairing the green and growing with the speed and grace of the horse. She said that it would be like the glass window come to life.’

Tierken remained motionless, staring into space, then sat heavily. After a little, Farid poured two mugs of ale and handed him one.

‘Eris is dead,’ said Tierken hoarsely.

‘I am sorry, Feailner.’

‘No,’ said Tierken, looking at him. ‘It is I who am sorry. I need beg your pardon, Farid.’

‘There’s no need –’

‘We both know there is,’ said Tierken.

They embraced, then settled at the table again, drinking without speaking for a time.

‘Could Kira have saved Eris?’ asked Farid tentatively.

‘Perhaps. But Eris knew her time was ending and made Kira pledge not to come. She wanted Kira to stay here, safe with me.’

Tierken smiled bitterly and there was a long silence. ‘Now Eris is dead, and Laryia far from me, and Kira fled across the plain. No one travels the plain alone, Farid – and survives.’

As suddenly as he’d attacked, the man released her, but Kira remained huddled on the ground, sucking air down her bruised throat, horribly aware of the dark outline standing over her. Then, terrifyingly, he grabbed her arm and yanked her upright.

‘I didn’t recognise you, Healer of the Southern Forests,’ he said in Onespeak. ‘Our Chief granted you protection. Where would you go?’

Kira hung in his grip, taking several attempts to form a word. ‘South,’ she croaked. ‘To Maraschin.’

‘The Sky Chiefs have taken the moon, sun and stars,’ said the man. ‘We must wait till they give them back.’

He released her and whistled shrilly, and when a pony appeared from the gloom, he vaulted onto it. ‘We go,’ he said.

Still shaking with fright, Kira scrambled onto Brightwings and followed the man through the foggy darkness, considering whether she should make her escape – but to where?

The man glanced back often, and when dawn brightened the fog she saw that his disfigurement was caused by burn scars. Then she realised that he was the man whose injured back she’d once mended – the Ashmiri Chief’s son.

The Chief had indeed pledged her protection, but although the Chief’s son didn’t appear to be about to kill her, his undertaking to protect her didn’t fit with what she’d learned about the Ashmiri from the Terak patrols. She couldn’t think of a single Terak who trusted them.

The dim outlines of round skin huts appeared, and the man dismounted, gesturing Kira to do the same, then hailed someone.

An older man with green dots on his cheeks appeared. He gaped at her but led the Ashmiri pony and Brightwings away, Kira watching in dread as her mare disappeared into the fog.

‘I am Irlian, son of Uthlin, Chief of the Ashmiri, and I welcome you to my sorcha,’ he said. ‘My fire is your fire, my pelts your pelts, my blades your blades.’ He bowed and gestured her in and Kira reluctantly ducked through the flap.

There was a young woman inside, busy chopping some sort of vegetable, her welcoming smile freezing as she saw Kira. Then she exploded into speech. It was clear the woman didn’t want her there, but Irlian’s response was short and sharp and followed by silence, despite the indignation on the woman’s face.

‘My join-wife, Brishanda, will attend your needs till the Sky Chiefs send clear skies,’ said Irlian. ‘Then we go south.’

He ducked back out of the hut and Brishanda indicated stonily that Kira should sit on the pelts near the cooking fire. Kira sat, considering whether to gesture her thanks and go on her way, but having no idea what her ‘way’ was, or where Brightwings had been taken.

Brishanda picked up a bowl and lifted the lid from a pot on the fire, but the smell of the meat made Kira’s belly churn. Though she wasn’t really hungry, Kira extricated a handful of nuts from her pack and ate those to show Brishanda that she already had food. Only after Brishanda clanged the lid down did Kira remember that the refusal of food was insulting. Thinking quickly, Kira laid her hand on her belly, grimaced and half shook her head. Brishanda’s chopping of the vegetable became less violent.

It was warm in the hut and Kira had not slept at all since leaving Sarnia, so after a little she began to nod. Brishanda gestured to a low bed set along the hut’s side and Kira lay down contemplating whether she should guard her pack – or, indeed, risk sleeping at all. But she guessed that Brishanda was more likely to spit on her than take to her with a cooking knife.

The light suggested early evening when Kira drifted awake, hearing Brishanda and Irlian speaking together in low voices, their tenderness plain despite their strange tongue. Brishanda laughed softly now and then, and Irlian’s tone was teasing. Thoughts of Tierken tried to slide into her mind, but she blocked them, instead exaggerating a yawn to alert Irlian to her wakefulness.

Brishanda looked no more welcoming than earlier but at least Irlian’s face was friendly.

‘I will send a Hal if you are ill,’ he said.

Brishanda had obviously told him she was unwell, but Kira no longer felt nauseous, instead needing to relieve herself. She was thinking about how to ask politely when Irlian pre-empted her.

‘Before the evening meal is taken, the Ashmiri ensure they are clean,’ he said. ‘Brishanda will take you.’

Kira followed Brishanda through the thick fog but Irlian’s join-wife showed none of his concern about Kira straying, and they were scarcely a dozen paces from the hut before Brishanda had disappeared into the murk. Kira took the opportunity to relieve herself, then cleaned her hands on the moisture-laden grass and waited. When Brishanda didn’t reappear, Kira carefully retraced her steps, coming to a stop outside a hut.

She was reasonably sure it was the same one, but she suspected it would not only be rude to enter the wrong hut, but possibly fatal. The damp began to creep into her bones, for she hadn’t thought to don her cape, and in the end, she ducked into the warmth of the hut, relieved to see her pack.

Kira was holding her hands to the fire, enjoying the delicious ease it brought, when she heard a babe cry, astonished to realise that it came from nearby. The gentle movement of a small sling near the far wall drew her attention, and Kira had just reached it when Brishanda reappeared. With a shriek, the young Ashmiri rushed at Kira and snatched up the babe.

Irlian ducked through the flap, and there was a shrill exchange, Brishanda not taking her eyes from Kira as she edged around to the door and then fled.

‘My join-wife fears the Northerners,’ said Irlian. ‘She’s seen what they’ve done.’

‘I’m a Healer,’ asserted Kira, shaken by Brishanda’s reaction, but even as the words left her lips, she remembered that she’d killed.

Irlian was busy adding meat to the pan and didn’t look up. ‘The Sky Chiefs will give back the sun at dawn. We leave then.’

Arkendrin knelt at a pool and worked the pus from his eye. The pain throbbed with sickening ferocity, but he continued to probe, sluicing water into the socket to quench the burn as much as to rid the wound of fester. It was many moons since the filthy sword had seeded the creature’s foulness into his flesh, yet still the eye wept and he shivered and sweated. But once the gold-eyed creature was dead, its vile poisons would die with it, and he’d be whole again. And the creature was close, he could feel it, despite the dank cloud that all but hid his companions.

As Arkendrin struggled to his feet, Orlun rushed to assist him, but Arkendrin shrugged him off, tilting his head to glower at him.

‘Ebis are close, Chief,’ said Orlun excitedly, oblivious to Arkendrin’s animosity. ‘I’ve a keen nose and it’s served me well in the past – and the Shargh. It was I who smelled the trap in the Northerner’s food valley, and saved many of our warriors.’

‘And did you smell Yrshin’s blindness, blood-tie? And Uthlin’s treachery? It takes no skill to smell ebis when their droppings are under our feet,’ retorted Arkendrin.

Orlun glanced down at the bare ground in perplexity. ‘I see no –’ he began, then Arkendrin’s fist caught him and he crumpled, blood streaming between his fingers as he clutched his face.

‘You dare argue with your Chief?’ roared Arkendrin, drawing his flatsword.

Orlun cowered, his eyes flicking to Irdodun and his other blood-ties, seeking aid and receiving none. Arkendrin’s flatsword hovered above his head, and he grovelled lower, palming his forehead repeatedly as Arkendrin’s one good eye stared down at him. Then marwings broke from the fog, shrieking as they tilted overhead and whirled away.

‘The creature’s near,’ said Irdodun quickly, stepping forward. ‘Already the marwings sing of its death.’

With a final glare at Orlun, Arkendrin sheathed his sword and wiped the ooze from his face. ‘West,’ he muttered, almost to himself, and limped off.

Irdodun scowled after him, but he heaved Orlun to his feet and, nodding to his blood-ties, followed.

Dawn was as clear as Irlian had predicted, and they were on their way before the sun had breached the horizon. He took three warriors with him; all three had green dots on their cheeks, a suspicious look in their eyes, and no understanding of Onespeak. Kira didn’t recognise any of the lands they traversed, but it was clear that they went more west than south. The knowing filled her with unease, but it wasn’t until the second day that she found the courage to question their direction.

‘Ashmiri have their own paths,’ he said, in response to her challenge.

‘I thank you for your protection, but I need to reach Maraschin as quickly as possible.’

‘Silverjack don’t cross paths with fanchon, nor fanchon with wolf.’

‘It would be quicker to go directly south,’ persisted Kira.

Irlian made no response, and Kira wondered whether she should go on alone. But the empty plain stretched away, the Silver-cades having disappeared from view, the Azurcades yet to emerge from the earth’s southern brow. She’d been nearly a day’s ride south of the Breshlin Ford when the fog had rolled in, and it had taken a good part of the night to reach Irlian’s hut, but Kira had no idea where they’d travelled since.

The Ashmiri used shelters similar to gifans, but they were hardly necessary, for the weather remained fair and the nights mild. Irlian was courteous, although only spoke in response to her questions, while the warriors ignored her. They talked among themselves, scanned and sometimes scouted.

The fifth dawn found them heading east, squinting into the rising sun. Kira again asked Irlian about their route, but his reply was the same.

This time, Kira tried to understand what his words might mean. She didn’t think Irlian was deliberately delaying her, for that would mean a longer separation from his join-wife. The notion that fanchon preyed on silverjack, and wolf on fanchon, suggested Irlian chose a route to avoid danger, but from whom? The Ashmiri were free to move across both Tain and Terak lands, so perhaps there were other – hostile – peoples in the nearby lands.

The possibility worried Kira, but when, on their sixth day of travel, the eleventh since she had set out, two of the warriors hastened back from scout, their urgent exchange with Irlian contained a word that brought back terrifying memories: Shargh.

Tierken’s neck muscles crawled, knowing that he should be out overseeing the building in Kasheron’s Quarter, or on patrol on the Ashkal Plain, or working with Farid on the record-keeping of the city. But he felt paralysed. Kira had been gone twelve days, Marin’s patrol nine, and the soonest he could hope to hear anything was another five – and that was only if Marin found Kira in Maraschin, and turned back immediately.

Farid had dissuaded him from setting off on search, rightly pointing out that Kira could be anywhere by this time and Tierken’s chances of finding her slight. He’d also pointed out the unpalatable truth that Tierken’s responsibilities included maintaining the integrity of the Domain, and that excluded chasing his bondmate over the plain. It had been a consideration in the choice of men Farid had earlier sent with Marin to Maraschin, who, like Marin, were both trustworthy and discreet.

The only small comfort Tierken could gain from the appalling situation was that if Kira reached Maraschin, then Adris would give her escort to Allogrenia, and the two Terak patrols already there would keep her safe once she arrived. And her safety was all that mattered to him at this moment.

His concerns over her dress and habits had vanished as soon as he’d realised she was gone, and the interminable days since had given him time for some very brutal reflection. He’d turned from consideration of her actions to reflecting on his own, particularly his demands on her. He’d long known that growing up with the possibility of the feailnership being snatched from his grasp had left him with an intolerance of uncertainty, but he’d failed to recognise the extent to which it had overshadowed their time together.

In giving his heart to her, he’d insisted on proof of her love and of her intention to stay. And Kira had given it to him, over and over again. It had been written in the joy on her face as she’d pledged to him in the shelter-hut; in her happiness when she’d come back to Sarnia before Laryia’s wedding – clad in the Domain’s black and silver to please him; in her delight out on the plain at his return; even in their final morning together, as she’d hurried to meet him for breakfast.

But none of it had been enough – he’d wanted the certainty of marriage. And to force her to accept it, he had withdrawn his love – like her father had. It was the very worst thing he could have done.

Kira’s father had been a cold man who’d sought to confine her, Farid had told him, and Caledon and Tresen had intimated the same. But he’d been deaf to their warnings until now, when it might well be too late.

In the Crown Rooms in Maraschin, Adris was taking breakfast and pondering the strange happenings of that morning when there was a knock at the door.

‘Enter,’ he called absently, reading the contents of the scroll for a second time.

The message had been delivered by an exhausted Terak Patrol Commander just after dawn, and the signature belonged to the Domain Keeper, Farid, who was charged with the care of the city in the Feailner’s absence. He was also the Feailner’s trusted friend.

Adris frowned as he considered the implications of the relationship, then, recalling that someone had entered the room, glanced up.

‘Caledon!’ he exclaimed in amazement, rising hurriedly and embracing the Tallien. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, my friend, but you are very welcome.’

Caledon looked tired, as if he’d journeyed through the night, and Adris gestured him to sit, and poured him a cup of metz.

‘I had thought you intended to return straight home after leaving the forests,’ said Adris, piling a plate with warm maizen bread and fruit, and handing it to him. ‘Is there something amiss?’

‘All’s well in the forests,’ said Caledon, between gulps of metz.

‘But you thought it might not be well elsewhere?’

‘I’ve learned not to ignore the stars,’ said Caledon.

‘And they told you to come here and breakfast with me this day?’

‘They suggested I stay in the south,’ said Caledon, unperturbed by Adris’s gentle teasing. ‘It was merely good fortune that I arrived in time to share a meal with you.’

Adris handed Caledon the scroll and Caledon looked at him questioningly, then read quickly. ‘By Aeris!’ he exclaimed.

‘Your stars are proving unusually accurate,’ said Adris. ‘Perhaps I should chart my life by them.’

‘When did the Terak patrol arrive?’

‘Before dawn.’

‘Yet they left three days after Kira. She should be here by now.’

‘The Patrol Commander reported they’d been delayed by fog. It’s likely Kira encountered the same conditions.’

Caledon said nothing, and it was Adris who broke the silence. ‘Did the stars tell you that Kira would leave the Terak Feailner? Is that why you’ve come?’

‘It doesn’t take the stars to understand why she’s left a man who’s given her no time, no tenderness and no trust. And now she’s out on the plain alone!’

Caledon’s voice was harsh and Adris straightened. He had rarely seen Caledon angry, but he was angry now, his body holding the tautness of a snake, ready to strike.

‘We can go out on search,’ suggested Adris.

Caledon nodded and Adris went to the door and shouted orders. ‘How many days?’ he asked, coming back and draining the last of his metz.

‘As many as it takes.’

In the time since leaving the Ashmiri huts, Kira had been aware of the Ashmiri’s strange route, but not of any tension. That had now changed. The group had unclipped their spears, placed Brightwings at their centre and reduced their speech to whispers. Kira scanned anxiously but the plain had rucked up like the ridgelands, and for the first time on the journey the horizon was hidden.

The closing in of the land increased her fear, as did the understanding that if Shargh appeared, the Ashmiri would hand her over. The blood-link required it and would prove more powerful than any oath of Uthlin’s, particularly as there would be no outside witnesses to Irlian’s breaking of it.

Perhaps her best chance of reaching Maraschin would be to depart her ‘protectors’ now. She could outrun Shargh, even if they were mounted – if she was able to evade their spears, and if Irlian described which way to go.

She urged Brightwings forward but Irlian gestured violently. ‘There’s danger, Healer of the Southern Forests. Stay behind!’

‘If there’s Shargh, it’s best I leave you now.’

‘We take you to Maraschin,’ hissed Irlian.

‘But –’

A flock of black birds shrieked overhead and one of the Ashmiri exclaimed and pointed. Poised above them on the ridge were the silhouettes of Shargh. The Ashmiri exchanged urgent whispers, and Kira’s mouth went dry as the Shargh began their descent, coming quickly, confident they’d meet no resistance.

The leading Shargh was the one whose knife had hovered over Kira’s eyes, but as he drew closer, revulsion mixed with her fear. He’d been wounded in the face and his eye wept a greenish sludge, the poison also evident in the greasy sheen of his skin and his uneven gait. He went with his head tilted, glowering at her with his good eye, his knuckles white on his spear. The Shargh beside him had been at the Thanaval too, but was warier, like the others who followed.

Irlian went forward as if in greeting, but the wounded Shargh shoved past him, brought his arm back and hurled his spear. In the same instant, Irlian whirled and brought his spear down like a cudgel, ruining the Shargh’s aim. There was a squelching thump as Kira felt the shock of the spear hitting the mare. Brightwings collapsed backwards until she was almost sitting on her haunches, then crashed sideways, throwing Kira clear.

The mare lay on her side, snorting blood as her legs gouged the ground. Then Brightwings’ thrashing ceased and her luminous eyes dulled. Kira crawled over and collapsed sobbing on the mare’s neck, but was seized and bundled – still sobbing – onto one of the Ashmiri horses. The wounded Shargh was being restrained by his companions, glaring at her and spitting a venomous stream of words, his hatred like a living thing. Irlian palmed his forehead to the wounded Shargh, who continued to struggle and rave as his companions half carried him away back up the ridge.

‘Pain has robbed the Cashgar Shargh Chief of his memories of obligation and honour,’ Irlian told her. ‘They will return to Arkendrin when he is healed.’

Then Irlian vaulted back onto his horse, and one of the Ashmiri clambered on in front of her, and they turned the same way as the Shargh had gone. Kira didn’t look back at Brightwings, but the image of her dulled eyes and the Shargh’s rotting one stayed with her.

Their journey was slower now, as one pony must carry two, but the tension was gone. They went south or south-east and rarely stopped. Kira now had time to think on what was to come. Being friend to the northern ruler meant that Adris wouldn’t welcome her, but it didn’t matter, as she intended to stay only long enough to replenish her food supply. Then she must traverse the Azurcades, including the brittle southern slopes of Shardos, and find her way back across the Dendora – alone.

She’d made the journey before, Kira reminded herself, and with far less hope in her heart. Once in Allogrenia, she would meet with the Clancouncil and renounce the leadership, then live out the rest of her days in the Kashclan longhouse. There was only one thing of which Kira was certain – she would never bond again.

Caledon and Adris had set camp two days out from Maraschin when scouts reported a group of Ashmiri to the north. Five riders on four ponies, they said – without herd animals. Caledon tossed his cup of metz aside, leapt on his horse and spurred away, Adris struggling to keep up. Caledon kept his horse at a flat gallop, standing in the stirrups to better see the pony that carried two. By the grace of Aeris! It was Kira. He hauled his mount to a stop, barely aware of the thunder of Adris and the King’s Guard coming to a halt behind him as he jumped down and hurried towards her.

An Ashmiri left the group, coming to meet him, and Caledon dragged his eyes from Kira. The Ashmiri was badly scarred but the black dot of Uthlin’s line was clearly visible. The man held his spear casually, and his eyes travelled over Caledon with cool indifference. The man’s companions were older, their green dots telling of lower status, and Kira sat behind one of them. Caledon was puzzled by her apparent lack of relief or gladness in seeing him.

Adris seemed content to let him deal with the Ashmiri, and Caledon forced his thoughts to order.

‘I greet you,’ he said, bowing low and palming his forehead. ‘I am Caledon e Saridon e Talliel, friend to the northern Feailner and to the Tain King. You guard one who is precious to both, and to me. I thank you for your care of the Tremen Feailner in her travel across the Sarsalin.’

The Ashmiri inclined his head. ‘I am Irlian, son of Uthlin, Chief of the Ashmiri. But even were I nameless and tie-less, I would guard the Healer from the Southern Forests with my life, for the Ashmiri Chief has granted her protection.’

Caledon stared at him in astonishment, but Irlian was gesturing to the Ashmiri carrying Kira. He rode forward and helped Kira down. Caledon half expected her to run to him, but instead she turned to Irlian and bowed.

‘The Healer from the Southern Forests thanks you for sharing your fire, your pelts and your blades,’ she said.

Irlian returned her bow and Kira set off towards Adris, Caledon falling into step beside her. He searched for signs of injury or shock but she merely seemed withdrawn or dazed.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

Kira shook her head, greeting Adris with words as polite and considered as those she’d used with the Ashmiri.

‘Our camp is but a short ride away,’ said Adris. ‘You can ride behind the Lord Caledon – if you will.’

Adris set off at his usual speed, but Caledon kept his mount to a gentle canter.

‘Commander Marin led us to believe that you were riding the mare the northern Feailner gifted you,’ he said after a while.

‘Marin’s in Maraschin?’ asked Kira, betraying emotion for the first time.

‘Yes,’ said Caledon. ‘The Domain Keeper was greatly concerned for you – as we all were.’

Kira said nothing and Caledon tried again. ‘How did you come to be with Ashmiri?’

‘I got lost in fog and Irlian found me.’

Her reply was brief, and once back at the camp she said little more, eating then excusing herself and crawling into the sleep-shelter pitched for her.

Caledon and Adris remained at the fire, and as Caledon sipped his metz, he realised that he must take care how he now conducted himself. The fighting had forged a close bond between Adris and Tierken, and the stars intended that it should endure. Thus Caledon mustn’t put Adris in the position of humiliating or insulting the Terak Feailner by taking his bondmate’s part against him, or by aiding the claims of another man on his bondmate’s affections.

In fact, the wisest thing for Caledon would be to postpone any investigation of the reasons for Kira’s arrival in the south until after he had cleared Maraschin’s walls. It might mean journeying all the way back to Allogrenia with her, if that was what she intended, and he sighed, feeling the effects of his constant travel. At least delaying his return to Talliel would give him a better sense of the stars’ longer-term intentions, he reasoned.

Kira was relieved that Caledon kept his conversation general during the journey back to Maraschin. He inquired as to whether she was tired, or needed to have time alone, and ensured that there were nuts and biscuit for her when they stopped to eat. She could see from his face that his want for her hadn’t lessened, but she had no intention of hurting him further with her faithlessness. She had resolved not to bond again, and that was one resolution that she would keep.

It was dusk when they at last rode up King’s Way, through Queen’s Grove and entered the ornately scrolled gates of King’s Hall. Kira was thinking of how strangely things had turned, that she should be back here, when a familiar figure hastened from the gloom.

‘Marin!’ she exclaimed, jumping down from the back of Caledon’s horse. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, as his kindly face reminded her of Niria and others of the Domain.

Marin bowed. ‘It’s a relief to see you, Lady,’ he said with feeling.

Caledon thumped to the paving behind her. ‘I must have private speech with the Patrol Commander,’ Kira said to Caledon, moving quickly away along one of the intricately paved paths that ran to the west of the Crown Rooms.

She stopped in a darker section near the wall, glad there were no lamps to light her face. Marin waited patiently, but it was a moment before she could speak.

‘Did the Feailner send you?’ she asked finally.

‘No, the Keeper. The Feailner was still in Kessom.’

‘In Kessom?’

‘Message came that his grandmother was ill,’ explained Marin, ‘and the Feailner went there. Then, when the Domain Guard reported you had left the city, the Keeper sent me with a patrol to confirm your safe arrival here. Fog made our crossing a long one, and we’ve waited here since.’

Kira took a shuddering breath, thinking of Eris’s last words to her and wondering if the elderly Healer’s premonition had proved true. If so, Tierken would have had to bear his grief alone.

‘I’m returning south,’ she managed to say. ‘I’ll only delay here to replenish my food. I . . . I thank you for making the journey across the Sarsalin, Commander.’

‘I was acting under orders,’ said Marin. ‘They require I return north on the morrow. Is there a message you would have me carry?’

‘Only that I beg the Feailner’s pardon for the loss of his mare.’

‘If she got away from you, Lady, we might yet find her on the plain,’ said Marin.

‘She was killed by a spear through the heart, Marin. She’s gone, like everything else I’ve loved.’

Tierken thought of Kira’s words, as reported by Marin, as he stared down at the Wastes. He had to fight the urge to jump on Kalos and gallop south. Begging Kira to come back to the same city and situation she’d fled would have little hope of success. Instead, he’d begun to bring her vision of Sarnia to fruition, and to consider how else he could make her time in the north happy – if she ever returned.

The Wastes were now truly Kiraon’s garden again, both Kiraons he hoped. It was nearly a moon since Marin had come back with the news Tierken had yearned to hear, and since then Kessomi hand-traders had removed the weeds, revealed or replanted the herbs, and replaced the stump with a young allogrenia. It now uncurled new leaves above a wooden seat carved with grenia owls.

But the delay meant that Kira might now be in Talliel, sharing the Lord Caledon’s bed. Tierken rolled his shoulders as he made his way back to the Domain. Marin had reported Kira arriving in Maraschin on the back of the Lord Caledon’s horse, the Tallien having gone back to Maraschin instead of west, and on receiving Marin’s news, setting out on search.

By keeping Kira safe, Caledon had again done what he had failed to do, Tierken admitted to himself as he strode across the Domain courtyard and up the steps to the balcony. He should be pleased, but mostly he felt anger and dread.

The Silvercades were afire with the setting sun and he thought of Jonred in the north, leading the patrol across the Ashkal. Tierken had stayed in Sarnia until the garden had been completed and Ryn had returned from the Foaling Fields. Now in the stall next to Kalos was a mare just as silver as his own stallion, born in the same season as Brightwings and of the same bloodline.

Tierken went to Kira’s rooms, as he had many times over the last moon, and, opening the clothing-chest, drew out the gown she’d worn at Laryia’s marriage. It still retained the faintest scent of her and he inhaled deeply. It was all he had left, and if she’d gone to Talliel, or if he couldn’t persuade her to trust him again, it was all he’d ever have.

On the morrow he’d take a patrol south-east. They would head to the Azurcades and cross the Kindrin Pass. He’d never gone that way before but the Kir herders occasionally took their flocks through. Slivkash had said that it was treacherous in places and slow, but the patrol would make up time once they cleared it and swung west to the Dendora. If all went well, they’d reach the northern edge of the forests in twenty days, nine fewer than the easier route he’d taken with Laryia.

He’d leave half the patrol with the horses outside the trees and continue on foot – where to, he had no idea. If the Tremen Protectors were doing their job, he shouldn’t have to venture too far into the woody morass before they provided him with an escort. It would be wonderful to see Laryia again, and he needed to meet with the Clancouncil of his southern kin, for it was long overdue. But he couldn’t pretend that he was going for any other reason than to bring Kira home.

Caledon watched the last of the King’s Guard gallop back towards Maraschin, then hastened after Kira, who had all but disappeared into the trees covering the foothills. She had refused to stay in Maraschin more than two days, despite the fact that she looked tired and had lost the healthy curves evident at Laryia’s wedding. And she had refused Adris’s offer of an escort to Allogrenia, accepting one only as far as the Azurcades, and then only because Caledon had told her that to refuse would be to compromise Adris’s friendship with the northern Feailner.

Her farewell from Adris had been cordial, but hardly warm – she hadn’t welcomed Caledon’s company either, reminding him none too gently of his obligations in Talliel.

I had thought you’d be keen to see Pisa again and your father, as you’ve been away so long, she’d said. And given that you’ve only just returned from my lands, I would have thought you’d be tired of journeying.

Kira’s attempts to distance herself from him probably resulted from the hurt she’d suffered at the Feailner’s hands, but he was no closer to knowing what had caused the rift between her and Tierken. When Caledon had left the north, Kira had been steadfastly committed to the bond, despite the northern Leader’s obvious ambivalence. To have fled across the plain alone a scarce three moons later suggested a violent, and probably irreparable, breach.

It suited him to have Kira free of Tierken, but he didn’t know whether it suited the star pattern, and the fear that the Terak victory might be a prelude to even greater blood-letting troubled him greatly. As he walked, he mulled over whether Tresen and Laryia’s union alone would be strong enough to mitigate the warlike tendencies of the Terak. But he came to no conclusion; he would have to wait to see what unfolded.

They climbed steadily into the Azurcades, speaking of little except the way ahead, and of when they would eat and rest. The rosarin groves dwindled and they reached the summit of Shardos on the second day, then descended through the moist, shadowed stone of West Draganin Pass. Kira searched the skies anxiously the next morning, for they were now close to where they’d sheltered from the violent hail and rain storm shortly after they had met, but the weather remained fair. They went on, slowed by patches of shale, and by the time they reached the Aurantia Cave, anxiety over the slippery southern slope had woken Kira’s queasiness again.

She rested at the cave’s entrance, while Caledon built a fire and set a pan of water to boil. The last of the ilalas’ calls drifted away and Kira thought of when she’d first come here. She’d feared Caledon in the beginning, but it hadn’t taken long to learn of his kindness – and of his belief in the guidance of stars. No doubt they’d directed him to bring Adris and the northern Leader together, and to persuade her to betray everything Kasheron believed in by requesting Tremen volunteers join in the fighting.

But despite everything, Caledon had been right. The sacrifice of the Tremen volunteers had gifted a future free from fear for the Tremen who remained, and allowed the birth of a new Allogrenia.

Kira wondered whether her anxiety stemmed not only from the slippery mountain, but also of returning to a place so changed she might not recognise it – or it might not recognise her. Whatever she was now, she wasn’t the girl Healer Leader who had fled Allogrenia. Since then she had killed, bonded with a man who lived by the sword, and broken the bond by abandoning him.

‘You’re pale. Are you ill?’ asked Caledon.

Kira shook her head and he passed her a cup of metz, his fingers brushing her hand. ‘Adris gave me sleep-shelters but I don’t think we’ll be needing them,’ he said.

‘Autumn’s still young,’ agreed Kira.

‘Your people are rebuilding the Bough,’ said Caledon, putting nuts on to roast. ‘Most of Morclan are taken up with its ornamentation and I’m sure it will be very beautiful when it’s finished.’

A new Bough! If only everything else could be put to rights so easily. But Kandor was gone, and Tresen so badly hurt he’d never climb with her above the whispering leaves again. And he was damaged in other ways, too: his smile less ready, his anger closer to the surface, his ability to forgive more fragile.

‘What are you thinking of?’ asked Caledon, handing her a bowl of nuts and settling beside her.

‘Of Tresen, of the way things were, of why they can’t be like that again.’

‘Even without fighting, things alter over time,’ said Caledon. ‘But fighting brings violent change and it’s often difficult to return.’

‘Are you saying I won’t be able to settle back into Allogrenia?’ asked Kira anxiously.

‘It depends on whether you want to continue as Leader, or become a simple Healer once more; to remain alone, or to bond –’

‘I won’t be bonding again.’

‘I understand why you’d say that now,’ said Caledon, his gaze on the sidas below. ‘To trust someone enough to give them your heart, and then to have that trust destroyed . . .’

‘Have you ever given your heart to someone, Caledon?’

‘I’ve known two women – before you – who I loved enough to be willing to give up the stars for,’ he said.

‘But did you give either of them your heart?’ persisted Kira.

‘I believed I did.’

‘Did they believe it?’

Caledon hesitated. He hadn’t planned on having this conversation so early, while Kira was still raw from her break with Tierken, and her trust in any man, including him, tenuous.

‘They believed it until the stars sent that I must journey,’ he said. ‘Few people understand what it is to be a Placidien, to feel with every pulse the stars’ imperative. But my love for the stars didn’t lessen my love for them, nor does it lessen my love for you.’

‘But it does direct you. The stars told you that I should be stopped from going straight north to seek aid from my kin, and so you stopped me. Then the stars told you to relinquish me to the northern ruler, so you walked away. What do the stars tell you to do now, Caledon? To take me as a lover or to hand me back?’

‘The stars are rarely so crude,’ said Caledon stiffly.

Kira laid her hand over his. ‘I understand how the stars direct you better than you think, for healing drives me in the same way. And neither leaves room for the needs and wants of others, no matter how dear they are. If I’d done as others bid, I’d not have found fireweed, nor met you. Then you’d not have mended the breach between the Tain and the Terak, and their combined forces would not have prevented even worse bloodshed. But all things have a price, Caledon. The price we both might pay is the loss of those we love – if the dying continues.’

‘Is this why you left the northern Feailner?’ asked Caledon sharply. ‘Because he intends to keep killing?’

‘I don’t know what he intends. What do the stars say?’

‘Nothing at present . . . and when they do speak, their words are not quite as clear as message scrolls.’

Caledon lay awake long into the night, troubled by Kira’s words and sifting through all the possible consequences of the disrupted star pattern. Aeris had kept Kira safe on the plain, so perhaps the stars did intend Caledon to have her after all. However, the stars might also intend she return to Tierken. The northern Feailner certainly had passion for Kira, but little patience or understanding of the Tremen – or interest, it seemed.

Tierken had gone all the way to the southern forests to deliver his sister, but then turned north again without entering them. But Kira being in the south might draw the northern Leader there again and give him reason to amend these omissions and so strengthen the Terak–Tremen bond, which was perhaps the stars’ intent.

It was also possible that the effect of her departure would be the reverse, and that Tierken’s anger at having his authority flouted would translate into an icy silence. And whatever his intent, his responsibilities as Feailner could keep him in Sarnia or on patrol for many moons to come. But even if Tierken did pursue Kira immediately, he’d travel by horse and that meant he must come around the eastern Azurcades – a journey of close to a moon. Tierken wouldn’t reach Allogrenia until well after he and Kira did, giving the advantage in regaining Kira’s affections to the Placidien rather than the Feailner. But was that what the stars intended?

Caledon sighed, frustrated by his lack of knowing. He must wait, he reminded himself, and serve the stars; whatever that service involved, and whatever his own desires.

Palansa lifted Ersalan from the cool water of the bath-bowl and gently dried him. He grizzled but didn’t wake, his skin still as hot as fire coals. He’d eaten nothing for two days, and had ceased the unsteady baby steps he’d been practising, lying listless on the bed instead. The fear that he was going to die was like a meat-worm, gnawing away at Palansa’s hope and hollowing out her strength.

The Grounds were dark with smoke, the air filled with wailing. Babes burned next to their mothers, while fathers and join-husbands spat the waste from their mouths as they tended the pyres, knowing that, soon enough, blood-ties would be tending theirs.

Tarkenda came to her side, but offered no words of comfort, for there were none. A nameless filth roamed the Grounds, as ravenous as a wolf, but stealthier. No one knew it neared until its jaws seized them and fever stained their skin red, sweat drenched their shirts and coughing brought foul, blood-streaked poisons from their lungs.

‘You’ve given him the cone-oil?’ asked Tarkenda, after a little.

‘I’ve given him everything!’ said Palansa, holding him close. ‘And I’ve offered squaziseed and shillyflower to the Sky Chiefs night after night. But how can they hear me, when so many others call upon them? He’s done no harm, Tarkenda. Why don’t the Sky Chiefs take Irdodun, or Arkendrin, whose power-lust seeded this evil, instead of babes like Orsron and Irsafin? And Ersalan!’

‘He’s not dead yet,’ said Tarkenda gently.

‘But he soon will be! The fever’s started, and in a few days he’ll be sweating. Then the coughing will start. Why didn’t your visions show you this? Or did they?’ she demanded, rounding on the older woman.

‘I’ve told you what my dreams and visions have shown.’

‘The Healer-creature here on the Grounds, and over all the cape of death? Maybe she’ll come to gloat, for she certainly won’t come to heal!’ cried Palansa, then stopped, eyes wide and chest heaving. ‘I’ll go there! I’ll go to the forests and beg she heals Ersalan. He’s only a babe, he’s done no one harm. He’s only a babe!’

‘Heal him?’ scoffed Tarkenda. ‘Do you think the Healer-creature will give cure to those who murdered her family? Would you?’

‘He’s done no harm,’ repeated Palansa.

‘He’s Shargh. You’re Shargh. They’ll kill you both.’

Palansa seemed to calm. ‘I won’t sit here and watch him die.’

‘If you go there you’ll both die,’ warned Tarkenda.

‘Perhaps what you say is true,’ said Palansa with a ghastly smile. ‘But at least he won’t go to the Skylands alone. He’ll have me there with him, forever.’

The ceiling beams of the newly built Bough were rich with the scents of resin and sap, and each one was adorned with its own set of carvings: lissium and sour-ripe vine with tippets darting between them, then castella and chrysen leaves, then slender espin and fallowood with springleslips frozen in flight, then brightwings and moon moths in dizzying patterns, then ashaels with roosting frostkings, then finally blue and rednut trees doused in blossom.

‘They’re so beautiful,’ exclaimed Laryia in delight, staring up at them as she wandered beneath. No furniture had been built yet and Laryia’s steps echoed in the cavernous space.

She came to a stop under the grand central beam where Tresen had settled on one of the Morclan carvers’ rough stools. He rose, folding his arms around her so that his palms lay over her belly, hoping to feel their child kicking. But the babe was quiet.

‘They’re for Kira, aren’t they?’ said Laryia, nestling back against him as she stared up at the central carvings of alwaysgreen leaves and mira kiraons.

‘Kasheron brought the alwaysgreen from the north to mark the octads and the tree is special to us. And the mira kiraon was named after his mother. But you’re right, my love. The heart of the Bough is decorated in memory of the greatest Healer Allogrenia’s ever had – including Kasheron himself – the youngest Leader we’ve ever birthed, and the only Leader we’ve ever lost to the outside.’

Laryia turned in the circle of his arms. ‘Tierken loves her as I love you,’ she said, kissing Tresen gently on the mouth.

‘I know,’ said Tresen, struggling to smile.

‘You’re in pain again, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Tresen, aware that Laryia’s healing skills made subterfuge impossible. ‘You should have married a man who was hale.’

‘I married the best man in the world.’

Mikini appeared and picked her way through the wood chips and shavings. ‘You’ll be shifting in soon,’ she said, peering about.

‘It’s big for just the two of us,’ said Laryia.

It was odd, she thought, that when she’d first come to the Kashclan longhouse, with its constant chatter and flow of people, she’d craved the quietness of the Domain, but now as she considered the hall, with its doorways leading off to numerous sleeping-rooms, stores, Haelens and Herberies, it seemed lonely.

‘There will be three of you soon,’ said Mikini, patting Laryia’s belly affectionately. ‘Besides, the Tremen Leader always lives in the Bough.’

‘Kira’s the Tremen Leader,’ said Tresen.

‘I know that, little brother,’ said Mikini, exchanging quick glances with Laryia. ‘Tenerini’s sent me to make sure my bond-sister doesn’t get lost on her way back to Kashclan,’ she continued with determined cheerfulness. ‘I thought Laryia was here alone and you were at the Warens with Protector Commander Kest.’

‘I was,’ said Tresen, as they left the Bough and set off across the Arborean. ‘It didn’t take long to discuss the stores and this moon’s patrols.’

In truth, there had been no real need for the meeting, Kest consulting him out of courtesy, as Kest would continue to consult with whoever replaced Kira. It was an attempt to rebuild the accord between the Warens and the Bough that Maxen had fractured.

‘I see why Kira named her mare as she did,’ said Laryia, watching a glittering spiral of winged creatures rise from the forest floor. ‘Now she has her very own Brightwings in the north.’

‘Somewhat larger,’ said Mikini, ‘though I’ve only got Tresen’s word for how big horses actually are.’

‘Are you questioning the honesty of your Leader?’ chided Tresen.

‘No, just his memory – for I clearly recall you telling me that Kira was the Leader, and not you,’ retorted Mikini.

Kira was halfway down the shattered face of Shardos when a wave of nausea broke over her so violently that she fell to her knees. Caledon was in front, probing the stone with a stick, and hastened back as fast as the treacherous ground allowed, steadying her until she’d ceased vomiting. Then he eased her down so she was sitting, and handed her his waterskin.

Caledon wondered whether it would be best to climb back up to the Aurantia Cave, despite them being closer to the Dendora. If they must delay for a time, the Aurantia Cave would be safer, the trees below providing little shelter from the weather and none from Shargh.

‘Do you know what ails you?’ he asked, helping Kira up, then having to bring his arm around her as her knees gave way.

‘No,’ she said, acutely aware of his sweet spice smell.

‘Do you want to return to the Aurantia Cave?’

‘I’m not going back.’

‘Come then. We’ll go slowly and you can tell me if you need to rest,’ he said, shifting his grip to her hand.

They crept on, the journey made difficult by them having to walk closely on a path barely wide enough for one. Caledon focused his attention on the broken stone, but he stopped often, insisting Kira drink, and soaking biscuit in water to make it easier for her to eat. She wasn’t sick again, but her eyes remained dark against the pallor of her face.

The light ebbed and, even though the slope made it awkward, they pitched the sleep-shelters and crawled into them. Caledon hadn’t risked a fire because it would be visible from the Dendora, and their lack of escort increased the dangers from any wandering Shargh. The Weshargh had been decimated in the fighting, but a lone herder’s spear could kill just as effectively as a warrior’s.

Kira seemed recovered in the morning and they came down into the foothills and out onto the plain without mishap, making good time and not setting their sleep-shelters until stars filled the sky. They went on again at dawn, but as the day drew to dusk, Kira’s illness returned and they were forced to stop.

‘Were you ill in the north?’ asked Caledon, when her vomiting had reduced to retching.

‘Not like this,’ replied Kira shakily, thinking of the warnings of poisonous plants she’d found in the first Kiraon’s lists.

If she had touched something like frailfrond in the Wastes – which could induce ‘a general malaise’ – she could be ill all the way to Allogrenia, becoming not only a nuisance to Caledon, but a dangerous burden as well.

Kira didn’t feel much better the next morning, only eating the biscuit to please Caledon. He kept the pace gentle, and stopped often, but as the day wore on he brought his arm around her and Kira didn’t protest. And when they set camp early, Kira crawled into the sleep-shelter and slept.

Caledon slept poorly, increasingly troubled by Kira’s apparent ignorance of her illness and wondering for the first time whether she was being honest with him. In the end he clambered out of his sleep-shelter and, taking a long, calming breath, stared up at the stars and opened himself. The sense of death – her death – was so powerful that it was like a blow.

What if Kira were journeying home to die and had broken with the Feailner to save him the pain of watching it? The idea was so disturbing that Caledon had to resist the urge to drag her out of the sleep-shelter and demand the truth. Instead, he forced himself to calm. He had an excellent ability to detect deceit, he reasoned, and he’d sensed none when Kira had professed not to know the nature of her illness.

But there were other ways of knowing that might cause her to turn for home without her consciously knowing why. The skin, the blood, the heart – all built meaning that the head might recognise and act upon without being aware of doing so.

Still, as a Healer, she must have some suspicions, and he was determined to find out what they were. Perhaps her illness was to do with her extraordinary ability to take pain, a skill that exacted a heavy price. But was the final price to be death? Again Caledon struggled to calm. If he considered her illness as troubling but not, in itself, lethal, the star-thought could mean that the cause of her death flowed from another quarter. Her time since the coming of the Shargh had been marked by some extraordinary escapes, and these suggested the sheltering hand of Aeris. But if Kira had now served her purpose in their design, then perhaps the stars’ grace was to be withdrawn.

Much was still unknown, but of one thing he was certain: his life was inextricably twined with Kira’s. Kira had broken every tenet of healing by killing to save him, and if he were now required to give the gift back, then he would do so. Perhaps his love for a woman would surpass his love for the stars after all.

Caledon looked tired as they journeyed the next day, and when a small grove appeared he called a halt. Kira was glad to rest and settled against one of the boles. She shut her eyes, enjoying the sun on her face, but something touched her knee and she jumped.

Caledon was crouched beside her. ‘We need to speak.’

‘Are there Shargh?’ asked Kira in alarm.

Caledon shook his head impatiently. ‘We need to speak of your illness, of why you left the north, of what you intend once you reach the forests.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t know why I’m ill,’ said Kira, puzzled by his manner.

‘You’re a Healer. You must have some idea.’

‘I might have brushed against a poisonous plant while I was working in the Wastes. Perhaps that’s the cause,’ said Kira.

‘Can’t you take something for it? Some herb? You certainly carry many.’

‘If I don’t know the cause, I could make it worse.’

‘What about the taking of pain? I know that makes you ill, and you would have done a lot of it during the fighting.’

Kira struggled to her feet, mystified by the sudden change in him. Caledon had never badgered her like this before.

‘Is it the taking of pain?’ he pursued.

‘It might be,’ said Kira reluctantly.

‘Miken told me there’ve been others in Allogrenia who could take pain. Did they sicken?’

‘It isn’t recorded.’

‘Well, did they die young?’ asked Caledon.

‘Yes. But many died young in the early days of Allogrenia. They had no knowing of what the forest offered.’

‘Is there anything else you can think of?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘And so we come back to why you’ve left the north.’

‘I’ve told you I’ll not speak of that,’ she said, turning away.

He caught her arm. ‘You must. It might be linked to your sickness.’

‘Linked to your stinking star-pattern more likely,’ said Kira, jerking free. ‘That’s all that matters, isn’t it? That I don’t thwart the stars by dying!’

‘What matters is that you don’t throw your life away because of something that isn’t your fault! I warned you in Sarnia that the northern Leader hadn’t committed to your bonding.’

Kira said nothing and he softened his voice. ‘You brought the Tremen and Terak together, Kira. You saved your people. But it was at a terrible cost to yourself. It’s over now. You don’t need to keep trading away your health and happiness.’

Kira said nothing, knowing in her heart that it wasn’t over. The enduring hatred between the Terak and the Shargh, and the Shargh’s continued suffering, all but guaranteed that the fighting would come back. Perhaps this was the reason for her break with Tierken, for her return . . .

Caledon lifted a lock of hair from her eyes.

‘You know that I love you, Kira, and that I want you, just as you are,’ he said tenderly. ‘We can bond, or simply stay together, knowing that our hearts belong to each other. We can live in Allogrenia or Talliel, or somewhere else, if that’s what you choose.’

‘I’m faithless, Caledon. You of all people should know that.’

‘I know exactly the opposite, Kira, but my love’s patient,’ he said. ‘I can wait.’

They ate in silence and then went on. Kira felt awkward now in Caledon’s company, regretting that she’d not denied her love for him. In contrast, he seemed almost content, as if some sort of understanding had been established between them. But as she sat beside him that night as he named the stars for her, she saw a very different pattern to the one that enthralled him.

Early in their time together, Caledon had told her how the scattered people of the north had traded for metal and swift horses, then united and, in bloody battle, dispossessed the Shargh. Over the seasons, the defeated Shargh had grown strong again, fought again, and lost again. And so there was now another generation of Shargh women whose bondmates wouldn’t return, of children who would grow fatherless, of fighters whose wounds would fester. The Shargh women, children and crippled men would fill their empty hearts and bellies with hate and so the pattern of killing would repeat, not bright like the stars above, but terrible, bleak and inescapable.

Kira shivered and Caledon touched the back of his fingers to her cheek.

‘Cold?’ he asked.

‘Not really,’ said Kira.

‘The morrow will be another long day. Time for sleep.’

Kira nodded and entered her sleep-shelter, wriggling deep into her sleeping-sheet. Caledon’s caress had woken an agonising need for her lost bondmate. The longing would pass, she told herself, as she pulled the sleeping-sheet higher to stifle the sound of her sobs. It would pass.

They woke to a mist as thick as the one that had clothed the land when Irlian had attacked her. Kira peered around nervously as they walked, hoping it would clear, but shafts of sunlight didn’t break through till midday, and the mist took till evening to drift away. Just in time for dark, thought Kira sourly, then stopped. Surely it couldn’t be!

‘The edge of the southern forests,’ confirmed Caledon. ‘Another day and we’ll be at the allogrenia you call the Sentinel.’

‘The Renclan Sentinel,’ said Kira, dismayed that Caledon had seen the forests first. But then she’d never looked upon Allogrenia from the north before, because leaving it had only been possible if she didn’t look back. It was the same reason she refused to look north now.

‘The last time I was here –’ began Caledon, then went rigid. ‘Shargh!’ he hissed, drawing his sword and thrusting her behind him.

‘It’s only a woman with a child,’ whispered Kira in relief.

‘Shargh women don’t travel alone!’ And she was coming towards them, tentatively. ‘Stay behind,’ he ordered Kira.

The woman had finer features than the Shargh men Kira had seen, but wore skins as they did, hers fashioned into a shirt and skirt. She wore a pack, too, but the sling across the front of her body definitely held a child.

Caledon’s sword moved in a quick arc as he scanned. ‘Halt,’ he ordered in Onespeak.

She came to a stop, her clear dark eyes fixed on Kira in wonder. ‘Healer-creature,’ she breathed in heavily accented Terak.

Then she pushed back the sling and exposed the child’s face. Even in the dwindling light, Kira could see he was fevered.

‘The child’s ill,’ said Kira, starting forward, but Caledon’s hand fastened on her arm. ‘I told you to stay behind! She could be the bait in a trap!’

‘My son,’ she said. ‘Help . . . heal.’

Kira wrenched her arm free and Caledon cursed and leapt between them, his sword at the woman’s throat.

‘Put the child on the ground,’ he ordered in Terak, gesturing with his free hand.

The woman’s face was wooden with fear.

‘You can’t expect –’ started Kira.

‘On the ground,’ demanded Caledon, gesturing violently.

The woman reluctantly lowered the child down and Caledon forced her back with his sword.

‘My son,’ she repeated, hands clenching, as Kira knelt beside him.

Kira smiled up at her reassuringly as she laid her hands over the child’s heart.

There was no sense of pain coming from the child, but his fever was high, and when Kira laid her head against his chest, she was appalled to hear bubbling.

She rose and went to the woman.

‘Stay back,’ hissed Caledon.

‘Tell her that if she kills me, you will kill the child, then her,’ said Kira to placate Caledon.

Caledon did so with explicit gestures and simple words, and when Kira saw that the woman understood, she drew the woman aside. Their exchange was difficult and lengthy. The woman’s fear for her son distracted her, and Kira was aware of Caledon pacing angrily behind her, but as the night wore on, the woman’s words painted a picture that filled Kira with horror. The fever afflicting the child was killing other children, and adults, at the Shargh settlement, and they had no cure.

Finally Kira beckoned the woman back to the child, and methodically went through all the things the woman must do and how she must do them. Herbs to lessen the fever, to clear the lungs, to strengthen the body; rubs to aid healing and bring sleep. The woman’s eyes never left hers and, when Kira had finished, the woman packed the herbs and pastes away carefully. Then she bowed low and brought her palm to her forehead, struggled upright and adjusted the child in the sling.

‘Ersalan,’ she said, touching the sling. ‘Palansa,’ she said, touching herself.

‘Kira,’ reciprocated Kira.

The giving of names had been a gift, Kira knew, and somewhere in the dark future that she feared, the faintest glimmer of hope woke.

Snatching a look at Caledon patrolling a circle around them, Kira pointed to the waning moon, made the shape of a full moon with her hands, then pointed to the north-east where she knew the Shargh lands lay.

Palansa showed no understanding, and Kira tried again.

‘I come,’ she whispered, repeating the gestures, ‘at the full moon.’

This time Palansa nodded. ‘I,’ she said, indicating herself, ‘wait you.’

Then, with a wary glance in Caledon’s direction, Palansa disappeared back into the night.

They went on, Caledon now intent on reaching the shelter of the forest before resting. He didn’t speak again, but carried his sword in his hand and scanned continually. Even so, Kira knew his silence owed more to anger than caution. It was close to dawn when they finally set camp on the edge of the trees, but exhaustion had long ago robbed Kira of any joy in reaching her home. Ignoring Caledon’s offer of food, she crawled into her sleep-shelter and slept.

The sun was high before Kira clambered out and stared about, delighting in the dance of leaf shadows as wind riffled the canopy. But then she noticed Caledon leaning against a nearby bole. His eyes were dark with weariness, and she realised that he hadn’t slept at all. He dismantled her sleep-shelter wordlessly, and pushed it into his pack.

‘We’ll eat deeper in the trees,’ he said, heading off.

Kira fell into step beside him but paused under the Renclan Sentinel, wanting to spend a moment where she’d buried Kandor’s pipe. ‘I just need –’

Then the branches above rustled and Caledon drew his sword and dropped into a crouch – but it was only a bird, disturbed by their passing.

‘The mira kiraon,’ exclaimed Kira excitedly, watching it arc away across the clear blue sky.

But even as she watched, a black shape dropped from above, striking with cruel talons. With a harsh cry, it bore the bundle of bloodied plumage away.

‘A marwing. They’re common in the Shargh lands,’ said Caledon. ‘The Shargh believe them ill-omened.’

He moved on and Kira stumbled after him, shocked by the violence of the owl’s death. The fact that it had been killed by a bird of the Shargh lands reminded her forcibly that the Shargh still hunted her. And if she went to them, the best she could hope for was death – like the mira kiraon’s. But it was more likely that they would do as Farid had warned and use her as a weapon against the Terak and Tremen before killing her.

In the broad light of day, she began to perceive that her pledge to Palansa to go to the Shargh lands and to heal those there was an act of madness. Instead, she must simply accept, as others did, that the Shargh’s suffering was the inevitable result of a barbaric people’s barbaric actions.

‘We’ll eat here,’ said Caledon.

The forest had thickened and the light under the canopy was now emerald, shot through with gold. Kira took a deep breath of the fragrant air. Caledon was busy making a space for a fire and Kira collected nearby windfall. Soon a pan of water was bubbling.

‘I know what we need,’ she said with a smile, dropping her pack before moving off.

‘Don’t go far.’

‘I won’t have to,’ she said, slipping through the shelterbushes to the lee of a fallowood, and finding what she sought.

‘What is it?’ asked Caledon, as she tossed the leaves into the water.

‘Lemonleaf. It soothes the nerves and improves the mood.’

‘Does it replace rest?’ asked Caledon wearily.

‘No. Only closing your eyes does that. You sleep and I’ll watch. I’ll call if I need you.’

‘You might not have time,’ said Caledon, sipping the brew.

For a while, only the song of springleslips disturbed the silence.

‘Are you glad to be back?’ asked Caledon, watching her.

‘I don’t know,’ said Kira. ‘Allogrenia’s as beautiful as I remember, but I’ve learned to love the golden plains of the north and the silver mountains of Kessom too.’

‘I think you’d enjoy Talliel then. From the shores of the Oskinas you can see all the way to the world’s end. The ocean is made up of myriad blues and greens and, where the wind breaks it, is as bright as the Silvercades. Then at dusk, it fires red and gold in the setting sun, until the moon rises to paint a pathway across its skin, perfectly still but ever-moving.’

‘Your heart lies in Talliel, doesn’t it, Caledon?’

‘It lies wherever you are.’

Kira concentrated on her tea, and then springleslips burst from the trees to their right and Caledon scrambled up and drew his sword.

‘Too quiet for Shargh,’ said Kira. ‘They’re Protectors. They would have smelled our smoke and will come from all sides, as they’re trained to.’

Kira was right, for no sooner had Caledon become aware of movement to his side, than he sensed it at his back, and was swiftly surrounded by a circle of sword points. A buzz of excitement erupted as the men saw Kira, then the Protector Leader appeared and Kira got to her feet.

‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ exclaimed the Patrol Leader in delight.

‘Protector Leader Bendrash,’ said Kira, gripping his hands. ‘It is good to see you.’

‘This is a wondrous day indeed. There will be celebrations throughout the forest and in all of the longhouses.’

‘You know the Lord Caledon?’ asked Kira.

‘Indeed,’ said Bendrash, nodding to Caledon briefly. ‘You have a Terak patrol with you?’

‘The Lord Caledon is from Talliel and doesn’t normally travel with Terak patrols. And as a Tremen, neither do I. Are you patrolling Kenclan octad or Renclan, Protector Leader?’

‘Kenclan, Tremen Leader,’ said Bendrash vaguely, seeming disconcerted by the lack of escort.

‘Then I won’t detain you further. If Protector Commander Kest is nearby and needs urgent speech with me, tell him that the Lord Caledon and I will follow the Renclan Eights in and pass through the Arborean on the way to the Kashclan longhouse. Have there been any recent Shargh attacks?’

‘None since your leaving, Tremen Leader.’ He paused. ‘You may not be aware that the Bough has been rebuilt.’

‘I did hear it was being rebuilt, and it brought me great comfort to know that the heart of healing was being restored,’ said Kira.

Bendrash bowed again, issued quick orders, and the Protectors slid back into the trees.

Kest appeared at dusk the next day, so Caledon guessed he must have been leading a patrol somewhere close. Kira ran to his arms, and they stood enclosed for a long time, exchanging words that were too soft for Caledon to hear. Finally Kest turned to Caledon and welcomed him formally, expressing surprise that he hadn’t returned to Talliel after all.

‘I never know what I intend until I get a good view of the stars,’ said Caledon, taken aback by Kira’s show of affection for the Protector Commander. ‘And when I finally cleared the trees, I felt I should return to Maraschin. There I learned from a Terak patrol that the Tremen Leader was travelling the Sarsalin Plain alone, so King Adris and I set off on search, fortunately finding her safe and well.’

Kest’s intense blue eyes swung to Kira, but she hid her irritation at Caledon’s revelation. ‘Perhaps you should douse the fire,’ she said to Caledon, as she put her pack back on.

‘Protector Leader Bendrash told me you’ve suffered no attacks since I left,’ she said to Kest, as they started off again.

‘That’s correct. Bendrash might also have told you that the Bough’s been rebuilt. I’ve sent scouts ahead to prepare it for your arrival.’

‘I’m intending to stay at Kashclan,’ said Kira.

‘The Tremen Leader resides in the Bough,’ said Kest.

‘Perhaps they did in the past. But that time no longer exists. Besides, Tresen and Laryia are there.’

‘It’s a very large building from what I saw when it was part-built,’ said Caledon, unexpectedly siding with Kest. ‘I’m sure Tresen and Laryia would welcome your company until you renounce the leadership. Then, if you choose to remain, it would be acceptable for you to live in the Kashclan longhouse.’

‘I need no instruction on what’s acceptable,’ said Kira, annoyed by Kest’s and Caledon’s attempts to take charge of her.

‘As Leader of the Warens, I’m of course aware of the message you sent to the Clancouncil with Healer Tresen,’ said Kest smoothly. ‘But the leadership of the Bough has always been held by the best Healer in Allogrenia, and even bearing in mind how the fighting has changed things, to remain in Allogrenia as our best Healer, but not be Leader, would contradict everything Kasheron fought for.’

Kira came to a stop. ‘So, Protector Commander Kest, you’re telling me that I have no right to live in Allogrenia if I renounce the leadership?’

‘It wasn’t my intention to suggest that, and if it seemed that way I beg your pardon, Tremen Leader. I was merely encouraging the best Healer Allogrenia has ever birthed not to take her healing gifts elsewhere.’

They continued in silence, Kest contemplating this latest turn of events. The northern Leader had sent two patrols to guard his sister and yet his bondmate arrived almost unprotected, with a man who – given their history together – must surely be a rival for her affections. The only explanation was that Kira had broken her bond. This seemed to be confirmed by Caledon’s terse description of how he’d come to find her.

On the whole, Kest thought this a pleasing development, for while his relationship with Tresen had improved, he would still rather work with Kira as Leader. For all her impetuousness, Kira didn’t hold grudges. She also had a greater understanding of northern ways than Tresen, and given that the northern Leader had opened his lands to the Tremen and would expect reciprocation, such understanding would be vital.

Kest needed to meet with the northern Leader but he hadn’t deigned to visit, despite escorting his sister all the way to the edge of the trees. Kest wondered what sort of man he was. Certainly Tresen’s dislike of him was plain, although he hid it most of the time for the sake of his bondmate. But in an unguarded moment in the Warens, when he’d consumed one too many ales in an attempt to ease the pain he carried, he’d called the northern Feailner ‘arrogant’ and ‘controlling’.

Not the most flattering of descriptions, thought Kest as he walked, but if true it would explain why Kira was now back in Allogrenia – without her bondmate.

The small party was almost to the Arborean when Terak patrolmen suddenly sprang from the trees, making Kira start violently. Although dressed as Protectors, they were taller and more muscular than Tremen, and exuded a sense of barely restrained aggression. She had grown used to them in Sarnia, but they seemed glaringly out of place under the trees. Kira didn’t recognise any of them, but they certainly recognised her, bowing to her before acknowledging Kest.

Kest ordered them back to their guarding and they withdrew.

The trees began to thin and Kira stopped on the edge of the clearing, Kest and Caledon stopping behind her. For a while no one spoke. The Bough sat starkly in its empty circle, the wood ungentled by age, the shingles bare of mottlecrest. The old Bough had been beautiful, and so too was this building, but it looked as raw as Kira felt. She’d wanted to go straight to Miken and Tenerini in the Kashclan longhouse, to have their reassurance and the comfort of her clan-kin before she must face the others, but Caledon and Kest had ensured she came here.

Having her wishes over-ridden added to the frustrations of the journey through Renclan. There were things Kira needed to say to Caledon, and things she might have shared with Kest – had she been alone with either one. But in the end, her conversations with both men had been limited to the mundane. In contrast, Kest and Caledon seemed to have developed an accord, sitting and speaking together long into each night.

The only good thing that had come out of the journey was that the churning nausea had at last gone.

‘We made the hall bigger,’ said Kest behind her, ‘so that Turning and Thanking would be less crowded.’

They’d be less crowded in any case because so many young men had either been killed or had chosen to stay in the north, thought Kira.

Then the large double doors swung open and Laryia and Tresen appeared. They didn’t come forward, but positioned themselves on either side of the steps.

‘The Bough waits to welcome home Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ said Kest softly.

Tresen watched as Kira, followed by Caledon and Kest, made her way across the Arborean towards them, then he glanced at Laryia’s tense face. For the first time in all their moons together, he and Laryia had argued. And it had been over Kira.

When the scouts had reported that Kira had returned to Allogrenia, both he and Laryia had been delighted. But then it had emerged that Kira journeyed without an escort and with the Lord Caledon.

‘Tierken would never have allowed Kira to travel without a patrol,’ Laryia had said. ‘She must have gone without his knowing. And with that man of all people.’

‘The Lord Caledon is a good fighter and has kept her safe. And he has affection for her,’ Tresen had replied thoughtlessly.

‘She’s bonded to my brother!’

Laryia loved her brother dearly, Tresen knew, but her refusal to see what was obvious dismayed him. Laryia was usually clear-headed, even with unpleasant things.

‘It’s likely Kira’s broken the bond,’ he’d said more gently. ‘You know it was hard for her in the north.’

‘And you think it’s easy for me here?’ Laryia had cried, turning on him. ‘To leave Tierken and Eris, Thalli, Jafiel, Leos, the sweet valleys of Kessom, Chime, my life in Sarnia? But I haven’t run back there because everything here isn’t to my liking!’

He’d tried to soothe her, upset by her distress and anxious she’d harm herself or their babe, but she’d shrugged him off.

‘You see what this means, don’t you?’ she’d demanded. ‘If Kira’s left Tierken, we’ll have to return north.’

‘What?’ he’d exclaimed in confusion.

Laryia had calmed then, her anger replaced with sadness. ‘Tierken became Feailner because our uncle Darid, the last Feailner, had no heir. It was apparent for many seasons that Seren would bear him no children, but even after she died, Darid remained alone. He was a man who loved only once.

‘Tierken’s like Darid in that way. When he brought Kira to Sarnia, I guessed she was the one. If Kira’s left him, then Tierken will also live out his life alone, and it will be a child of ours – the first to be born a boy – who will be the next Feailner. And he must be trained as Tierken was – in the north.’

Tresen dragged his attention back to Kira, noting her set face and the fact that it was only when she took in Laryia’s bulging belly that she showed any emotion at all. And then, oddly, it was distress rather than joy.

He bowed low as she approached and would have kissed her formally on each cheek had she not flung her arms around him. He could feel that she was all bones through her clothing – which wasn’t a good sign, he knew, recalling her failure to eat after Kandor’s death.

Thankfully Laryia’s expression had softened and she hugged Kira as well, though her greeting of the Lord Caledon was cool. Tresen knew that none of it was Caledon’s fault, though. Kira’s leaving of the northern Feailner had been inevitable – given his bullying. The only thing that remained unknown was what Kira intended to do next.

Laryia had linked her arm through Kira’s, and Kira allowed herself to be led through a hall that was both familiar and utterly strange.

‘Tresen tells me that much of this new building is the same as the old,’ said Laryia, coming to a halt. ‘Which means this door opens into your room.’

They went in and Kira stopped in astonishment. It looked almost the same, the only things missing the chimes that had hung in the window.

‘Tresen wanted to put things back as they were,’ said Laryia, closing the door. ‘He spent a long time instructing the wood-wrights. Did he succeed?’

‘Yes,’ said Kira, stunned by the similarity.

She eased herself down on the bed and stared about. This was the room she’d paced like a prison, plotting her escape to Enogren. And when she’d managed to evade her father, she’d climbed to the tree’s very top and stared out over the canopy, yearning to fly away like the mira kiraon. Well, she’d flown away, and it had cost her nearly everything.

‘You don’t look very happy,’ said Laryia, settling beside her and patting her hand.

‘They weren’t always happy times.’

There was a strained silence, and Kira glanced down at Laryia’s belly. If she’d stayed with Tierken, then perhaps one day she would have carried. But carrying would have meant not being free to avert future fighting.

‘Did you know you carried a child when you left the north?’ she asked Laryia.

‘Of course!’

‘Yet still you left Eris, and Thalli, and the others you love there to have your child here, among strangers?’

‘They’re not strangers anymore,’ said Laryia. ‘The hardest thing was leaving Tierken. But when you find a man you love, you build a life with him, wherever that love takes you.’

Kira refused to meet Laryia’s eyes, knowing what she’d see there.

Instead she said, ‘On the way here, we came across a Shargh woman with a sick child.’

‘Close to the forests?’ asked Laryia in alarm.

‘A little out. She’d risked everything to find healing for him. There’s a sickness in the Shargh lands and many of their children die.’

‘It was they who started the fighting,’ said Laryia. ‘You didn’t tend the child, did you?’

‘I’m a Healer, Laryia.’

‘But they’re Shargh! They murdered your family, and countless other Tremen, Terak and Tain. That child could even grow up to murder my child!’

‘I’m a Healer.’

‘Yes. You were fond of saying that in the north. Yet you inflicted many wounds. Tierken . . .’ Laryia stopped, and bit her lip. ‘I beg your pardon, Kira.’

‘You’ve a right to be angry, Laryia,’ acknowledged Kira. ‘Bonding with him was one of the many mistakes I’ve made. And he was right not to trust me. I have proved to be faithless, as he believed. It’s better that he’s free of me.’

‘I don’t believe you’re faithless,’ said Laryia slowly, taking Kira’s hand in hers. ‘But I promised Tresen not to ask you why you left the north – at least until the morrow,’ she said, dredging up a smile.

‘The morrow will make no difference to anything, nor the next day.’

‘Are you intending to make your life here again?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Kira.

‘Well, are you intending to go with the Lord Caledon to his lands?’

‘I might,’ said Kira with a shrug. ‘Or I might go back to my lovers in Sarnia. There’s Farid, and perhaps Mouras, and maybe Ryn, for I spent time alone with him too.’

‘Is that what Tierken accused you of? Is that why you left?’

‘Caledon told me many moons ago that the breach between the Tremen and Terak was too great for me to mend. I found out he was right, that’s all.’

‘The Lord Caledon says that because he desires you,’ said Laryia. ‘Tresen and I are happy together!’ Her grip on Kira’s hand tightened. ‘You and Tierken could be happy too, given time.’

‘It brings me great joy to see your happiness, Laryia,’ said Kira, ‘and that you carry Tresen’s child. I want your child to be safe – for all the babes now enclosed in the warmth of their mother’s bellies to be safe. I want an end to the fighting.’

‘But it has ended,’ said Laryia in bewilderment. ‘There are a few Shargh who still roam intent on revenge, which is why Tierken has sent patrols here, and why I won’t be able to visit the north for a little. But it’s finished, over with.’

Kira rose and wandered up and down the room. ‘In the fighting that led to the Sundering, do you know why the Terak treatied with the Ashmiri but not the rest of the Shargh?’ she asked, wondering if such a treaty might, even now, avert future fighting.

‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ said Laryia. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘The Ashmiri are free to share the Terak grazing lands, and the Tain’s, while the Shargh are treated as enemies and confined.’

‘The Shargh are enemies,’ retorted Laryia. ‘They would gladly murder every Terak, every Tremen and, I’ve no doubt, every Tain. They were like that before Terak and Kasheron’s time, and they’re like that now. It’s never going to change.’

Kira started to protest and stopped. Laryia simply echoed what most people believed, and in doing so ensured that the violence would continue.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Come and eat,’ sounded Tresen’s voice.

Caledon and Kest were already eating at the massive table, and Tresen selected from the platters of nutbread, sweetfish, roasted blacknuts and riddleberry spread for Laryia and Kira.

‘You should sit at the head of the table,’ said Kest to Kira, as Tresen filled cups with thornyflower tea.

‘I’ve no wish to emulate Maxen,’ said Kira.

Kest and Tresen exchanged surprised glances. It was the first time Kira had publicly criticised her father.

‘Did I manage to get your room right?’ asked Tresen, changing the subject.

‘Yes, and I thank you for your thoughtfulness. All that is missing are the chimes my mother hung for me. But those, like her, can’t be replaced.’

Tresen’s surprise deepened. Kira had never spoken openly of the loss of her mother either.

‘At which longhouse will the next Clancouncil be held?’ asked Kira.

‘Most likely it will be held here, now the Bough is complete,’ said Tresen. ‘Since the fighting they’ve been held only when there has been a need, and mostly in the southern octads, where the Shargh are less likely to penetrate.’

‘Can you call one for the next few days? I need to renounce the leadership.’

‘I’ll ask Miken,’ said Tresen. ‘He will know when the clan-leaders can come together.’

‘I think you should wait and give yourself time to think things through,’ said Kest.

‘I’ve been gone from Allogrenia over a season, Protector Commander. I was seventeen when I fled and no more than a terrified girl. Childish, I remember you calling me on more than one occasion. Since then I’ve killed, healed in strange lands, bonded and . . . broken my bond. I’m no longer that girl, Protector Commander, and I’ve had more than enough time to think things through.’

‘The Tremen are ruled by their best Healer,’ persisted Kest, despite the silence that had settled over the table. ‘It’s your duty to retain the leadership.’

‘I know where my duty lies, Protector Commander, and the traditions Kasheron established. After the Clancouncil, Tresen will be the Tremen’s best Healer and it’s right he’s recognised as such.’

‘So you are going to betray Tierken and go to Talliel,’ said Laryia.

‘Laryia!’ exclaimed Tresen.

Kira pushed her plate away. ‘At this moment, I’m going to bed,’ she said, rising. ‘And on the morrow I’m going to Kashclan where I’ll remain until the council. I bid you all a good night.’

Kira’s door clicked shut behind her and, after a few moments of brittle silence, Laryia rose too.

‘I might bid you a good night as well,’ she murmured, avoiding Caledon’s eyes. ‘I’m feeling a little tired.’

Tresen watched her go, then cleared his throat. ‘I must beg your pardon on behalf of my bondmate,’ he said to Caledon. ‘Since Laryia’s been carrying the babe, she’s easily upset. And of course she’s close to her brother.’

Caledon inclined his head. ‘I’ve taken no offence. I understand how the circumstances of their growing have bound them together. I understand her feelings.’

Tresen reached for the ale jug, but Kest’s next words almost made him drop it.

‘So, Kira’s undertaken to bond with you, Lord Caledon?’ said the Protector Commander.

‘Kira’s given me no undertakings at all. She needs time, and I’m prepared to grant it – unlike others.’

‘Circumstances in the past were less kind in granting anything, time included,’ observed Kest.

‘You’re quite right, Protector Commander. Some star-times are less propitious than others, and those we’ve just passed through have been testing indeed. But after struggle comes healing and rest.’ Caledon smiled and gazed up at the beams. ‘And I can think of no more beautiful place for both.’

Tresen watched him. Caledon was skilled at smoothing over arguments and building understanding between peoples, he thought, and he’d seen ample evidence of it in the north. But now Tresen pondered what Caledon’s plans were for Allogrenia. That Caledon wanted Kira was plain, but Tresen suddenly wondered what else he wanted.

They sat together for a little longer, drinking ale and speaking of the Bough’s rebuilding and the carving skills of Morclan, before Caledon bade Kest a polite goodnight and Tresen showed the Tallien to his room. When Tresen came back to the table, Kest refilled his cup, wasting no more time on small talk.

‘You know Kira better than anyone living, either here or in the north, Healer Tresen,’ he said. ‘Do you think she’ll bond with the Lord Caledon and go to Talliel with him?’

‘No.’

Kest’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You seem very certain.’

‘Does she look like a woman in love, Protector Commander?’

‘No. She looks almost as miserable as when the Bough was burned,’ said Kest. ‘But perhaps after she’s been here a while she will heal, as the Lord Caledon suggests.’

‘Kira’s healed by people, not by time,’ said Tresen, gulping down his ale.

‘The northern Feailner?’

Tresen shrugged and refilled his cup.

‘What’s he like?’ asked Kest curiously.

‘In some ways he’s like Kira, but with none of her sweetness. They’re both single-minded about the way things should be done. And from what I saw, and from what Laryia’s told me, it was the same with their bonding – sunshine or storm, with nothing in between.’

‘Do you think he will come after her?’

‘I’m sure of it. He’s not a man to give up something he’s once possessed, and he certainly won’t allow another man to take something he owns.’

Kest straightened in his seat. ‘Are you saying there’s a risk to the Lord Caledon if the northern Leader comes south?’

‘Most certainly. For that reason I intend to dissuade the Lord Caledon from carrying his sword. Unless you’re Protecting, it’s against our laws in any case. But I’m less concerned with Tremen sensitivities than I am with murder.’

Kest stared at him in alarm and Tresen smiled. ‘The northern Feailner obeys northern notions of honour, Protector Commander, and wouldn’t kill an unarmed man. But he could certainly kill an armed one.’

‘Maybe the Lord Caledon will kill him,’ said Kest tersely.

‘The Feailner’s the other half of Kira. If she’s the distillation of Kasheron’s gentle healing, then he’s the essence of Terak’s brutal killing. I’ve not seen him fight but I’ve heard tell of it.’

‘I don’t understand why she would bond with him then,’ muttered Kest, rising and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

‘That’s because you’ve never been in love, Protector Commander,’ said Tresen, escorting him to the door.

‘Since when did you become an expert on love, as well as herbal practices, Healer Tresen?’

‘Since I met my bondmate, Protector Commander. Now I know all,’ he added with a smile.

Kira left the Bough before dawn, slipping away across the Arborean, and enjoying the wash of dewy air against her face. The tock of a bark beetle caught her ear, and a leafmouse rustling in the bushes, but no owls gave voice, and the tippets and springle slips still slumbered.

Above the meshed branches of fallowoods and castellas, a sliver of new moon glinted, and Kira calculated quickly. She had a bare nine days to spend with Miken and Tenerini, if she were to reach the Shargh lands before the moon was full. And there were many things to be done before then. Herbs must be gathered, and she must face the Clancouncil. Kira dreaded the thought of misleading the taciturn Sherclan leader Dakresh, but the idea of deceiving Kemrick, the kindly leader of Tarclan, was worse.

Somehow she must resign the leadership and give the impression that she was going to Talliel with Caledon, without lying outright. But lying was lying, whether it was blatant, or woven about with clever words. Maybe the renunciation would just be a matter of uttering a few phrases and giving back the ring. Kira faltered and her lungs emptied of air. The ring was still in the north! Kira could well imagine Dakresh’s reaction. Well, there was nothing she could do about it. The council would have to request it from the northern Leader when he came south one day to see his sister. It would be well after her time, in any case.

At least she’d be able to visit her family and observe the grieving rituals before she left. They were fortunate in that they lived on in the green and growing, their voices woken by every small breeze, unlike the Tremen volunteers whose charred bones now bleached under the plain’s shelterless sky. But even the volunteers had received more honour than she would, their pyres lit by a friend’s hand and heartfelt words said to mark their passing.

The sun rose and as the joyous song of springleslips rang out, her plan to go to the Shargh began to seem like the product of a mind touched by too many journeys into death. But then she remembered Laryia’s curved belly, and her resolve hardened again. Tresen’s child was safe now, but for how long?

As she walked, Kira began searching about for the herbs likely to cure the Shargh’s sickness. She would also pack everest, knowing that a single leaf was potent enough to give a sleep without awakening. It was a coward’s death, perhaps, but if worst came to worst, it was a kindness she’d grant herself.

The scattered sunlight was ripe before she smelled espin smoke and the silvered walls of the Kashclan longhouse became visible through the trees. Kira stopped and looked at it, wanting to imprint her memory with all her happy times there. Children shouted somewhere to her left as they rushed through the shelter-bushes, playing as she and Kandor and Tresen had. And the old castella still hung over the southern end of the building, making an easy climb onto the roof, but not down again. She recalled Miken rescuing her on one occasion, and Brem’s scolding as a game of nut-throwing accidentally found his open window.

Kira went up the path and knocked on the door, the drift of conversation from the hall mixing with the smell of new-baked nutbread. By an odd chance, it was Brem who opened the door, more grizzled than Kira remembered, his mouth an open hole of astonishment. Then he hugged her, bowed, laughed and hugged her again. Kira was quickly enveloped by clan-kin planting kisses on her cheeks, bowing, hugging her, welcoming her with formal and informal words, cheering and crying. Her movement from the doorstep into the hall was excruciatingly slow, and her throat chokingly tight.

Finally, those surrounding her drew back to reveal Tenerini and Miken. Kira stumbled forward and Tenerini embraced her, and then she was enclosed in Miken’s arms.

‘Welcome home, dear one,’ he said softly, and she burst into tears.

When Miken left his longhouse early the next morning, he knew he had two or three long days ahead. He intended to go to the Bough first, to talk to his son and bond-daughter, and to the Lord Caledon if he were there; then he’d go to the Warens to see Kest.

Kira had spent the night before in Miken and Tenerini’s rooms, speaking of her time away and of all that had happened, and now she still slept, snug in Tresen’s old bed. Miken knew of her journey across the Dendora, her meeting with the Lord Caledon and her time with the Tain; of being taken by the Shargh, and being rescued by the Terak; of the northern city of stone, of Kessom, and of the journey south again to meet with the Tremen volunteers; of her desperate healing back in the north, and of the fight by so many to save the terribly wounded Tresen.

But hidden in her tale, made more poignant by the brevity of its telling, was her broken bond with the northern Leader.

He never wanted to bond, she’d said. It was I who suggested it. It was my mistake.

And so she’d come back, to the overwhelming joy and relief of the Tremen. She was safe and they were content; life could go on as before.

Except that Miken knew it couldn’t. He’d watched Kira as she’d spoken, and sometimes he felt as though he were younger than she, for Kira had walked in many lands and he’d never left the trees. But those lands had been filled with a dying and death worse than the Allogrenia Kira had fled. There had been only a single brief interlude of happiness with the northern Leader, and then that too had ended.

Miken found his bond-daughter alone in the Bough. The Lord Caledon was keeping Tresen company out gathering, she told him, but they were expected back shortly. Miken loved Laryia, not just because she made his son happy, but because she was true-hearted. She was also keen-eyed, but considerate of the feelings of others in expressing her thoughts.

Miken smiled as he recalled that Laryia had only been in Allogrenia a short time when she’d observed that the eight clans lived separately not only because they needed an octad surrounding each longhouse to provide sufficient forage, but because they couldn’t bear to be any closer to one another.

Morclan full of fighters and carvers, Sarclan full of singers and players, Kashclan full of Healers. I’ll wager the Clancouncils are long and tedious, interspersed with flashes of fire, she’d said to him mischievously. And Miken had ruefully agreed.

Now Laryia poured him a cup of thornyflower tea, her gaze thoughtful as she settled beside him. ‘You’ve come to ask me about Tierken, haven’t you?’ she said.

Miken nodded.

‘I would have thought you’d be glad to have Kira away from my brother, for it means she’s here with you.’

‘I know Tresen’s spoken of Kira’s growing in the Bough, and of how Tenerini and I wanted her in the Kashclan longhouse. But had Kira been happy in the Bough, we would have been content she stay here. And had Kira bonded with a man in the north and been happy, we’d also have been content. But Kira’s the unhappiest I’ve ever seen her.’

‘No doubt the Lord Caledon will comfort her,’ said Laryia tightly.

‘I think there is considerable doubt about that too,’ said Miken. ‘And that worries me, Laryia, because the last time I saw Kira this way was just before she set off for the north – alone. Did you have a chance to speak with her privately?’

Laryia nodded. ‘She was definite about leaving, but –’

‘But what?’

‘When I asked her outright if she were going with the Lord Caledon, she made some comment about him being one of a number of lovers she might choose.’

‘She’s had other lovers?’

‘I don’t think so . . . No, I’m sure not. She was referring to her arguments with Tierken over marriage. You see, the Terak way is to marry, not to bond, and I know Tierken asked Kira to marry him more than once, but she refused. It was particularly hard for Tierken to watch Tresen marry me when Kira wouldn’t marry him. It seemed a small thing to prove her commitment to him,’ added Laryia resentfully.

‘I see,’ said Miken.

‘Do you? Then explain it to me. I’ve never understood why she wouldn’t make that concession.’

‘Kira’s father was dominating, and cruel in many small and not so small ways. It’s made her fearful of putting herself under the control of others.’

‘Tierken’s not like that! And marriage would have made her status in Sarnia clear. Instead, Tierken has had to put up with sniping and innuendo because she’d only offer him bonding.’

‘Bonding’s a very grave commitment,’ said Miken.

‘But not permanent, as events have shown,’ retorted Laryia.

Miken took a gulp of his tea and pressed on. ‘Did Kira say what caused her to break the bond?’

‘No, just that the Lord Caledon had been right when he’d said that the breach between the Terak and Tain was too big to mend. But he would say that, wouldn’t he?’

‘Did Kira speak of anything else?’

‘Not really. She seemed concerned about the Shargh. Apparently Kira and the Lord Caledon came across a Shargh woman with a sick child on the journey here.’

‘Where?’ asked Miken sharply.

‘A day out from the Renclan Sentinel, I think. Kira actually tended the child. No doubt it will grow up to thank us with spears.’

‘Did Kira –’ started Miken, but at that moment the door opened and Tresen and Caledon appeared.

‘Clanleader Miken,’ said Caledon, greeting him with a bow. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘And you,’ said Miken, returning his bow.

‘Kira’s at your longhouse?’ asked Caledon.

‘She is indeed,’ said Miken, ‘much to the delight of Kashclan. She’s enjoying the company of those from whom she’s long been separated, and resting in preparation for the Clancouncil. I would ask that you leave her undisturbed until after she meets with them, Lord Caledon, for this might be the last opportunity she has to be with her kin.’

‘By all means,’ said Caledon. ‘When do you plan to hold the council?’

‘Not until the full moon. Sarclan and Tarclan are busy with harvesting feathergrass tubers at this time of season.’

Miken bowed to Caledon, then forcing a smile for Laryia, moved quickly towards the door, Tresen seeing him out. Miken had no need to speak to either Tresen or Caledon now, and probably not Kest either, unless he was conveniently close by.

‘Do you happen to know if Kest is at the Warens?’ he asked Tresen.

‘Protector Commander Kest told me he’d be at his longhouse for the next few days. Perhaps he’s helping with their feathergrass tuber harvest,’ added Tresen meaningfully.

‘Unlikely,’ muttered Miken, acknowledging his lie. Then, with a brief nod to his son, he hastened away towards Kashclan.

Miken found himself with ample time to think on what Laryia had told him as he made his way back to the Kashclan longhouse, and to ponder his own feelings of unease. And the more he thought about it, the more Kira’s relationship with Tierken seemed to be central to his concerns. It appeared strange to Miken now that he’d never taken much interest in Laryia’s brother, despite knowing that Kira had chosen to remain in the north with him.

At one time Miken had thought there was a slim chance that Kira would bond with Kest, and when Caledon had first come to Allogrenia, Caledon had been confident that Kira would bond with him. In fact, the Tallien still seemed confident. But the only certainty was that Kira had bonded with the Leader of the Terak Kutan – bearer of Terak’s blood and ruler of the wild places of the north.

Given his heritage, Kira’s love for Tierken seemed incomprehensible, and apparently one-sided. It was my mistake, she’d said of the bonding, implying he had wanted them to remain casual lovers. Yet Laryia suggested the exact opposite, that the difficulties had actually been caused by Tierken wanting more commitment than Kira was prepared to give.

Laryia might simply be defending her brother, thought Miken – but then again, so might Kira, taking all the blame for the broken bonding upon herself. And the fact remained that Tierken hadn’t pursued Kira south. Maybe the parting had been too bitter. Or perhaps pride forbade it, or loss of face. But the sheer distance between Sarnia and Allogrenia might also be the reason. Miken knew from Tresen that horses couldn’t cross the mountains, and it had taken Tresen and Laryia almost a moon to reach the edge of the forest, having to follow the longer route around the Azurcades. So even if Tierken had set out by horse straight after Kira had left, he’d still be half a moon behind.

Given that it would be some time before he could talk to the northern ruler – if indeed he ever had the opportunity – Miken felt an increasing sense of urgency to discover Kira’s exact reasons for leaving her bondmate. The sword that had killed Kandor over a season ago had cut her connection to Allogrenia and sent her on the perilous quest north. Now another connection had been severed, this time with Tierken.

Kira was safely back in the Kashclan longhouse, so he should feel comforted, yet she’d hinted to Laryia that she didn’t intend to stay. Given that she wouldn’t return north, it might mean she had decided to bond with Caledon. But nothing in her demeanour suggested it.

The one constant in Kira’s life had been her passion for healing. It had driven her since she was very young, and increasingly to the detriment of her own welfare. Miken’s thoughts came back to her meeting with the sick Shargh child and his anxiety increased. That, coupled with the loss of the man she had loved, might just be enough to send Kira on another quest – this time with no hope of returning.

He needed to speak with her again, but when Miken finally hurried up the path of the Kashclan longhouse and reached the warmth of the cooking place, it was only to be told that Kira had left shortly after him that morning and had gone to the Warens. And it seemed no one quite knew when to expect her return.

Kira crouched over a Writing in the Storage Cavern, her back aching and her eyes gritty. She’d dozed off more than once, and refilled the lamp several times, so it was actually possible that she had been there for more than a day. Grimacing, she struggled upright and slid the Writings back into the Sheaf and then the whole lot back onto the shelf. Sleeping on the stone wasn’t a good idea, she thought, beating at the dust on her breeches. Then, extinguishing the lamp, she set off back up the tunnel.

The store of Writings hadn’t revealed anything new about ministering to fevers that filled the lungs with water, but she’d found a brief reference to the benefits of blacknuts as a preventative to ‘congestion of the chest’. Blacknuts were plentiful in Allogrenia and used for all manner of things – bread and lamp oil included – and Kira wondered whether that was why such fevers were rare in the forest. But she had dealt with illnesses similar to the Shargh child’s in Sarnia – with wounded patrolmen who’d spent too long in the open before reaching help.

Kira went steadily, counting the turns and openings of other caverns, surprised at how well she remembered the way, but noting that the journey hadn’t grown any shorter in her absence. By the time Kira came to the training rooms, she was excruciatingly tired and in no mood for the courteous greetings of the Protectors she passed.

Finally she reached the outer cavern where Nogren’s broad bole all but blocked the fissure in the stone, and was about to squeeze past it when someone approached from the other side. Cursing under her breath, Kira stepped back.

It was Kest, blond hair gleaming, clothing smooth and unstained. Kira ineffectually rubbed her dusty sleeve across her face.

‘Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ he said with a bow.

‘Protector Commander Kest of Morclan,’ she returned.

Kest hadn’t missed an opportunity since her return to emphasise her status as Leader.

‘Do you realise we first met in this very spot?’ asked Kest.

‘Did we?’

‘Yes. You were . . . in a hurry,’ said Kest, recalling just in time that Kira had been with Kandor.

‘I’m in a hurry now as well,’ said Kira, going to pass him.

‘Why?’ asked Kest. ‘You have all the time in the world. Just a few more days of leadership duties, and then . . . nothing.’

He smiled when he said it, but the words stung.

‘A Healer always has something to do,’ she muttered, starting forward again, but Kest caught her arm.

‘I think you should reconsider your decision to withdraw your healing gift from your people,’ he said.

‘Take your hand off me, Protector Commander,’ said Kira coldly.

He released her and bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan.’

Kira brushed past him, slid through the gap and set off towards the Drinkwater, glumly contemplating that she’d probably alienated Kest now. She certainly hadn’t intended to; all she wanted was to be free for a moment from the demands and expectations of others. In fact, all she wanted was sleep, and the Kashclan longhouse was too far away.

Turning south-east, she forced her way through shelterbushes and sour-ripe vines until her aching legs brought her to a terra-wood, then she hauled herself up – dismayed at how clumsy she felt – fastened her sleeping-sling to the branches and clambered in. It was the first time she’d used the sling without Tresen or Kandor, but she didn’t feel alone, the leaves whispering around her comfortingly. Not as lovely as ashaels, she thought vaguely, as the deliciousness of sleep stole over her.

Some time, Kira had told Tenerini, but she’d been gone for six days and Miken found it hard to do anything other than loiter in the cooking place and wait for her return. But when someone finally did emerge from the trees, it was Tresen. Miken went to the door to welcome his son.

‘Is there something amiss?’ asked Tresen, regarding Miken closely.

‘I don’t think so. Kira went to the Warens and I thought she’d be back by now. Is she at the Bough?’

‘No,’ said Tresen, easing himself onto a nearby seat. ‘That’s why I came here. I haven’t had a chance to speak with her at all. It’s not possible that she might have lost her way in the tunnels, is it?’

‘Kira knows the Warens well,’ said Miken, settling beside his son. ‘She’s probably reacquainting herself with the forest. She’s been away from it for a long time.’ He managed a smile. ‘And how’s my beautiful bond-daughter? No more sickness?’

‘No, not for the last moon. She’s very well now, and just about settled. I think she would be totally settled, if only her brother would trouble himself to visit.’

‘I don’t know much about him at all. What sort of man is Tierken?’ asked Miken.

‘One used to having his own way.’

‘Do you think that’s why Kira left him?’

‘You’ll have to ask her that,’ said Tresen.

‘You must have some thoughts,’ persisted Miken.

Tresen winced as he raised his arm to pour himself a cup of honeyed water, the pain in his wounded back never far away. ‘Laryia believes it’s because Kira never truly loved him, but I think it’s the reverse,’ he said, gulping the liquid down. ‘Kira bonded with him despite having to wait for him to deign to acknowledge us as kin, and he also took a long time to accept healing into Sarnia. She learned to be patient – a big task for Kira. But all things have a limit. On one thing she wouldn’t buckle, and for that he wouldn’t forgive her.’

‘Marriage?’ asked Miken.

‘Yes. Laryia doesn’t understand why, but then Laryia never knew Maxen – thank the ’green.’

There was a short silence. ‘Have you confirmed the timing of the Clancouncil with the Clanleaders?’ asked Tresen. ‘Or will the feathergrass tuber harvest delay it until after the full moon?’

‘I wanted to give Kira time to get used to being back,’ admitted Miken.

‘And has she? Or are you anxious about something else?’

‘Did Laryia tell you that Kira healed a sick Shargh child on the way here?’

‘No,’ said Tresen, frowning. ‘She said only that Kira and the Lord Caledon had seen Shargh close to the forest.’ Tresen searched his father’s face. ‘You’re worried that Kira will take it into her head to go and heal other Shargh, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘In fact, you fear she’s gone now!’ he exclaimed in alarm, scrambling up. ‘Is she using my old room?’ he asked, already halfway to the passage.

‘Yes, but there’s no need –’ said Miken, hastening after him.

Tresen flung open the door and strode in. ‘No pack, but plenty of herbs,’ he said, staring up at the drying bunches. ‘It seems Kira’s been busy making her own Herbery, rather than relying on the Bough’s.’

‘Annin, cindra, blacknuts, winterbloom,’ listed Miken. ‘I wonder why –’

There was a sound behind him and Miken turned to see Kira hesitating in the doorway.

‘Excellent timing, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan,’ said Tresen. ‘Now you can explain in person why you intend to betray everything the Tremen have suffered and died for.’

Kira slipped off her pack, thoughts whirring.

‘Well?’ demanded Tresen.

‘I’m not intending to betray the Tremen,’ said Kira, more calmly than she felt.

‘But you are intending to go off to the Shargh to tend their sick?’

‘Yes.’

Tresen and Miken stared at her in horror.

‘Are you mad?’ demanded Tresen. ‘They’ll use you against us, and the Tain, and the Terak. Tierken will bend his knee to them rather than see you die. Is that what you seek? Some sort of revenge against the arrogant northern Feailner?’

‘Of course not!’

‘What is it that you seek?’ asked Miken.

‘An end to the fighting.’

‘It’s already ended,’ broke in Tresen. ‘All you’ll do is turn victory into defeat!’

Miken raised his hand. ‘Peace, Tresen,’ he said.

‘Peace?’ stormed Tresen. ‘There’ll be no peace, just more bloodshed.’ He wrenched off his shirt and swung round. ‘Does this mean nothing to you?’

Miken gasped, not having seen the shocking wound to his son’s back before.

‘I went into death to bring you back,’ whispered Kira.

‘Yes, and that’s where you want to go again, isn’t it?’ said Tresen. ‘This is about joining Kandor, not about healing. But I’ll not have my suffering cast aside, nor risk Laryia and our babe, because you lack the courage to live on without Kandor.’

Kira shook her head, and Tresen’s voice hardened again.

‘He’s dead, Kira, and if you go to the Shargh, he would have died for nothing. You might as well go to Wessogren and spit on its roots!’

‘Tresen!’ exclaimed Miken.

‘Kira’s ill, father, mind-sick, not thinking like someone hale. For her own sake, and ours, she must be kept here until she’s well.’

‘You sound just like Maxen,’ said Kira bitterly. ‘And if you lock me up you’ll risk the Tremen exactly as he did.’

‘You talk nonsense,’ said Tresen contemptuously.

‘The only reason I live now, and others do, is because your father, Marren and Kest defied Maxen – their Leader – by sending armed men to Turning,’ said Kira. ‘And even if half the Tremen believe I’m mind-sick, the other half will believe it’s a ploy by you to hold onto your position in the Bough. Would-be Tremen Leader Tresen has got comfortable with his new status, and then, inconveniently, the actual Leader turns up. The schism would be as bitter as that of the Sundering.’

‘Then we’ll let the Clancouncil decide whether your going to the Shargh is a good idea,’ said Tresen. ‘But I want your pledge that you won’t go before then.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought the pledge of a mind-sick person would be trustworthy,’ said Kira.

‘Pledge me, Kira,’ insisted Tresen.

‘I pledge not to flee through the trees to the Shargh before the Clancouncil,’ returned Kira sarcastically.

Tresen’s eyes bored into hers, then he strode from the room, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

‘Tresen carries a lot of pain,’ muttered Kira.

‘So do you.’

Kira contemplated the man whose love had sustained her through the misery of her childhood. ‘Do you think I’m mind-sick, Miken?’

‘I’d like you to share your thoughts with me,’ he said, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside him.

Kira came to him and his warm hand closed over hers. ‘Tell me everything,’ he said.

Despite being weary, Kira didn’t take to her bed after Miken had gone. Her time spent in discussion with him, and her confrontation with Tresen, had served to crystallise her belief that if she hid in Allogrenia, the fighting would simply return. She spent the rest of the night in preparation and left a little after dawn, her pack full of herbs, nuts and everest leaves sewn into the neck of her shirt. If her hands were bound, she could duck her chin and extract one with her teeth.

She’d even practised the technique, laughing in horror at what she intended. The Shargh would be fools not to use her against their enemies – before they killed her. Everest would allow her to thwart their plans, and give her a death as pleasant as dozing in the ashaels. It would be like drifting off to sleep, she reassured herself.

Tenerini had appeared just as Kira was setting out, and Kira had led her to believe that she was going to Morclan to visit Caledon, hinting even that she intended to bond with him.

There’s a place for you in the Kashclan longhouse, but if you choose to go with the Lord Caledon, that place will live on in our hearts, Tenerini had said, and the memory of her tender words shamed Kira every time she recalled them.

She stared about as she walked, greedy to gather up every small sight, sound and scent to carry away with her. The dew-beaded web of a stickspider, the translucent wings of a moon moth, the bright tang of silvermint in the air. The forest had never been more beautiful.

‘I’m doing this for you,’ she breathed. ‘So that blood won’t stain your earth, so that babes won’t grow without their fathers, so that nights won’t be filled with fear.’

Even so, repugnance at what she intended dragged at her steps. All she could do was cling to the memory of a springleslip chick she’d once seen hatch. A hole the size of a thorn prick had appeared as the hatchling had pecked, rested and pecked again, until finally the shell had given way, leaving the chick free. If she could just make the tiniest chink in the shell of hatred, then someone, some day, might enlarge it.

There would never be love between the Shargh and those they’d warred with – but treaty, honour and perhaps, in seasons to come, respect, would keep the spears and swords from each other’s breasts.

The thing she most feared was that Tierken would wreak bloody revenge, seeing the death of the Tremen Feailner as an attack on the Terak Feailner. And all she could do – in her capacity as Tremen Feailner – was forbid it, and hope Tresen’s revulsion for bloodshed would somehow uphold the prohibition.

To make her intent clear, Kira had written a short message to Kest, as she must, as the departing Leader. And as Kest wasn’t due back at the Warens till after she’d be well gone, he’d be unable to stop her. In the message she’d told Kest that if she hadn’t returned by the next full moon after this, her death was to be assumed, and that she forbade any response to it other than the appointment of a new Leader. Kira had written little else to explain or justify her actions, knowing that Miken could at least do the former.

Tell me everything, he’d said, and she had, confessing things she’d never admitted to herself, not even in her darkest, loneliest moments. The telling of it was a final act of weakness – an attempt to justify the treacherous path she’d chosen. And in return, Miken had gifted her with the strength of his sheltering arms, and the non-judgemental silence of his unconditional love.

As Kira walked, she began to wonder why she bothered to go north-west instead of directly to the Warens or, indeed, straight north-east to the Shargh lands. Her reasoning had been that if she were seen, she’d be heading towards Morclan, not fleeing through the trees to the Shargh. In reality, she would be fleeing to them through the Warens. But these were just new lies resting as light as stickspider webs on older, graver ones – that I choose Tierken as bondmate and Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.

It was night by the time she came to where the Drink-water bubbled through Morclan Octad, and she tossed down her pack and filled her waterskin. Then, as there were no terrawoods nearby, she set her sling in an ancient castella, sleeping solidly, before rising in the predawn darkness to continue her trek, reaching the Warens mid-morning. The training rooms were empty, so she went on to the first storage cavern. The Protectors were busy here stacking the excess harvests of brown, black and bitternuts.

Kira paused in the entranceway, remembering how the storing and ordering of food had been the Protectors’ main activity under Sarkash’s command, before the coming of the Shargh.

‘Is there something I can help you with, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon?’ asked a tall, fair Protector, eerily like Kest. He even used the same long-winded title Kest insisted on.

‘And you are?’

‘Protector Leader Lis,’ he said with a bow.

Of Morclan, Kira added silently, but said aloud, ‘I understand Protector Commander Kest isn’t in the Warens at present.’

‘That is correct, Tremen Leader. The Commander is at our – the Morclan longhouse, but will be here near the full moon. Do you wish me to send message to him?’

‘The matter isn’t urgent, Protector Leader,’ said Kira, slipping out her missive and folding it once more. ‘It’s just a routine concern about Allogrenia’s administration the Protector Commander needs to be aware of. Kindly ensure this is passed on to him on his return,’ said Kira.

‘By all means,’ said Lis, placing it in his pocket.

Kira nodded and he bowed again, and then she went on down the tunnel, hastening her footsteps as soon as she’d left the early caverns behind. But she was forced to slow again once the lamps had finished, and to think more carefully of the way. She reached the Storage Cavern and groped around until she found the lamp she’d left there, and after numerous attempts and much cursing, managed to light it.

Topping up the lamp oil, and reluctantly dismissing the idea of a rest, she set off once more, occupying herself with memories of the previous journey she’d made with Kest. There were two openings into Kenclan and she’d exited through the first, but it had taken a long time to reach it – and the map hadn’t been accurate, she recalled apprehensively, wondering whether the present one was.

After what seemed like days, she saw that the tunnel twinned. Setting down the lamp, Kira checked the map she carried, finding the junction marked a short way before the first fissure. Offering up thanks for Kest’s thoroughness in correcting the earlier version of the map, she went on. Then, blessedly, the lamplight picked up the ending of the tunnel. Kira stopped and stared at it, dismayed to recall only now that the opening to the forest outside was set high off the ground.

When she’d come here before with Kest, she’d used his linked hands as a step to reach the fissure. But she was alone now, and too weary to find another way out.

Caledon watched the drift of leaves to the surface of the Drink-water, their autumnal colours reminding him just how long he’d been gone from Talliel. Yet as he looked about him at the pockets of sunlight and shadow, and at the light dimming to emerald as the boles stretched away on every side, he realised that he could be happy under the trees. Given how different the forest was to the openness of Talliel, the revelation was both surprising and comforting, for it meant that if Kira chose to stay, he could make a life with her here.

Kest had offered to take Caledon to some of his favourite haunts and Caledon had enjoyed the last few days in the Protector Commander’s company, rambling through the forest.

‘All Tremen carted their water from here originally,’ said Kest beside him. ‘And a long and tedious process it was, until the longhouse roofs grew large enough to collect sufficient quantities of water. Even so, we prefer the taste of the Drinkwater to our water barrels. Taste it for yourself, Caledon.’

Caledon crouched down and scooped a handful to his mouth. ‘It tastes of . . . ?’

‘Cinna,’ supplied Kest. ‘Given that it flows through many herbs, no one knows why it carries the taste of cinna in particular.’

‘There’s a river in the north called the Breshlin that tastes of trees common to the Silvercade Mountains where the river has its birth.’

‘Your tales make me curious to see such places,’ said Kest, as they wandered on.

‘With the rejoining of your peoples, and the opening of Sarnia to you, you may well do so,’ said Caledon.

‘I might indeed,’ said Kest, thinking not of journeying but of the complexities of the unification.

The Terak patrols in Allogrenia already posed problems, obedient to his command only because the Terak Feailner had ordered they be. But what troubled Kest more was their demeanour. They were not only used to killing, but to the expectation of killing – they were fighters, in other words, not Protectors. And to make matters worse, his sister Kesilini had taken a liking to one – a certain Terak patrolman named Anvorn.

Movement through the trees made him draw his sword, but it was only a very young Protector, and one obviously disconcerted to see them. Therin of Sarclan, Kest recalled, a member of Lis’s patrol, and in his first season of Protector training.

‘Protector Commander Kest,’ said Therin, bowing hastily, then bowing to Caledon.

‘Where’s your Leader?’ demanded Kest.

‘A little to the north. He gave me permission to delay.’

‘Why?’ asked Kest, wondering if he must reprimand Lis for letting men lag behind. The danger of Shargh attack might be small, but it still existed.

‘I . . . I ate a few too many bitternuts,’ said Therin, redness rising in his cheeks.

‘Ah,’ said Kest, relieved that Lis had been considerate rather than incompetent. ‘Bitternuts are notorious for scouring the bowels,’ he explained to Caledon. ‘Especially if eaten in quantity.’

He turned back to the Protector. ‘How long have you been out from the Warens?’

‘Two days, Protector Commander.’

‘And all’s well?’

It was a standard question from any Protector who’d been absent from them.

‘Yes, Protector Commander. The stores are complete until the next surplus arrives, Protector Leader Metheren’s patrol has returned, and the Tremen Leader has visited.’

‘When did the Leader visit?’ asked Caledon.

‘The day before we started patrol. The Tremen Leader spoke with Protector Leader Lis. I can ask Protector Leader Lis to report to you if you wish, Protector Commander. He waits at the chrysen grove.’

Kest turned to Caledon questioningly, but Caledon shook his head. Miken had clearly wanted Kira to spend some time away from him before the council, and Caledon felt bound to honour his wishes, even to the point of not covertly monitoring Kira’s movements.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Kest, dismissing the young Protector with a nod.

Caledon and Kest watched Therin hurry away. ‘You only eat too many bitternuts once,’ said Kest with a smile, as they went on.

Deep in the Warens, a disconsolate Kira sat down, rested her head back on the stone and slept. When she woke, light sheened in from above, which was just as well, as the lamp oil had run out. Sun-starved sour-ripe tendrils trailed down and Kira frowned. Apart from being known for slicing and cutting unwary hands, sour-ripe vine was notoriously tough.

Taking off her pack and jacket, she methodically rolled, heaved and pushed as many loose boulders as she could against the wall, then clambered atop the pile. But the sour-ripe vine remained maddeningly out of reach. Reclaiming her pack, Kira pulled out falzon bandages, and taking careful aim, tossed loops at the vines until they snagged. Then she hauled the vines down.

Capturing more of the vines, Kira tied them into bulky knots about an arm’s-length apart to form a rudimentary ladder. Then she cranked her leg up to almost waist height, pushed her boot into the loop, and with her hands protected by her jacket sleeves, heaved herself up.

Vines groaned and snapped, and foliage sheared off, but the bulk of them held and she struggled upward until she was able to gain enough purchase on the sides of the opening to clamber out.

The sour-ripe was just as unforgiving under the dim trees as it was in the cavern, and it took Kira a lot of tugging, scores to her face and hands, and rips to her clothing to retrieve her jacket and free herself from the tangle. It had been no better the first time she’d used the opening, except that then she’d been rewarded with plump, juicy sour-ripe. But now the vines, like her heart, were empty.

In the Bough, Laryia placed the final batch of nutbread carefully in the bread pot, but Tenerini stopped her from lifting it onto the shelf.

‘Time for you to rest,’ said Tenerini firmly, heaving the bread pot up next to the others, then adjusting the water pan on the coals.

Laryia settled at the table and took a handful of mundle-berries from the half-empty bowl. It had been full the previous day, but Laryia had developed a particular liking for them.

You’re turning into a proper Tremen, Tresen had teased her that morning before setting off for the Kashclan longhouse, and Laryia had laughed, relieved her husband’s mood had finally lightened.

‘Is there always this much work to do before a Clancouncil?’ she asked Tenerini.

‘Yes. But the Bough usually has helpers – women who come in from the longhouses to do the baking, the cleaning and the making of clothes. Even had Kira’s mother lived, it would have been so, for Kasheron intended those of the Bough to save their strength for healing.’

‘So one of these helpers would have looked after Kira?’ asked Laryia, thinking of her own growing with Eris.

‘Each helper only stays for three or four moons. It was one of the reasons that –’

There was a knock at the door and Tenerini opened it to find that it was the Lord Caledon, and that he was alone.

‘Has Kira remained at Morclan?’ she asked, peering beyond him. ‘The council’s on the morrow and I’d rather she didn’t travel in the dark by herself.’

‘The Leader’s been at the Warens,’ said Caledon.

‘I understood that she was with you at Morclan,’ said Tenerini, puzzled.

‘Protector Commander Kest and I have been journeying around Allogrenia and didn’t return there until the last night. I’m sure Clanleader Marren would have told us had Kira visited. However, one of the patrols we encountered told us she had been to the Warens,’ replied Caledon.

‘Kira must have changed her mind then,’ murmured Tenerini, then recollected herself. ‘The Bough welcomes Lord Caledon,’ she said quickly. ‘Please come in and eat with us.’

Tenerini was troubled and Caledon looked at Laryia closely as he greeted her. Laryia’s nod was brief, but he couldn’t expect warmth from the sister of the man whose lover he hoped to take. But then, as he watched her grip her hands over her belly, he saw that it was more than that. Like Tenerini, Laryia was anxious.

‘You’ve been here at the Bough for the last few days?’ he asked Tenerini.

‘Yes. There’s much to be prepared before a Clancouncil,’ she said, passing him a cup of thornyflower tea.

‘So you don’t know whether the Leader has returned to Kashclan?’

‘No.’

Caledon’s tea was scalding but he barely noticed. In the last days his attention had been on the clear song of streams, not on what lay above the canopy. He hadn’t felt so carefree since the time on Shardos, just before he slipped – and fell.

‘Is there any reason why Kira wouldn’t be at the Warens or at the Kashclan longhouse?’ he asked Laryia directly.

‘Obviously because you are not at either of those places.’

The surge of anger caught him unawares and he slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Tell me what you fear!’

Laryia cringed and it was Tenerini who spoke. ‘Miken told me that Kira spoke of going to the Shargh,’ she said quickly.

He whirled to her. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

‘The fault’s not Tenerini’s, said Laryia. ‘Kira was upset by the sick Shargh child. She thinks it’s her duty to mend all suffering in the world, and that if she fails to do so, the failure is hers alone. If you were close to her, you’d know that.’

‘I know your brother failed to keep her safe in the north. I just didn’t know there’d be risk to her here as well!’

‘How dare you!’ exclaimed Laryia. ‘If you think –’

The Bough door opened and Tresen appeared, taking in the angry tableau in an instant. ‘What is it?’

‘Is Kira at Kashclan?’ asked Tenerini.

‘Not in the last few days. You told me that she had gone to Morclan,’ said Tresen, his eyes swivelling from her to Caledon.

‘I haven’t been at Morclan, and neither has Kira, but she was seen at the Warens,’ said Caledon.

‘Then she’s still there,’ said Tresen, lowering himself onto a seat.

‘There’s a chance she’s gone to the Shargh,’ said Caledon.

‘Kira and I argued about that insane notion and she pledged to do nothing until the Clancouncil,’ said Tresen with a shrug. ‘It’s in their hands now whether she comes to her senses of her own free will, or is made to.’

‘Made to?’ hissed Caledon.

‘Anyone who believes they can go to the Shargh lands and survive is mind-sick.’

‘And so you threatened to lock her up?’

‘I won’t have her dishonour those who rot beneath what’s left of Allogrenia or whose bones lie beyond the trees! But I’m not the Leader, she is, and so the judgement as to what happens next lies with the council. Kira agreed to let them make the decision.’

There was a rap on the door and everyone turned. ‘Maybe that’s her,’ said Laryia hopefully – but it was Kest, his expression grim.

‘Kira left a message for me at the Warens,’ began Kest without ceremony, producing a folded sheet of paper. ‘It’s addressed to the Commander of the Warens, but it concerns everyone in this hall – in fact, it concerns every Tremen, Tain and Terak.’

I do not believe the fighting is finished, nor victory ours, he read aloud. The next spear throw and sword slash are simply delayed, until those who now grow up in sickness and suffering strengthen themselves with hate. We know that this is true. It is in the Writings of Kasheron’s time, and whispered in the leaves of our own.

I go to the Shargh to give healing to those who suffer, to allow children to grow without hate. If I am to return, it will be before the next full moon. If I do not return, then I beg the next Tremen Leader, in honour of my memory, to exact no revenge. I have broken pledges to those dearest to me, but this last pledge I will not break: I will not allow the Shargh to use me against those I love.

Tenerini gave an agonised sob and collapsed into a chair, but Caledon simply swept up his pack and strode from the hall, the slamming door rattling the cups on the table.

‘Of all the treacherous, faithless –’ began Tresen furiously.

‘You insult the Tremen Leader,’ warned Kest.

‘A liar whose healing’s so poor she can’t even recognise her own illness! How will the Shargh not use her as a weapon? You’d best call in all your men, Kest, and send warning to the northern Leader and to the Tain to prepare. The bloodshed’s about to begin all over again.’

Caledon was halfway to the Kashclan longhouse before he realised his direction, and stopped to wrestle some order into his storming thoughts. He was still poised motionless among the trees when Miken appeared. Miken bowed, but Caledon was beyond such niceties, for Miken had known of Kira’s intentions.

‘There’s no point conducting a Clancouncil unless it’s to replace your dead Leader,’ said Caledon brutally. ‘Kira’s gone to the Shargh – as she told you she would.’

Miken swayed and Caledon leapt forward and caught his arm, lowering him onto a nearby log. Neither man moved for so long that tippets began hunting bark beetles next to them.

‘She pledged to remain until after the council,’ croaked Miken. ‘I’ve never known Kira break a pledge.’

‘She broke her bonding,’ Caledon reminded him.

‘And so became as loose as an autumn leaf. I thought my love would hold her – or yours,’ he said, looking up at Caledon. ‘I was wrong.’

‘We were both wrong,’ said Caledon, sitting beside the Clan-leader.

Silence stretched before Caledon spoke again. ‘Kira left a message for Kest telling of her intentions. Tresen believes Kira’s mind-sick. Is that what you also believe?’

‘I spoke with Kira of what happened in her time away. She was quite lucid and, given what she’s endured, I find her wish to heal the Shargh understandable,’ said Miken.

‘But fatal.’

‘Yes.’

Miken cleared his throat. ‘I was comforted by her pledge to wait for the council because speaking with them would have helped her reconnect with Tremen ways. Kira’s healing skills remain important, as Tresen is never going to have the strength to carry the Healer Leader burden alone.’

‘Then you should have held the council immediately,’ said Caledon.

‘I delayed the council to give her time to reconsider her feelings for you,’ admitted Miken. ‘While Kira clearly has love for you, Lord Caledon, she’s given me no indication of wanting to bond with you. Before she left Allogrenia the first time, she had affection for Kest, but she didn’t bond with him either. The only man Kira’s bonded with is the northern Feailner.’

‘She’s broken that bond,’ repeated Caledon.

‘Yes, but she must have been very sure of her love for Tierken to bond with him in the first place.’

Caledon said nothing and Miken glanced sideways at him. ‘We may all look very similar to you, Lord Caledon, but the Tremen’s ways are as diverse as those in the north. Morclansmen and women have been known to breach Tremen law by taking each other to their beds, and Sherclansmen and women to make and break bondings as thoughtlessly as choosing riddleberries over mundle-berries for mid-meal. But for we of Kashclan, healing and bonding are the most solemn and important things in our lives. We tend to bond late, or not at all.

‘The most that can be hoped for now, and I do hope for it, is that Kira renews her bond with the northern Leader. The alternative is for her to spend her life alone, and for Kira that’s dangerous. It was Kandor’s loss that sent her beyond the trees, and it’s the loss of Tierken that has now sent her to the Shargh. Her love for you, for Tresen, for Kest, even for me and Tenerini, hasn’t held her here. And if by some miracle she returns, there will be no reason to stop her risking herself again.’

Caledon stared down at the mossy bark for a long moment. ‘I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, Clanleader,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry they weren’t more pleasant,’ said Miken, rising. ‘I need speak with Kest as to how we are to proceed. It might be best to tell the councillors that Kira has requested more time to think through her renunciation of the leadership, for there’s no point in alarming them and upsetting the longhouses unnecessarily. You are most welcome to stay with us at Kashclan, Lord Caledon.’

‘I thank you,’ said Caledon with a bow.

Miken went on, the leafless branches above him locking like black bones across the sky. Caledon pulled his jacket close, feeling tired suddenly, and old. As a Placidien he’d long known that the stars’ intent overrode the wants and wishes of those on the ground, but how much easier it was to carry out their will when it didn’t affect his own wants and plans . . . and heart.

High on the spur, Tarkenda wandered about outside her sorcha, her mind too full of unanswered questions to sleep. Palansa had set out carrying a son listless with fever and with a breath that bubbled, and had returned with one cured. And the herbs the Healer-creature had given Palansa now cured others. Even more astonishing was Palansa’s assertion that the Healer-creature intended to come to the Grounds.

It accorded with Tarkenda’s visions, but still seemed incomprehensible. Even if the creature hadn’t always shared the Northerners’ hatred for the Shargh, she surely must now, for Arkendrin had boasted of killing those of her line. If she did come, surely it could only be to wreak revenge?

But then why cure Ersalan and give Palansa herbs to cure others? Unless the cures were soon to give way to even more terrible deaths . . . If that were the case, the journey of Ormadon and his blood-ties to guide the creature to the Grounds was a dangerous waste of time. The creature certainly wouldn’t come among those it was about to bring greater suffering to.

The full moon threw her pacing shadow over the sorcha as she trawled though the words of the Telling. The last part of it still baffled her. The ‘thing’ could be the wind or the rain, for neither were living, breathing things, yet could ‘devour’ the ‘dark’ funeral smoke ‘feeding on’ the dead by blowing or washing it away. But there was nothing about the explanation that rang true, and if she were to save Palansa and Ersalan, she must know.

Kira could see the dark shapes in the distance from early morning, at first thinking them small trees, then Ashmiri herd animals, then realising they were Shargh. She had spent most of the journey worrying about whether Palansa had understood her. If Palansa hadn’t, or was only concerned with her own child, then Kira was journeying towards her murderers. Very obliging of me, she thought grimly, ducking her chin to reassure herself that she could reach the everest with her mouth.

But death was only a last resort, to save those she’d left behind. She wasn’t going to the Shargh to die, but to give Laryia’s babe a chance of a peaceful growing. And she must remember that, if every last skerrick of courage wasn’t to desert her. Blood pounded in her ears as the group resolved itself into four warriors, one old and three young. They held their spears in front of them, as if testing their weight before hurling them.

Kira came to a halt and the older Shargh stepped forward. ‘Palansa send Ormadon,’ he said carefully, touching his chest. ‘Come you.’

Kira’s mouth was too dry to speak, but she suspected the Shargh warrior had used his only words of Terak anyway. Ormadon beckoned to reinforce his message and Kira stumbled after him, the younger Shargh falling into step behind. They went steadily, and after a while her fear eased from an aching, sweating storm to a solid lump in her chest. The younger Shargh seemed to have relaxed a little too, conversing among themselves.

But Ormadon didn’t. His eyes swept over the lands continually. Kira could see Shargh guarding animals like those the Ashmiri herded, and Ormadon gestured to her to pull her hood close. Kira was glad to, for the air was chill, but it told her that Ormadon’s vigilance was because of other Shargh.

Ahead the land rose in a spur, but they’d have to cross a river first, its banks high in reeds. Kira wondered how they’d traverse it, but when they reached the river, they turned and followed the bank north. The younger Shargh now walked either side of her, and Kira sensed they did it to disguise her presence.

The spur was crowded with round huts like those the Ashmiri used, and cooking fires were set between them. Men, women and children moved in the firelight, their voices drifting down, as did the occasional shout of a child’s laughter. Small fires also dotted the land to the west, and the smell of burned fat drifted from that direction.

Her escort kept close to the reeds, and where they grew lower the Shargh bent and dragged her down too. Finally they came to a stop, the river still between them and the huts, and the spur’s sides now as steep as a cliff. It was going to be an awful climb up in the dark, thought Kira, and they still had to cross the river.

Ormadon whispered and then, without warning, the tallest Shargh swung Kira into his arms. Kira stifled a cry as Ormadon gestured urgently for silence, then pointed to the water.

‘Palansa,’ he whispered, gesturing up into the darkness.

Kira managed to nod and the small party waded into the river. The Shargh’s breath hissed behind her, and the man carrying Kira grunted, as he struggled to keep her clear of it. The water was up to Ormadon’s chest, but somehow the Shargh carrying her kept Kira dry, and they came to the opposite bank and squelched up it, water streaming from their clothes.

Kira was set down and Ormadon’s freezing hand fastened on her wrist as he picked a path up the slope. Kira didn’t look back, concentrating on keeping her balance forward, and straining to see Ormadon’s gestures. His hand grew warm, and Kira thought how odd it was to be comforted by a Shargh’s grip. But he prevented her from escaping as well as from falling.

Kira wondered whether he was Palansa’s father and the younger Shargh her brothers, or members of her family. Then she gasped as she snatched a glance upwards and realised that they were climbing towards the highest hut. At Cover-cape Crest, Marin had said that the Ashmiri Chief set his hut the highest, even when the land was flat. If they were going to the highest hut, it meant Palansa must be linked somehow to the Shargh who hunted her. He was the man Irlian had said was Chief, the man with the rotting eye – Arkendrin, the Ashmiri had called him.

They drew closer to the hut and Kira began to pant in fear. Take the everest, the voice in her head ordered as Ormadon’s steps quickened. He hauled her swiftly over the last lip of land, then without pause dragged her across to the hut, pushed her head down and thrust her inside. Kira dipped her chin and tore a leaf of everest free as she stumbled to her knees onto the soft pelts, but she didn’t swallow. For as she’d fallen, her belly had thrust up under her ribs, hard and tight, and something within had flickered.

Kira let the everest fall from her mouth as a knobby hand wrenched her upright. Reeling from her discovery, she snatched a glance downwards, trying to see if her bulging belly were obvious, but the woman’s roughened hand forced her chin up. Then a lamp was held close. Dazzled, Kira cringed, expecting the slash of knives, but as her sight cleared she saw the lamp-holder was Palansa. And clinging to Palansa’s leg, his large dark eyes fastened on Kira, was a little boy.

‘Ersalan,’ breathed Kira.

Relief that he looked so well steadied her and she was comforted that her pack wasn’t stuffed full of useless herbs. Palansa swung the boy into her arms and kissed the fluff of his head.

‘Tarkenda,’ she said, indicating the older woman.

Tarkenda barely nodded before she called something and a warrior entered. He was muscular, and armed with a spear and several short swords.

Kira shrank back but Palansa smiled at her reassuringly. ‘Erlken,’ she said, indicating the man. ‘Erlken son Ormadon. He . . .’ Palansa searched for the word. ‘He . . .’ She tried again, muttered a Shargh word in frustration, then went to the hut’s opening. Putting Ersalan down, Palansa spread her arms. ‘Erlken . . . keep Kira.’

Erlken was guarding her, Kira realised, but they were in the Chief’s hut – Arkendrin’s hut! Erlken couldn’t guard her against him.

‘Eat,’ said Palansa, ushering Kira to the table.

Kira perched tensely on the wooden stool, her eyes on the door flap. Tarkenda was busy cutting a large yellow cheese with a very sharp knife, but Kira barely noticed, the reality of her predicament washing over her.

How in the ’green had her Healer-knowing failed her so completely? She suffered moon-bleeds only occasionally and, in all her time in the north, had bled only once. Seasons ago Sendra had warned her that she’d never carry unless she put more meat on her bones, but Kira had been glad to be free of the bleeds that bothered other women. Keeping clean on long gathering expeditions was hard enough.

She didn’t even know when the child had started. The bonding had become so destructive that she remembered her fights with Tierken more vividly than their love-making.

‘Eat,’ repeated Palansa, pointing to the hunks of cheese and meat on the clay platter.

Kira quelled the impulse to refuse, recalling how the Ashmiri had offered her food after she’d healed Irlian. If she wanted to build friendship with the Shargh, she’d have to open herself to their ways, or at least to their food. Kira picked up a wedge of cheese and took a small bite. It felt strange in her mouth but not unpleasant. Then Palansa poured her a cup of water and Kira was surprised that they mixed it with honey as the Tremen sometimes did.

The food and warmth in the hut added to the weariness of the journey, but she daren’t close her eyes, knowing that the Chief must soon return. Ersalan was perched on Palansa’s lap, Palansa feeding him as she spoke softly with Tarkenda. The night deepened and, despite her fear, Kira began to nod, starting awake as Palansa touched her arm and gestured to the bed. Kira shook her head and Palansa repeated the gesture.

‘Arkendrin,’ said Kira, pointing at Palansa and then at the bed.

Tarkenda and Palansa gaped at her.

‘No,’ said Palansa, shaking her head vigorously.

‘Arkendrin,’ repeated Kira shrilly, giving an expansive gesture that took in all the hut.

Palansa and Tarkenda exchanged quick words then, taking Kira by the wrist, Palansa tugged her to the fire circle. Crouching beside the fine ash, the Shargh woman drew a series of stick figures.

After the first, she pointed to Tarkenda, then drew two figures underneath that she named Erboran and Arkendrin, stabbing her finger into the ash several times to make her meaning clear. Kira nodded and glanced up at Tarkenda, aghast to realise that Arkendrin was her son. Palansa touched Kira’s hand with her sooty one to regain her attention, and, pointing to the figure she’d named Erboran, held up a single finger. He was the elder son, Kira guessed.

Next Palansa drew a figure beside Erboran and pointed to herself, then a smaller figure beneath, and pointed to Ersalan. Kira smiled, relieved that Palansa was bonded to the elder son. If they were like the Tain and Terak, the chiefship would run through the first-born son.

Then Palansa went to the shelf above the bed and retrieved a strange headdress made of leather and metal. It reminded Kira of the circlet Tierken had worn at Laryia’s wedding, and Kira guessed it was ceremonial. Palansa’s face filled with grief and she wiped away the figure representing Erboran, and lowered the headdress onto her own head. Removing it, she beckoned Ersalan, and set it on his downy hair. Erboran was dead and Palansa was Chief until Ersalan grew, guessed Kira. Then why had Irlian called Arkendrin Chief? The only thing that Kira could imagine was that Arkendrin wouldn’t accept a woman or a baby being Chief and had claimed the chiefship for himself. But none of it explained Arkendrin’s long hunting of her.

Taking a steadying breath, Kira pointed to the Arkendrin figure, then mimicked a sword slash across her own throat. ‘Why?’ she asked, giving an open-hand gesture.

Palansa’s response was chilling. ‘If . . . Arkendrin kill . . .’ she said, pointing to Kira’s eyes, ‘Arkendrin have everything.’ Her hand swept around the hut, coming to rest on her own breast. ‘Everything,’ she repeated.

Kira’s horror at her situation deepened as time went on, and having to remain hidden in the hut gave her plenty of time to dwell on it. She paced around castigating herself for failing to realise what the sickness and clumsy tiredness had portended. The decision to undertake the perilous journey into the Shargh lands, and to take everest to prevent the Shargh using her as a weapon, or to escape a slow, painful death, had been excruciating enough. But she’d only had her life to consider then; now she had another.

Every fibre of her being yearned to flee back to Allogrenia, but the risks she’d taken in coming would be wasted if the Shargh’s sickness returned after she’d left. Winter was only a moon away and anything that afflicted the lungs worsened in cold and damp weather. And while the Writing had suggested blacknuts prevented sicknesses affecting the chest, she’d seen no nuts in any of the meals she’d been offered.

At least one encouraging thing had happened though. While Palansa and Tarkenda hadn’t seemed to recognise the nuts Kira had shown them, Erlken had, pointing away over the grasslands. Kira had mimed coughing, eating the nuts, then being well, and both women seemed to have understood the nuts’ importance. Palansa had indicated that Erlken would procure some for Kira, but frustratingly, she hadn’t indicated when.

Kira glanced down at her belly as she paced around, thankful its bulge was still hidden by her shirt. How naive she’d been in thinking she could share a man’s bed then simply walk away. No woman could do that without risk. And even if she somehow survived her time with the Shargh and returned to Allogrenia, she had no idea how she could heal and care for a babe.

At least the herbs she’d brought with her were being put to good use. After many confusing and time-consuming exchanges with Palansa, and much drawing in the fire ash, the two Shargh women were able to convey to Kira the story they had concocted. It was known Palansa had journeyed south with an ailing baby Chief, and had returned with one soon restored to health. And it was also known that Ormadon had taken three blood-ties south since. Palansa and Tarkenda had woven the two events together, telling how Palansa had been gifted the knowing of the herbs’ whereabouts by a treeman who’d pitied Palansa’s sick child. Once Ersalan was well, and the cure proven, Palansa – on behalf of the young Chief – had sent Ormadon and his blood-ties to gather more of the herbs so that the young Chief’s people could be cured.

While Arkendrin’s cronies had lined up with the rest to receive their share, Arkendrin had refused the ‘treeman’s filth’, for his strength was slowly returning. He gathered it to him like a hunk of meat, conserving it by using Irdodun as his eyes and ears, and to do his bidding.

A scuttle-lizard, Palansa called Irdodun, because of his sly comings and goings. But Tarkenda thought of him as more akin to a marwing that, having spied a sick or wounded creature, circles relentlessly until the creature is harried to death. Sometimes she thought it was Palansa, Ersalan and herself Irdodun circled, and sometimes even Arkendrin, for over the last moon Irdodun had stealthily moved his sorcha up the spur until it now sat just below Arkendrin’s.

Tarkenda wondered whether Arkendrin realised, but if there were indeed any threat to him, Tarkenda concluded sourly, it was Arkendrin who had seeded it. It had been he who had sought to destroy the long tradition of first-born sons inheriting the chief-ship. And, in doing so, he had opened the eyes and the grasping claws of others to the possibility that the chiefship could belong to any with the courage, or cunning, to seize it. And Irdodun was just the sort of man who’d think himself capable of doing so.

But mostly Arkendrin’s recovery and Irdodun’s increasingly arrogant swagger fed Tarkenda’s fear for the Healer. Tarkenda found it hard to think of her now as a creature, or as the sinister force of the Telling. Rather, it seemed that, like herself and Palansa, she had been swept up in the whirlwind of Arkendrin’s ambition.

At first Tarkenda had suspected the Healer’s motives, for her coming to the Grounds still made absolutely no sense. But as the days passed, the Healer’s obstinate, single-minded determination to pass on her cures convinced Tarkenda that the Healer really was driven by healing, and not by any ulterior motive. And in some curious way, she reminded Tarkenda of Palansa. In taking Ersalan south, Palansa had ignored Tarkenda’s advice for the very first time, but her actions had saved Ersalan and drawn the Healer to the Grounds, seeding the potential for what Tarkenda had seen in vision and dream.

The gathering of marwings over the Grounds one evening was neither a vision nor a dream though, and as Tarkenda stood with Ormadon peering out at them, her dread grew. A dead ebis or wolf or the pickings of a grahen could all draw them, but her heart told her otherwise. Ormadon’s young blood-tie Aronin had gone to the stone-trees a day ago and had not returned, and now Ormadon had sent Erlken to where the marwings circled, and taken his son’s place in guarding.

Tarkenda’s gaze shifted to the spur below, to where Shargh cooked their evening meals, and she wondered how many would support the blood-born Chief, and how many Arkendrin if they were called upon to fight? In the past, Tarkenda could have listed them off – from those high on the spur with Voices at Speaks, to their humblest blood-ties – but she couldn’t any longer, for the fighting had shattered old allegiances. The only comfort she could draw was that both sides shared a weariness of death.

Ormadon hissed, and she whirled to see Arkendrin and Irdodun making their way up, Irdodun’s strut unmistakable. Neither had approached the top sorcha since their return from the fighting, but now they came within a length of the door, only stopping when Ormadon raised his spear.

Tarkenda saw that Arkendrin had wasted, but what he’d lost in muscle, he made up for in belligerence. The leg wound had given him a limp, the wound to his face blindness in one eye, so that he tilted his head to glare at her with his sound eye. Envy and hatred had devoured him, leaving him a malevolent and dangerous shell.

‘The Sky Chiefs have sent to me that you harbour the foul creature of the Telling,’ he snarled. ‘Give it to me now!’

Erlken’s absence left only Ormadon’s spear to protect them, Tarkenda realised, and any aid would be far slower than Arkendrin’s sword strokes.

She let her breath sift through her teeth. ‘I don’t think the Sky Chiefs have sent you anything but ill fortune, Arkendrin,’ she said steadily. ‘They’ve taken your speed and strength, your hunter’s eyes and most of your followers. But I trust they haven’t taken your memory of the traditions of deciding matters of import.’

Arkendrin’s head lowered like a wolf smelling out a grahen hole. ‘I could take it,’ he growled.

‘Not with honour,’ retorted Tarkenda.

Arkendrin’s good eye seemed to bulge and Tarkenda felt Ormadon tense.

‘I’ll call a Speak and all those with Voice will know your treachery. You’ll go with it, Chief-mother, into the filth that spawned it.’

With a final glare he limped away, Irdodun by his side, head held high.

‘Irdodun had blood on his cape,’ muttered Tarkenda.

‘I saw it, Chief-mother. Things turn ill.’

‘Yes. I fear for Aronin, Ormadon.’

‘He’s already in the Skylands, Chief-mother, or how else did Arkendrin know of the Healer? What do you intend at the Speak?’

‘I don’t know – I was trading for time,’ admitted Tarkenda.

It was late in the evening when Erlken ducked into the top sorcha, tossed a handful of stone-fruit on the table, and in brutally few words described the slashed remains of his blood-tie. Tarkenda remained motionless in her chair long after he’d gone, dully considering the stone-fruit. They were the same as the Healer’s food.

Heaving up her aching bones, she went to the bed and held the lamp aloft. The light fell softly on the faces of the Healer and Palansa as they slept, and illuminated Ersalan’s, in all its innocent sweetness, as he curled between them.

Tarkenda’s heart quickened, as she almost sensed what the last part of the Telling meant, but even as her mind groped after it, it slipped away.

Tierken knew the allogrenia was either the Renclan or Kenclan Sentinel, but because of the imprecision of the Protectors’ descriptions in Sarnia, he didn’t know which. It didn’t matter. The milder weather and ample moisture of the south had certainly made it immense, and had also created a lush carpet of grasses sufficient to keep twenty-three horses fed while he was in the forest. Marin would camp within the trees’ edge, taking advantage of the canopy’s shelter, and graze the horses here.

If Kira had gone to Talliel, he would be back with Marin in a little over half a moon – the time it took to visit Laryia, acquaint himself with the Clancouncil, and resolve with Protector Commander Kest how the Terak patrolmen here and the Tremen Protectors in Sarnia were to be administered. But if Kira were still in Allogrenia, Marin’s wait could be longer.

Marin came to his side and handed him a mug of cotzee. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to trade the Kirs and Kessomis for the rest of the Terak and Illians?’

‘The risk’s greater here than in there,’ said Tierken, nodding towards the forest. ‘And I want the Tremen to see the full extent of the peoples they’re a part of. Keep your half of the patrol busy, though,’ he added, aware of the Terak and Illian’s need for action.

‘That I will,’ said Marin. ‘They can practise arrow skill by hunting rather than trapping our dinner, and as the stinking Shargh lands are only two days away, there’ll be plenty of scouting to do. I’ll make sure Kalos gets some nice long gallops, and that sister of his. They’ll both be fit for the journey home then.’

Tierken drained his cup and heaved on his pack. His full quiver and bow were clipped to its side, and he wore three knives and a sword at his belt.

‘If the news is ill, I’ll return soon after a moon half,’ he said to Marin. ‘If not, I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

‘I’ll beg Meros for a long wait then, Feailner,’ said Marin, with a smile.

Tierken and his men set off and the forest closed in quickly, the light dimming to green where the trees still held their leaves, and to pale yellow where they didn’t. Not knowing which Sentinel he’d taken bearings from, Tierken was unsure whether he was going due south, or south-west. The Kessomis seemed to have the best sense of direction under the trees though, so he kept Ayled and Serden close.

The possibility of attack was small, but the lack of visibility made Tierken’s shoulders crawl. He stared about as he went, not just alert for any threat, but to acquaint himself with Kira’s lands. The trees muffled noise, so that when birds did give voice, their calls seemed piercing. The scents were strange too, the men’s boots scuffing up countless seasons of leaf-fall and sending rich odours into the air.

Tierken could see nothing edible, despite having memorised descriptions of food plants and trees, and that, combined with his lack of certainty over his direction of travel, made him wish for contact with a Protector patrol. It wasn’t very likely though, he concluded, given that he was in the land of Healers rather than fighters. But the thought had barely crossed his mind when he was surrounded by sword points.

Irid must frequent forests as well as mountains, thought Tierken dryly, as he ordered his men not to draw their weapons, and kept his own hands clear of his belt. Morclan were easiest to pick from the ring of Protectors, for he knew they tended to be tall and fair, and the Protector Leader was a good head taller than Tierken, with eyes that showed intense blue, even in the thickening dusk. The man fitted Kest’s description, and Tierken hoped it was the Protector Commander, for it would save him both time and explanations.

‘State your business,’ the Leader ordered.

Given that the Leader had used Tremen, not Onespeak, he must know they were Terak, and Tierken wondered whether Kest was a man who enjoyed authority for its own sake.

‘I’ve come to visit my sister, the Lady Laryia,’ said Tierken.

The Leader stared at Tierken closely, and the change in him was dramatic. He barked orders and the swords were withdrawn.

‘Welcome to Allogrenia, Terak Feailner,’ he said, bowing low.

‘And you are?’

‘Protector Leader Lis,’ said the man. ‘Protector Commander Kest has ordered all available Protectors to the northern octads, so I regret that I can’t deviate from my patrol. But I’ll assign you a guide, as the forest can be difficult to navigate for the stranger. It will also reduce the tedium of continually explaining your presence to other patrols, Terak Feailner.’

‘I thank you, Protector Leader,’ said Tierken, his opinion of the man improving.

Tierken wondered why Kest had sent Protectors north, and determined to ask their guide, Protector Aris, later. Aris also had the look of Morclan, and although excited and curious about Tierken and his men, was disciplined enough to respond only to Tierken’s questions, rather than ask his own.

Nevertheless, Tierken took the opportunity to describe Terak ways to Aris, realising that the Protector would share his knowing with others. Thus, after Aris had listened to Tierken issue orders in Terak, Illian and Kir as they set camp that night, Tierken had explained how Prince Terak had brought the disparate peoples together after the Sundering. Aris had managed to keep his face expressionless and his mouth shut – no mean feat, thought Tierken, recalling Kira’s early antagonism and the Terak Kutan slurs that had marred the first days of the Terak and Tremen fighting together.

The next day Tierken asked Aris about food plants, and soon had the opportunity to taste some withered sour-ripe – too late in autumn, Aris had said – and pitchie seeds – you have to be very hungry, Aris had commented as Tierken spat them out. But Tierken didn’t ask about Kira. If the news were ill, he’d rather hear it from Laryia.

They passed another allogrenia, also known as the Fourth Eight, or Fourth Enogren. Enogren was a contraction of ‘East–North alwaysgreen,’ Aris explained as they walked on.

As the days of travel passed, Tierken tasted more of Allogrenia’s food, including various types of nuts, some less withered sour-ripe, and mundleberries, which he had to admit were tasty. They also came into contact with two more patrols, adding to Tierken’s disquiet at the large number of men Kest had out under the trees. However, Aris proved reluctant to answer specific questions about the deployment of the patrols.

‘The scouts know you are here, Terak Feailner, and the news of your arrival is being passed between patrols. As soon as it reaches Protector Commander Kest, he will likely divert to join us. He is the best person to discuss Protector matters with you.’

They had long passed the Second Eight when Kest appeared, and there was no mistaking who he was. He strode from the trees to Tierken’s left, looking as battle-hardened as any Terak, exchanging words with Aris before greeting Tierken.

‘Welcome to Allogrenia, Terak Feailner,’ he said with a bow.

Tierken rolled his shoulder to dispel the tension the unexpected appearance of an armed man had caused, annoyed that he’d again failed to see or hear any approach.

‘I thank you, Protector Commander Kest,’ returned Tierken.

‘You travel with just half a patrol?’ said Kest, staring at the Terak.

‘The other half wait on the forest’s edge with the horses.’

Kest nodded. ‘You’re less than half a day from Enogren – the First Eight – and I’ve ordered Aris to rejoin his patrol once you reach it. The path is well marked from there to the Bough, where your sister resides. The Terak patrols you assigned are stationed around the Bough, so no doubt will meet you there. I must return to my patrol, but expect to be at the Bough in six to seven days. We can discuss whatever matters you wish then.’

‘Is the Lord Caledon at the Bough?’ asked Tierken.

‘The Lord Caledon is at the Kashclan longhouse, a quarter day’s walk south-east of the Bough.’

With a nod, Kest set off through the trees.

Tierken’s relief that Caledon was still in Allogrenia was so great that he was barely aware he’d forgotten to ask Kest why he had so many patrols out. And as he went on, he realised that Caledon might actually be living with Kira at the Kashclan longhouse. The thought was daunting, but even were it the case, at least it meant that Kira was still in the forest.

It was a dewy dawn when Tierken finally reached the circle of cleared land surrounding the Bough. He had left his men with the patrols guarding Laryia, who, in Kest’s absence, were under Anvorn’s command. The reunions had been joyful, the men who’d been in Allogrenia for the past moons eager for news of the north.

During their travel, Aris had proudly told how the rebuilt Bough was even more beautiful than the original. But as Tierken surveyed it, he recalled that this was the place where Kira’s father and three brothers had been slaughtered, and where she had barely escaped with her life. And if it were a faithful reproduction of the first Bough, he could see why the Shargh attack had been so successful. Windows lined the sides, and the opening at the end was so large it needed double doors.

However, the absence of a gloomy canopy cheered him as he made his way towards the building, and he wondered whether scouts had alerted Laryia to his arrival. Given Kest’s focus on patrolling, it seemed unlikely, and Tierken smiled as he knocked, anticipating Laryia’s happy surprise.

He heard her light step, its distinctive pattern etched into his memory from her comings and goings along the balcony at the Domain, then the door opened. She was more beautiful than he remembered, her clear brown eyes wide in astonishment. Then with a cry Laryia threw herself into his arms, her tears soaking the shirt on his shoulder, and her belly nudging against him.

‘You’re carrying,’ he gasped.

‘Yes,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Oh, Tierken, I’ve missed you so much.’

She drew him from the chill air into the hall. It was massive, with soaring beams covered in carvings.

‘I could do with a mug of cotzee,’ he said.

‘So could I,’ she said shakily, leading the way to an enormous table next to the cooking place. ‘But unless you’ve brought some with you, you’ll have to make do with thornyflower tea.’

‘Thornyflower tea it is,’ he said, looking around. Despite the size, the layout looked like the Keshall.

‘Tresen still sleeping?’ he asked.

‘Gathering with Miken,’ said Laryia, raking up the coals and setting a wooden pan on top.

Then she sat opposite and took his hands. ‘Tierken –’

‘You must have been carrying when you left Sarnia,’ interrupted Tierken, reluctant suddenly to broach the subject that had gnawed at him for moons and driven him here.

‘I was,’ said Laryia.

The water began to bubble and she rose and filled their cups, then came back to her seat.

‘I met Protector Commander Kest on the way in from the forest’s edge,’ said Tierken.

‘What did he say?’ asked Laryia sharply.

‘Not much. He was in a hurry to return to his patrol. He did tell me that the Lord Caledon was at the Kashclan longhouse though.’

‘He is,’ confirmed Laryia, anxious eyes fixed on his.

‘With Kira?’

‘No.’

The relief was exquisite, but Laryia’s distress was plain.

‘What is it?’ he asked, alarm building.

‘Kira’s gone, Tierken.’

‘Gone?’

‘She’s gone to the Shargh.’

Tierken strode up and down, barely aware of doing so. Of all the things he’d feared, nothing could have prepared him for this. He had three patrols south with him, and Kalos waited on the forest’s edge. He could all but feel the power of the stallion beneath him, the strength in his sword arm as he slashed down, the satisfying spray of Shargh blood. But even if he attacked in full force, he wouldn’t reach Kira before a Shargh blade did.

How they must be salivating as they planned how to wring every last concession from those who’d defeated them. In having her, they thought they had everything, and they did – everything that gave joy and meaning to his life. But, as he glanced at Laryia, with her dark anxious eyes and her hands folded over her belly, he knew that he couldn’t sacrifice what had been won for Kira. And so, in the end, it wouldn’t be the Shargh who killed her, it would be him.

‘Kira said that if she were to return, it would be before the full moon,’ said Laryia in a small voice.

‘She won’t return.’

‘What will you do, Tierken?’

‘I’ll take the Terak patrols and wipe the Shargh Grounds from the maps. I’ll slaughter every last one of them, kill every ebis and cut down every tree. I’ll scour their filth from the land so thoroughly that no one will ever know they existed. The pyre will be visible from the north, the flames so high that the Tain will think that all the world burns. Then I’ll go back to Sarnia, and when your first son is born, you’ll bring him north to be trained to take my place.’

‘Tresen won’t want to leave here.’

‘Tresen will go where you go, or else you’ll leave him behind with his own kind. We’ll let the forests close over them again, Laryia, let things be as they were.’

‘You accepted the kin-link, Tierken.’

‘For Kira’s sake. Sarnia will remain open to them, even though I have no need of Kasheron’s folk.’

‘Kira asked that no revenge be taken, for her sake,’ said Laryia. ‘She said –’

Laryia stopped as the Bough door opened and Miken and Tresen appeared.

Miken and Tresen had come across scouts and the scouts’ news had brought them swiftly back to the Bough. Now, as Miken waited to greet the northern Feailner, at least one of the reasons for Kira’s bonding was clear. Despite his dark hair and skin, Tierken had Kandor’s face. But he also looked pure Terak Kutan, less tall and muscular than the Terak patrols that lurked near the Arborean, but deadlier.

Laryia had obviously told Tierken of Kira’s departure, and every sinew of his body reeked murderous intent, his hand resting on one of the many knives at his belt as he received Tresen’s formal greeting.

Tresen finished, then Miken stepped forward and bowed. ‘Welcome to Allogrenia, Tierken,’ he said.

‘I thank you.’

‘I’ve long wanted to speak to you of Kira,’ said Miken.

‘It’s too late for that.’

‘We still have some time before the full moon, and as the Leader of Kira’s clan, and as someone who loves her as a father, I’m keen that the reasons for her actions are properly understood. If she has gone to her death, then I want her memory to be honoured, and only the truth is capable of doing that.’

‘I’ll not share a roof with the Tallien.’

‘There’s no need to come to my longhouse. We can take a walk together, if you will.’

Tierken nodded abruptly and Miken led him outside and turned north, his only intention to choose a route with the least risk of meeting Caledon. In his present mood, Tierken would likely kill Caledon, whether Caledon was armed or not. Tierken’s shock at Kira’s loss had crystallised into anger and blame, and while his anger still looked for an outlet, he’d certainly found one for the blame.

As they strode along the Drinkwater Path, Miken realised that the Warens would actually be the best place in Allogrenia to take Tierken. It was where the Protectors trained and lived, and it was probably the only aspect of Tremen life that Tierken would have any affinity with.

They went in silence, and it was Tierken who finally broke it. ‘You said you’d speak of Kira, Clanleader.’

‘And I will,’ said Miken. ‘The Drinkwater’s a pleasant place to sit, and is only a little ahead. In the early days, Kasheron’s people carted their drinking water from it. Hence the name.’

Tierken made no reply but Miken was relieved to see that some of his tension had eased. By the time they reached the Drinkwater, Tierken might even be amenable to words, rather than weapons.

When they came to the river Miken led him along its bank to where a tumble of pale boulders lay exposed and they sat down.

Miken was about to begin when he glanced down. ‘You wear Kasheron’s ring!’ he gasped in shock.

‘Kira sent it to me when Commander Pekrash was killed and I took command of the Tremen,’ said Tierken. ‘I’ll hand it back before I leave. Terak Feailners have no need of rings to mark their rulership.’

Tierken’s profile was identical to Kira’s and Kandor’s, and Miken’s shock deepened.

‘Why did Kira break your bonding?’ he blurted, robbed of his carefully planned words.

‘Surely she told you.’

‘Kira said she persuaded you to bond against your better judgement, but Laryia said your preference was for the more permanent system of marriage.’

‘It’s irrelevant now.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘No one walks out of Shargh settlements, Clanleader.’

‘With respect, you’ve only lost Kira once, Tierken, whereas I’ve lost her three times. When Kira first left to seek help from you, our kin, the quest was so perilous that we believed her dead. There was great rejoicing when news came that she lived. We . . . I . . . expected her to return, but then Tresen told us she’d bonded to you and was to remain in the north. So I lost her a second time. And then, unlooked for, she returned, only to leave again. The experience has taught me to hold onto hope for as long as possible.’

‘You tell me nothing I don’t already know,’ said Tierken, getting to his feet.

‘Very well,’ said Miken, rising also. ‘I will tell you something that only Kira, Kest and I know. Something that so shamed Kira that she forced Kest to pledge to keep it secret. I guessed what it was, but I’ve not even told Tenerini. I understand that it may seem like a small thing to you, Tierken, being of Terak’s line, but it isn’t to those of us who Kasheron seeded, whose abhorrence of violence permeates every part of our lives. Nor was it a small thing to Kira.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Kira has a faint scar under her right cheekbone.’

‘I know it.’

‘It was a cut caused by the ring you wear, inflicted when the ring adorned her father’s hand. The Tremen do not strike each other, Tierken; even men who have drunk too much withyweed ale do not come to blows. It takes Kest many moons in the Warens to get Protectors to raise swords to each other. For a parent to strike a child is unheard of, and for the Healer Leader – who embodies all Kasheron believed in – to inflict violence on anyone, least of all his own daughter, is the ultimate act of betrayal, of her, and of us.’

Miken fought to steady but Tierken didn’t notice, thinking of his and Kira’s final argument. He’d replayed the scene in the Meeting Hall over and over again, because it had been the last time he had seen her. She’d left him, Tierken had concluded, because it had been one quarrel too many on top of his unrelenting demands.

But now he saw it differently. In their other arguments, she’d flung as many insults as he had, and even when he’d been sufficiently incensed to lay hands on her – as he had at the Breshlin and in Kessom – she’d been uncowed.

However, in that last argument, she hadn’t retaliated. She’d simply looked at him with an expression he hadn’t understood – until now.

‘Why tell me this, Clanleader?’ he asked harshly. ‘You must know that I came here to take Kira back with me. If, by some extraordinary gift of Irid’s grace she survives the Shargh, you’ll lose her a fourth time.’

‘When Kasheron and his folk came to the forest, they were so enamoured with the springleslips that they kept them confined. But as the seasons went by and they grew to love the trees and the dance of sunlight before the wind, they were content to leave the springleslips free. I love Kira, but for her to be happy, she must be allowed to be as she is.’

‘Even if it kills her?’

‘Sometimes the springleslip is taken by the owl, Tierken, but it dies in flight, wings outstretched in the warm, emerald air, not crouched in the bottom of a cage.’

A chill wind cut down from the Braghans and Tarkenda shivered as she and Palansa made their way to Arkendrin’s sorcha for the Speak. Palansa wore the circlet of chiefship and Ormadon followed with the ceremonial hide and Erboran’s flatswords and spears.

By rights, the Speak should have been held in the Chief’s sorcha, but Palansa had agreed to hold it in Arkendrin’s, despite it strengthening his claims to the chiefship. Palansa wanted to avoid exposing Ersalan and Kira to Arkendrin’s loathsome gaze, and it was a measure of Palansa’s trust in Kira that she’d left Ersalan in her care, both now guarded by Erlken and his lesser blood-ties.

Tarkenda knew that most of the Shargh’s knowing of the Telling was as thin as wood smoke, and that this would aid Arkendrin. He would likely argue that it was the Healer’s seeing of the ‘setting sun’ that had triggered the Shargh’s destruction, and that only her death could end their suffering. He might also suggest that the Healer had tainted Tarkenda, Palansa and Ersalan with her foulness, and that they too must be destroyed.

Arkendrin still had admirers and he could call on hate and fear to strengthen his cause, whereas she and Palansa were hampered by being women. All they could do was to argue that the Sky Chiefs – in their wisdom and care for the Shargh – had guided the Healer to Ersalan to continue his healing, so that the Shargh could continue to be blessed by a rightful and first-born Chief. To harm the Healer would be to treat the Sky Chiefs’ beneficence with contempt, an insult that wouldn’t go unpunished.

Palansa had managed to communicate to the Healer that Arkendrin knew of her presence, and that a meeting of the Shargh had been called. The Healer’s terror had been plain, and Tarkenda felt scarcely better, her visions and the last part of the Telling sitting like a stone on her heart.

But whatever Palansa’s feelings, she looked authoritative and calm as she settled on the hide and stared down Arkendrin’s cronies. The sorcha was already crowded, the air soured by too many breaths in too small a space, but Arkendrin and Irdodun had yet to arrive. No doubt they were intent on making the Speak wait for their grand entrance, thought Tarkenda in disgust.

On the spur above, Arkendrin and Irdodun worked their way around from the back of the highest sorcha, murdering each guard in turn. Too quick to be satisfying, thought Irdodun, as he clamped his hand over a young Shargh’s mouth, slashed his dagger across his throat, and lowered his body to the ground.

Inside the sorcha, Ersalan stirred, and Kira was about to pick him up when she heard a soft thump from outside. She froze, heart pounding. There were other sounds, too – furtive shufflings and a suppressed grunt, and Kira crept to the sorcha wall and listened. But then Ersalan grizzled and she went back to the bed and scooped him up. There were guards around the hut, she reassured herself, as Ersalan snuggled against her.

Erlken heard a thump too and spun in time to see Irdodun appear around the sorcha’s side. He lunged towards Irdodun just as Arkendrin attacked from behind. The slash intended to cut Erlken’s throat went awry, the flatsword embedding in Erlken’s shoulder instead. In a flash, Arkendrin pulled the dagger from his belt and thrust it into Erlken’s chest. Erlken crashed to the ground and then Arkendrin plunged through the door flap into the sorcha.

Kira spun, holding Ersalan close. Arkendrin stood before her, blood dripping from his hands and jacket, and Kira’s heart all but failed her.

‘Take the everest!’ the voice in her head screamed, but she couldn’t. It would kill her babe and leave Ersalan unprotected. Then a second Shargh appeared, his lips curling in a smile, and Kira thrust Ersalan under the bed.

Arkendrin reached her in a stride, smashed her to the floor, then fell upon her, gouging at her eyes with his bloodied hands. Ersalan shrieked in terror and Kira pulled up her knees to protect her belly, sobbing with pain and effort as she struggled to fend off Arkendrin.

Irdodun didn’t join the attack, but hovered at Arkendrin’s shoulder, on his blind side. Arkendrin had the creature by the hair now, and was using it to slam its head into the floor. Irdodun tensed, then, as the creature lay lifeless and Arkendrin fumbled at his belt for his missing dagger, Irdodun took careful aim and plunged his blade into Arkendrin’s back.

For a moment nothing happened and then Arkendrin turned his head and stared balefully at Irdodun with his sighted eye. Irdodun scrabbled backwards, fearing Arkendrin would attack, but instead he crashed sideways and lay still.

Pausing only to wrench his dagger free, Irdodun reached under the bed and dragged out the screaming child. Then a blur of movement made him spin, dropping the child as he thrust aside the clumsily held sword of the Chief-wife, and clamped his hand around her wrist. It was turning out to be a good day’s work, he thought, as he brought his dagger tip up under her jaw. In one sweet moment he would have destroyed all claimants to the chiefship.

But then, incomprehensibly, an agony of white fire exploded in his belly and he lost his grip on her. The last thing he saw, as blackness stole his sight, was the Chief-wife sweep up her child and hold him close.

Caledon wasn’t surprised by Tierken’s arrival in Allogrenia, nor Miken’s not very subtle suggestion that he avoid the northern ruler.

Laryia’s brother is understandably upset that Kira has delivered herself into the Shargh’s hands, and needs time to understand the reasons for her actions, Miken had said. The best way for him to do so is to spend time with his sister and Tresen at the Bough – undisturbed.

The Kashclan leader feared that Tierken would kill his rival for having been with Kira, then failing to keep her safe. But it was a risk Caledon was going to have to take. Kira’s absence had given him time to remember that he was a Placidien, and how a Placidien must act.

The star-sendings that had brought about the astounding symmetry of Tierken and Kira’s union were rare, Caledon having experienced them only one time previously. He’d been high in the western Silvercades when a storm had swept in and he’d taken refuge in a fissure. As he’d waited for the squall to pass, he’d struggled to the far end and peered out of the opening, astonished to see a small mountain lake directly below him. And as he’d looked, the sun and rain had created a rainbow.

Caledon had never seen a rainbow of such intensity, and although the wind raged behind him, the lake remained still, gifting Caledon the rainbow’s other half. The revelation of the circle was both fleeting and profound, giving form to what Caledon had long sensed: that earthly things were but fragments of a wholeness that the stars strove to re-establish. The stars had gifted such a possibility once before, when they’d allowed the birthing of the twin princes, Kasheron and Terak.

Had the twins ruled harmoniously together, the entire north would have been made whole. But they’d warred instead. Then, with their Healer part lost, the Terak tendency to brutality had stayed dormant only because the Shargh had remained meek. But now that savagery had well and truly woken.

Meanwhile, by hiding deep in the forests, Kasheron’s people had condemned their healing to a slow dwindling. Even though their isolation had thrown up instances of extraordinary prowess – three women who could take pain – cutting themselves off from alternative ways of doing atrophied other skills. Their isolation had also prevented new blood from entering, and despite the strictures forbidding first-generation bonding within parental clans, the generations that followed had no choice but to bond with kin-links.

There were other dangers inherent in Kasheron’s choice too. Caledon knew that even had the Shargh or some other human enemy not penetrated the trees, it was inevitable that a catastrophe, such as the sickness he had once seen devastate a people called the Ashkali, would one day befall the Tremen. And like the Ashkali, the Tremens’ small numbers and limited resources would make recovery impossible.

And so the stars, in their generosity, had again offered the possibility of wholeness. In the north, where a barren ruler held sway, a nephew had been born, and in the south, a female Healer with the courage to leave the trees. And to ensure that the significance of these events was clear, the stars had marked both with gold eyes. But the potential for wholeness was again one that held the seeds of greater disintegration – an outcome Caledon was determined to prevent.

If Kira lived to return, she must be reconciled with Tierken and must return north with him. That was the surest way of curtailing the Terak’s warlike behaviour, of revitalising the Tremen, and of ensuring healing flourished as a counterbalance to killing. If Kira didn’t live to return, then the task became Laryia’s and Tresen’s, and Caledon’s fulfilment of his responsibilities to the stars would be far more difficult.

Laryia shared her brother’s strength of will, but Tresen was no Kira. Even had he not been terribly damaged by the fighting, he lacked Kira’s fire and determination. He’d certainly be against further bloodshed, but his opposition would put Laryia in the invidious position of denying her northern upbringing, and of having to balance her intense love for her brother with that for Tresen. Any fracturing that followed would be very personal and very painful indeed.

And if Laryia did leave the south, with or without her bondmate, there would be little, if any, contact between Sarnia and Allogrenia. The Tremen would slip back into the shadows, but Terak swords would shine bright with the blood of any who stood against them, as well as any they counted enemies.

Miken was aghast when Caledon told him of his intention to visit the Bough, and spent considerable time trying to dissuade him.

‘You know Tierken better than I, for you fought with him in the north,’ Miken said. ‘You would also know, better than I, whether you fought together as friends or simply as those with a shared enemy. But what I do know is that Tierken holds you responsible for Kira’s leaving, despite the attempts of Laryia and myself to convince him otherwise, and that he sees you as a rival for Kira’s affections. For these reasons, I don’t believe he’d hesitate to kill you.’

‘While I love Kira, we’ve never shared a bed,’ said Caledon bluntly. ‘But I don’t think Kira ever denied it to him, most likely because she wanted his trust without doing so. And I’ve never denied it because I was unsure of what the stars intended.’

‘But you’re sure now?’ said Miken.

‘Very sure.’

Miken looked so grave that Caledon lightened his voice. ‘If Tierken does kill me, Clanleader, burn my remains,’ he said. ‘Placidiens believe their essence rejoins the stars at death, and that’s harder to do if it must first struggle out from beneath the earth.’

Still, Caledon felt anything but light-hearted as the distance between him and the Bough narrowed. He may have just witnessed his last dawn, he realised, and his farewells from Talliel, over a year ago, may have been final. Then voices sounded ahead, and Caledon slowed. He couldn’t see anyone, which wasn’t unusual, for the forest dyes allowed the Protectors to blend with the trees. But when men finally came into view, they were Terak, and Tierken was with them.

Tierken’s hand went to his sword, and Caledon stopped as Tierken barked orders and the Terak disappeared into the trees. Clearly Tierken didn’t want any witnesses, thought Caledon, considering whether this was a good or bad sign. He continued on slowly, stopping less than a length from Tierken and bowing.

‘I greet you, northern Feailner,’ he said, ‘and beg speech with you.’

Tierken’s knuckles whitened on his sword hilt, and anger sloughed off him like fire heat. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he snarled.

‘Futures built on lies are apt to fail,’ said Caledon. ‘And although I can’t alter the past, it’s important the truth be known.’

Tierken didn’t reply, but nor did he stride away, and Caledon took that as a sign he was willing to listen, though it would have been preferable to sit somewhere rather than stand in confrontation.

‘The first fact I would speak of involves my dealings with Kira,’ began Caledon, ‘who I met while I was under Shargh attack. Kira killed to save me, and agreed to travel with me, but she trusted me with nothing more than her name.’

‘A wise decision.’

‘Yes, for I lied to her. I took her west towards the Tain, not north, as I pledged. Her eyes suggested she was kin to you, and I wanted your fighters to help the Tain, not be drawn by kin obligation to the Tremen.

‘Once in Maraschin, her healing skills were needed, and that delayed her journey north. It also gave time for trust and affection to grow between us. I used that trust to persuade her that – given the bitterness of the Sundering – she must seek aid from the Tain instead of the Terak, and convinced her that the Tain would aid her people only if the Tremen sent fighters. And I used it to carry message from her back to Allogrenia, requesting those fighters.’

‘And how did you use her affection, Lord Caledon?’

‘I used it to delay her in Maraschin. I didn’t want her reaching the north, but most of all, I didn’t want her in danger. On my return, I intended to bond with or marry her, whichever she chose.’

Tierken had shifted into a fighting stance and Caledon had to force himself not to search the skies for one last glimpse of Aeris.

‘The next part of Kira’s story is known to you,’ he managed to continue. ‘When I first came to Sarnia, Kira let it be known that her heart now lay in your keeping. I wasn’t content with this – as a man – but as a Placidien, it seemed to fit the stars’ intent. When I returned for your sister’s wedding, though, I was troubled by your apparent lack of commitment to the bonding.’

‘Troubled as a man or as a Placidien?’ demanded Tierken.

‘Both. Kira told me that she was content to abide by northern ways and didn’t want to create difficulties for your feailnership. But I feared that if the bonding failed, she’d blame herself, and I knew from my earlier time here that this would be dangerous for her. After I returned to Allogrenia with the Tremen volunteers, the stars troubled my thoughts sufficiently for me to go back to Maraschin. I arrived shortly after Terak Commander Marin.

‘King Adris and I set out on search immediately, and found Kira journeying under Ashmiri protection, but even so, her mare had been slaughtered by a spear clearly intended for her. The Shargh’s continued hunting of Kira worried me enormously, as did her illness.’

‘Kira was ill?’ For the first time, Tierken’s voice held something other than anger or contempt.

‘Yes, on and off from the Azurcades. And increasingly she spoke of the Shargh’s suffering, believing it would breed enough hate for the fighting to erupt again. Coming across a Shargh woman with a sick child strengthened her belief.

‘But this is where I failed the stars. I didn’t see the danger, despite knowing Kandor’s death had caused Kira to risk herself in the past. I was too busy congratulating myself on having taken Kira away from you. I thought her feelings for you would fade along with her distress over the broken bonding.

‘It was only after Miken explained how Kashclan view bonding that I realised Kira would never have bonded with you unless she had intended to remain with you until death. But by then she’d gone to the Shargh.’

‘Because you failed to protect her!’

Tierken’s eyes were as bright as the sun, but Caledon forced himself on. ‘If she’s dead, will you honour the Tremen kin-link?’

Tierken’s sword was at Caledon’s throat in an instant. ‘You dare accuse me of dishonour?’

‘It was a question, not an accusation.’

‘The insinuation was plain!’

‘Allogrenia can’t survive on its own. Will you care for your kin or cast them adrift, as you cast Kira adrift by refusing to accept what she was?’

It was a terrible gamble, but Caledon had to force Tierken to confront the full implications of any break from the Tremen. Tierken’s sword arm was so tense that the blade vibrated against Caledon’s neck. Then there was a rush of air and the flash of yellow eyes as a bird beat past.

‘The mira kiraon,’ murmured Caledon, expecting the words to be his last, but then he saw the extraordinary sight of the gold draining from Tierken’s eyes. He’d seen it happen with Kira’s, and the sight reinforced the potency of their star-link. Caledon was considering how he might use it to persuade Tierken of the veracity of his words – if he lived that long – when the Feailner stepped back. And before Caledon could speak again, Tierken had turned and was striding off through the trees.

The sorcha looked different bare of pelts, thought Tarkenda, like one fresh-built, empty of the sins of the past, but yet to gather to itself the promise of the future.

Fanciful thoughts spawned by too much sherat, she thought dourly, pushing the bowl aside. The only thing different was that the blood-drenched pelts had been dragged outside. Well, that was not the only difference. The pall of threat and fear that had hung over them for so long had gone too. Arkendrin and Irdodun were dead, but the bloodied events had swept away others as well, including Erlken. And Erlken’s death had torn out Ormadon’s heart.

Palansa was with him now, at the head of Erlken’s pyre, honouring the man who’d lost his life protecting Ersalan’s. Further out on the grasslands, Arkendrin and Irdodun burned too, but no one honoured them. By pre-empting the Speak, Arkendrin had insulted those highest on the spur in the grossest possible way; the fact that he’d also murdered was of lesser consequence than the insult to those with Voices.

Tarkenda’s mouth twisted in disgust, and she forced her aching joints to the bed. The Healer still lay as if dead, her face so swollen she was scarcely recognisable, and her arms black and blue where she’d fought off Arkendrin’s blows. Whether the Healer had managed to save her sight, Tarkenda didn’t know, but she’d certainly saved Ersalan.

When Ersalan’s terrified screams had penetrated Arkendrin’s sorcha, Palansa had snatched up Erboran’s flatsword and run as only a mother can, reaching the sorcha in time to see Irdodun drag Ersalan from under the bed. It was the safest place in the sorcha, but not a place so young a child would have the wit to go.

Ersalan slept now, snuggled against the Healer, and Tarkenda nudged him aside, and lifted the Healer’s shift to reassure herself that she didn’t bleed. Then Tarkenda laid her palm over the Healer’s belly, and smiled as she felt the babe squirm.

The shock of discovering that the Healer carried had been yet another layer of horror amongst the carnage. The guard lay drenched in blood, and Ormadon had cradled Erlken’s body and howled out his rage and grief. It had been Urgasen who had taken charge, ordering the removal of Arkendrin and Irdodun, and the pelts, and setting guards. Guards didn’t seem necessary any longer, thought Tarkenda, for Arkendrin’s betrayal of Shargh ways had lost him the loyalty of even his most fervent supporters.

Once Palansa had assured herself Ersalan had suffered no injury, she’d been remarkably calm, despite having killed, and come close to death herself. The storm of sobbing had not overtaken her till late that night, and by then they had stripped the blood-spattered clothes from the Healer and discovered she carried.

‘How could she have risked her babe so?’ Palansa had whispered, aghast.

‘To save yours,’ Tarkenda had replied, understanding flooding her. ‘To save Ersalan, and all the other babes here, to save our sick. And to stop the hatred, to stop the killing.’ The thing that draws no breath . . . It was the babe, curled within the warm liquid of the Healer’s belly. The revelation had left Tarkenda as dizzy as a vision.

But there had been no guiding hand of the Sky Chiefs in her sudden apprehension. It had been a mother’s knowing, shared by women who’d carried their babes safe within them, then lost them to swords, and to spears, and to the sly scuttle-lizard of sickness that slunk in war’s wake.

Kira’s awareness returned slowly, the sickening pain in her head making her glad to slip back into the darkness. But then the pain was replaced by a fierce thirst, forcing her to fight the darkness to gulp down sweetened water. And as she became more lucid, Palansa and Tarkenda fed her as they’d fed Ersalan – small morsels of this and that, moistened to make swallowing easier.

Kira’s lips were split and swollen and her jaws too sore to chew. It was like being a child again, for she was totally dependent on them, even needing to be held to relieve herself. But unlike her childhood, she was never left alone; Tarkenda or Palansa was always with her. When memories of the attack overwhelmed her and she wept, she was enclosed in warm arms, crooned to, and her hair smoothed from her battered face. And they would guide Kira’s hands to her belly, reassuring her that the babe was well. But there was one thing that they couldn’t comfort Kira with, and that was the certainty that she’d ever see again.

Kira’s tentative exploration with her fingers told her only that her eyes were horribly swollen, but she’d known that from their burn and throb. If she could use bruise-ease it might speed their healing, but she lacked the strength to fumble about in her pack, and Palansa lacked enough understanding of Terak words for Kira to explain how to identify it.

Ersalan took his naps beside her, and Kira came to love the smell and feel of him and the relief of knowing he was safe. They were all safe, she sensed, because Tarkenda and Palansa laughed now, and they’d never laughed before.

Kira lay in her cocoon of darkness and thought of Tierken, for memories of him brought her the most comfort and distraction from the fear that the darkness might be permanent. She refused to think of their arguments, or of her leaving of him, thinking instead of when he’d taught her to ride Frost, pointed out the star-storms on the way to Kessom, and pulled her into the bath, laughing at her fright.

And she let her imagination rove over him as her hands had in their love-making: through his silken hair, along the muscles of his flanks, even gently along the scars on his back.

If Arkendrin had blinded her, Kira knew that this might be all that was left to her, but then, as if to rebuff these moments of despair, the babe would stretch or bunch into a ball, reminding Kira that she would always have a part of Tierken far more substantial than memories.

She slid in and out of sleep, having no idea how many days had elapsed before she was able to open one eye to a slit. Blurred light invaded, causing pain in her head, but Kira was overjoyed. Blurred light was better than darkness, and could become sharper – as indeed it did over the following days, until she could find her way around the hut. But with improving sight came anxiety about the passing of time, and when she was finally able to watch the smudgy moon rise, she was horrified to realise how close it was to full.

She turned back from the window flap in panic. ‘I go,’ she said to Palansa. ‘I go now.’

‘You wait,’ said Palansa, indicating Kira’s eyes.

It was Tarkenda who seemed to better understand Kira’s urgency to leave. The two Shargh women exchanged quick words, Palansa obviously unhappy, but seemingly convinced by the older woman.

‘Dawn,’ agreed Palansa reluctantly, and Kira nodded in relief.

To return after the full moon would mean that those who waited for her in Allogrenia would believe her dead. Kira didn’t want to cause them grief, but her main concern was the possibility of revenge being visited upon the Shargh. The thought of Ersalan or Palansa being hurt was unbearable, and if they or other Shargh were now injured or killed, everything she’d risked – and suffered for – would have been for nothing.

It rained that night, and drops still pattered against the sorcha as the darkness slid to silver. Kira breakfasted with Palansa by lamplight, Ersalan perched on Kira’s lap. In a few short moons, she’d be holding her own child, she realised in astonishment.

Then the door flap stirred as Tarkenda entered, rain beading her grey hair. Kira donned her pack, sliding her cape over it and pulling the hood close, while Palansa positioned Ersalan on her hip and arranged her cape over both. Then they ducked out into the rain-drenched dawn, and set off down the spur, the guarding Shargh falling into step behind them.

Tarkenda led the small procession between the skin huts, Kira relieved that most were in darkness, their occupants still in their beds. She was also grateful that she wasn’t going to have to scramble down the steep side of the spur and somehow ford the freezing river again. Even so, the descent was made difficult by the wet ground and by the fact that she could only see out of one eye. Few Shargh witnessed their passing, but those who did palmed their foreheads to Palansa, and stared at Kira.

They stopped where the spur’s slope gave way to the sweep of grasslands.

Tarkenda smiled and laid her hand over Kira’s belly, then bowed low, palmed her forehead and said clearly, ‘Shargh thank you, Ersalan thank you, Tarkenda thank you.’

Kira bowed, touched that Tarkenda had taken the trouble to learn the phrases, then Palansa handed Ersalan to his grandmother.

‘I with you go – one day,’ said Palansa to Kira, holding up her finger.

Tarkenda held out Ersalan and Kira kissed him, her throat tightening as she gripped his pudgy hand for a moment, then she waved him farewell and followed Palansa. Kira was glad to have Palansa’s company on the first part of the journey but she was anxious that Palansa and the guard stay well clear of the forest, for she didn’t know how far the patrol that guarded Laryia roamed.

As they walked, Kira noticed that neither Ormadon nor Erlken were part of their escort, and then she realised she’d seen neither of them since the attack.

‘Ormadon?’ she asked Palansa anxiously, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Palansa pointed back towards the spur.

‘Erlken?’ asked Kira, relieved.

Palansa’s face darkened and she half shook her head.

Kira swallowed, but forced herself to ask the next question, the answer to which determined whether she had any real choice about what she did next. ‘Arkendrin?’

Palansa made several attempts to find Terak words, but in the end she lifted her shirt to reveal a dagger secured in the top of her skirt. Then she made a violent thrusting movement with her hand and smiled maliciously. Kira let out her breath as she realised that his long hunt was finally over, and that she could make her life in Allogrenia without risking those there.

They stopped only briefly to eat, but as the rain thickened and the light faded, Kira stopped again, her unease over the possibility of meeting Terak or Tain scouts strengthening.

‘I go,’ she said to Palansa, pointing to herself, then to the south. ‘You go,’ she added, gesturing to Palansa and the Shargh guard, and then in the direction of the spur.

Palansa started to protest.

‘Northerners, Terak, horses,’ said Kira deliberately.

Palansa’s eyes widened, then she spoke quickly to the guard, who stiffened and peered about.

‘I thank you . . .’ began Kira formally, but Palansa embraced her and Kira hugged her back, feeling the babe wedged between them.

Palansa smiled and patted Kira’s belly, then bowed deeply and palmed her forehead.

‘Friend,’ she said solemnly.

‘Friend,’ agreed Kira, overwhelmed by the potency of so small a word.

Kira raised her hand in farewell as the small group of Shargh turned back, then she went on, refusing to think of anything other than the fact that she was at last, truly going home.

The rain grew heavier and Kira turned her face to it, hoping the cool water would help the swelling and even perhaps coax her other eye to open. She walked through the night, for there was no shelter and she had no gifan, and by the time the east lightened, she was sodden, chilled and exhausted. But the rain showed no signs of stopping and she trudged on.

Then there was a flash of white. At first Kira thought it was an illusion caused by the rain and the rising sun, but then she realised it was a silver horse, or perhaps two silver horses. Terak scouts, she realised, relieved that she’d sent Palansa and the guard back when she had.

One of the horses looked a lot like Kalos and Kira’s heart pounded, though she knew it couldn’t be. She tilted her head, straining her one functioning eye, but the horses remained unclear. Then she realised that the horsemen were going to pass by without seeing her. She was trying to decide whether she should shout and wave at them when they suddenly veered towards her. As they drew closer, she realised that one of the riders was Marin!

The horse slowed to a stop, and Marin jumped down, his face filled with astonished horror.

‘In Meros’s name, Lady! In Meros’s name!’ he repeated over and over.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ she reassured him, having no idea how her face actually looked. Judging from Marin’s reaction it probably looked terrible.

‘It’s healing,’ she said. ‘Soon I’ll be as good as new.’ I hope, she added silently.

‘But – I thought you were with your people in the trees. The Feailner said –’

‘Tierken’s here?’ gasped Kira.

‘Yes, Lady – but he headed into the trees a moon third ago. It’s Kalos here I’m giving a bit of exercise to. You can see it’s Kalos, can’t you, Lady?’ asked Marin anxiously.

‘I can indeed,’ Kira reassured him, her tumbling thoughts making her belly churn. She smoothed down her cape in an attempt to still it, and Marin gaped.

‘Yes, I carry,’ confirmed Kira, a little thrill moving over her as she voiced the fact for the first time.

Marin rubbed at his hair, laughed, then sobered. ‘It’s good to see you, Lady, no matter the state of your face. And they’ll be rejoicing in the north. Well, let’s get you back to camp where it’s dry and warm.

‘Servil, you take Kalos, and I’ll bring the Lady on the mare. She’s quieter.’

Servil dismounted and held the mare steady. ‘She’s a full sister to Kalos,’ said Marin as he adjusted the harness. ‘The Feailner brought her south for you.’

‘She’s beautiful,’ said Kira, the roil in her belly increasing at Marin’s words. Of course Tierken intended to take her back to the north, she realised. She of all people should know that he wouldn’t willingly relinquish his control over her.

‘There’s not many of that line that aren’t beautiful,’ said Marin. ‘Now, up you go.’

His hand stayed on her arm till she was in the saddle then he leapt up nimbly behind, delaying only till Servil was mounted before turning south and breaking into a gentle canter. His chest was warm behind her, and his arms – as he steered the mare – enclosed her with safety.

It continued to rain, but a dark strip of trees gradually emerged, and then, despite the blurriness, she could see the unmistakable shape of the Kenclan Sentinel. Marin kept the mare at a canter till they were almost at the trees and Kira was amazed to see horses grazing under the severs and espins. They rode on and, as the canopy thickened, campfires appeared, and gifans, and the smell of roasting meat – and nuts.

‘Welcome home, Lady,’ said Marin.

Tierken stood in the chill air outside the Bough, staring up at the full moon. Since he’d been in the forests he’d longed for an open sky, but now he detested it, for what it showed confirmed Kira’s death. If I am to return, it will be before the next full moon, she’d written. Not that he needed confirmation – only a fool could believe that she still lived. He had no reason to linger here at all, except that Laryia had begged him to delay, and he’d agreed to, not wanting to upset her and risk injury to what could be his heir.

It struck him that he was about to repeat history; that any son of Laryia would grow up with the fear that his uncle – Tierken – would marry and seed a son to supplant him. But Tierken dismissed the idea angrily. Unlike him, the boy would grow up with certainty, knowing his place and his future as the Feailner of his people!

Laryia had also wanted him to wait for the Clancouncil, but Tierken had declined. Meeting with them would be a pointless exercise, delaying his business in the Shargh lands and the resumption of his neglected duties in Sarnia. In any case, as he’d pointed out to Laryia, Miken was no longer at his longhouse, and a Clancouncil couldn’t be held without him.

Gone to the Kenclan Sentinel to wait for Kira, according to Tresen.

Tierken’s lip curled. Miken’s belief that Kira might return was breathtakingly naive, and symbolised the weakness that made the Tremen vulnerable. It was the same naivety that had sent Kira to her death. He struggled to steady. Undoing mistakes is like trying to find the first twig in a dwinhir nest, Poerin had once told him. But he’d tried anyway, tracing every small fracture that had finally broken him and Kira apart. And all too late.

Lamplight spilled from the Bough as the doors opened and Laryia appeared. ‘Tierken? Come and eat.’

He turned back to the light and Laryia’s warm arm reached around him.

‘Come,’ she said softly.

Miken had parted from Kira on the edge of the Arborean, but she still loitered there long after he had disappeared in the direction of Kashclan. The Bough’s shutters were closed against the cold but Kira knew Tierken was inside, with Tresen and Laryia, and that she didn’t want to face him. She hugged herself and shivered, trying to draw strength from Miken’s words.

You have decisions to make, he’d said. But for the first time in your life, you must decide on the basis of what will bring happiness to you, not happiness to those around you. If you decide to stay in Allogrenia, then Tenerini and I will welcome you with joy. If you decide to go north, then Tenerini and I will farewell you with joy. But it is you who must decide, and before you do so, you must let yourself heal.

Miken had begun her healing by appearing at Marin’s camp, by not hounding her with questions, by holding her as she wept and by laughing with her as the babe kicked under his hand. And he’d cleaned her eyes with bruise-ease, and poulticed the one that remained shut with falzon leaves and winter-bloom, until, as they walked in the last day, it had opened. It showed her only shadows, but she was confident it would improve.

Kira stared at the Bough and gripped her cold hands together. She had faced the Shargh and survived, she reminded herself as she set off across the Arborean, but her dread grew as she neared the doors. She would greet Tierken as one Feailner to another, owing him courtesy as the Leader of her kin. There was no reason why they couldn’t be civil to each other.

It was gloriously warm inside, and filled with the smells of thornyflower tea and fresh nutbread. Tierken, Tresen and Laryia were taking their evening meal, but turned at the sound of the door. Kira advanced towards them, only keeping her wobbly legs moving by fixing her functioning eye on a point above Tierken’s head.

‘Welcome to Allogrenia, Feailner,’ she said with a bow.

Tierken rose, his eyes like the fire flames, but it was Laryia who was first to reach her. She flung her arms around Kira, sobbing in relief, then feeling the babe, stepped back in astonishment. ‘You carry,’ she gasped.

Tierken and Tresen’s eyes jerked to her belly in shock.

‘You went to the Shargh knowing you carried,’ hissed Laryia. ‘How dare you risk Tierken’s child!’

‘Kira’s returned, Laryia. That’s all that matters,’ said Tresen, enclosing Kira in a hug.

‘How could you?’ demanded Laryia. ‘How could –’

‘I’m going to bathe and change,’ said Kira, desperate to escape. ‘We can speak later if you wish.’

She picked up a bucket of bathing water from where it sat warming by the fire, but Tierken almost snatched it from her, following her to her room and slamming the door behind them. It was dark but he knew where the lamp was and had it lit in a few moments.

Kira sat stiffly on the bed as he paced. Fury flashed from his every pore and she knew why.

‘The Shargh who beat me is dead,’ she said. ‘He was the Shargh who took me when I gathered at the Thanaval, and the one who killed Brightwings. He hated my eyes and tried to blind me, but the mother of the next Leader saved me. My eyes are healing, Feailner. I won’t have the Shargh who helped me harmed.’

‘I’ll scour them from the earth! Every single, stinking last one of them!’

‘No,’ said Kira. ‘As Tremen Leader, I forbid it.’

‘Forbid it? Have you seen yourself?’ he demanded, rounding on her.

‘I went to them willingly; they didn’t take me this time.’

‘Carrying our child!’ he shouted.

Kira gripped the edge of the bed. ‘I didn’t know I carried a child when I left, Feailner, but as I’m bonded to no one, the child’s mine. And now, as I need to bathe, I request that you leave.’

Tierken raised his hand to remonstrate and Kira flinched. He stopped, horror mingling with the anger on his face. ‘Kira . . .’

She looked away. ‘I’m asking you to leave, Feailner,’ she said.

The door slammed again and Kira clasped her shaking hands over her belly and breathed slowly in an effort to soothe herself and the squirming child.

‘A poor beginning despite all my good intentions, little one,’ she muttered.

By the time Kira had bathed, found some clean clothes and forced herself to return to the hall, only Tierken remained, and he seemed to have calmed.

‘Laryia and Tresen have gone to their bed. They beg your pardon for the poor welcome accorded you and look forward to making amends in the morning,’ said Tierken.

‘I lied to Tresen, so it’s I who will need to beg his,’ said Kira, taking a seat. ‘And as for Laryia, I can understand her upset. But what I said was true, Feailner. I wouldn’t have gone to the Shargh if I’d known I carried.’

‘And would you have left Sarnia?’

Kira paused, shocked for a moment that she’d never considered the question before. ‘Yes. I realised you needed a Terak wife, not a Tremen Healer.’

‘I need you!’ he said, catching her bruised hand, then releasing it as Kira winced. ‘Curse the stinking Shargh! Even if you care nothing for yourself, in attacking the Tremen Leader, they’ve attacked my peoples. I won’t let that go unpunished!’

‘It’s not an act of strength to murder children,’ said Kira, more steadily than she felt.

‘Then I’ll murder the men!’ said Tierken, storming up and down again.

‘The result will be the same. Without their men, the Shargh women will starve, as will their children. I won’t have it, Feailner.’

‘You can’t prevent it!’

Kira struggled from her seat. ‘I’ll trade for them, then. I’ll put my body in your bed in exchange for the Shargh children safe in theirs. I’ll do it, Feailner, if that’s what it takes. Shall we smack hands?’

‘I don’t want you on that basis!’

There was a short silence filled by the hiss and crack of the fire, and Kira sagged back into her seat. ‘Perhaps we should discuss these things on the morrow,’ she said. ‘We’re both tired.’

‘I never have any confidence that you’ll be there on the morrow.’

‘I bonded with you!’

‘Then broke it.’

She blanched and Tierken cursed himself. Ever since he’d been here he’d been told repeatedly how seriously Kashclan viewed bonding, and yet he’d learned nothing. He’d slipped straight back into his old angry ways of dealing with her – the ways that had driven her from him. It was just that he’d been utterly unprepared for her reappearance, battered almost beyond recognition and carrying his child.

‘I failed to realise that the bitter history between our peoples was too great to overcome,’ said Kira. ‘It was my mistake to bond and I beg your pardon for it.’

Tierken took a deep breath. ‘Do you think Tresen and Laryia will part?’ he asked carefully.

Startled, Kira’s bloodied eyes flashed to his. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Then the difficulty isn’t between the Terak and the Tremen, is it? It’s between us. And I’ll only agree that it can’t be overcome if you tell me now that you no longer have love for me.’

Tierken’s heart thudded, knowing his gamble was as great as leaving the Rehan mouth open during the fighting.

‘I bonded with you!’

It was a cry and only now did he fully comprehend it. She had given up her home under the trees, and the people here she loved, in order to stay with him in the north, pledging herself to him as her only lover. So much encapsulated in so few words, and this time, bringing him enormous relief.

‘After Eris died, I delayed in Sarnia because –’ He stopped at Kira’s horrified expression.

‘Eris is dead?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry, Kira, I’d forgotten that you –’

‘She made me pledge not to come. If only . . .’

Tears streamed down her bruised cheeks and Tierken fought the urge to take her in his arms, knowing she wouldn’t welcome him.

Instead he said, ‘Eris told me that she was pleased you’d kept your pledge. She knew it was her time, and Kessomis have strong beliefs about such things. “Don’t cling like withered fruit,” they say, meaning that a tree must shed the old for the new to come.’

‘That’s true of so much,’ said Kira softly. ‘It’s late, Feailner, and on the morrow there’s so many things I must do. I must seek out Caledon to begin with. Is he at Kashclan?’

‘As far as I know,’ replied Tierken, managing to keep his voice even. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No.’

‘The Lord Caledon and I have met since your departure and neither of us suffered any wounds,’ said Tierken, trying to sound like her visit to the Tallien was inconsequential.

‘No.’

‘I’ll send a small patrol with you then. I don’t want you wandering about alone – in case you fall,’ he added quickly.

‘I’ve been treading the forest since I was a child. I’m not going to fall.’

‘You weren’t carrying then, and Laryia tells me it’s affected her balance. And your eyes will make it more dangerous too.’

Kira hesitated, seeming to see some merit in the argument. ‘I’ll take Tresen with me then, if he’s agreeable.’

Tierken nodded. ‘And you’ll be back . . .?’

‘When I’ve finished speaking to Caledon,’ she said, heading to her room. But then she paused with her hand on the knob. ‘It will probably be two or three days,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I bid you good night, Feailner.’

‘And I you, Kira.’

Kira was glad to get the uncomfortable exchange of apologies over with the next morning. Laryia kissed her formally on each cheek, and Tresen accepted with a nod her carefully rehearsed words of regret at breaking her pledge to him. Perhaps Tresen’s lack of recriminations had something to do with Tierken standing at her shoulder, she thought, as she and Tresen made their way through the knee-high mist. If so, Tresen was probably only waiting to clear the Bough before making his true feelings known.

And so it proved to be, Tresen rounding on her as soon as the trees had thickened. ‘And are we to look forward to season upon season of peace from the Shargh now?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know.’

‘So lying to me, breaking faith with the Tremen and all but getting yourself killed was a waste of time?’

‘I’ve apologised for lying to you, Tresen. As for the rest of it, time will tell,’ she said, going on.

Tresen took her hand, and when he spoke again, he was calmer. ‘Are you going north again with the Feailner then?’

Kira kept her gaze on the way ahead. ‘No. I’ve broken faith with him too.’

‘Then you can’t resign the leadership.’

‘With so many broken pledges besmirching my character, I can’t not resign it.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said.

‘I won’t be in competition with you, Tresen, if that’s what you think,’ said Kira, glancing at him. ‘I won’t be encouraging the ill to come to me, rather than to the Bough. I’ll have my babe to care for.’

‘I didn’t mean that either. If you don’t go north, Laryia and I will have to.’

‘What?!’ exclaimed Kira, whirling round and slipping.

Tresen’s grip shifted to her arm. ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘If you can’t see properly, then slow your steps.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ said Kira.

‘I thought Laryia had explained to you about Darid, the last Feailner, who had no children. That’s why Tierken became Feailner.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘And that, like him, Tierken won’t take another bondmate now you’ve broken with him. Which means there’s no heir to the feailnership. Tierken’s already discussed with Laryia how a son of ours will be the next Feailner.’

‘But . . . do you want to go to the north, Tresen?’

‘No. However, I’m not prepared to tear Laryia in half either. She knows duty to her people must come first. And as she was willing to come here, I must be willing to go there. But I’ve not told Miken or Tenerini yet, or Mikini.’

‘There’s no reason for Tierken not to take a Terak wife,’ said Kira.

‘Apparently he loves you and doesn’t want anyone else,’ said Tresen dryly.

They went on in silence, all Kira’s carefully thought out certainties in tatters: have her babe, live quietly in the Kashclan longhouse, heal when there was a need – and forget her time in the north.

‘And what are you going to say to the Lord Caledon?’ asked Tresen.

‘I have to beg his pardon, for the same reason I begged yours,’ said Kira, struggling to quell her irritation at Tresen’s persistent questioning.

‘He’ll try to persuade you to go north too.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s told Miken that, without your influence, contact between Allogrenia and Sarnia is likely to end. Personally, I wouldn’t care, but we’ve lost so many men one way or the other, it’s hard to see how we’d survive without the Terak. Caledon also believes that the north will become more violent, and I think he’s right. Tierken was only waiting for the full moon before setting off to annihilate the remaining Shargh – and he might still, unless you persuade him otherwise.’

‘So, I’m to fix that problem too, am I?’

‘To be honest, you going north with the Feailner would fix a lot of problems, Kira.’

‘It’s all right for you –’ began Kira angrily.

Tresen’s hand brought her round to face him. ‘It hasn’t been all right for me since that stinking Shargh spear found my back!’ He took a steadying breath. ‘Look Kira, it’s obvious to anyone who knows you that you love the man – though the ’green only knows why. And there’s no rule that says you can’t bond to the same person twice. But if that’s untenable, then marry him.’

‘Marry him?’ gasped Kira.

‘Yes, marry him,’ said Tresen. ‘What difference does it make? Do you think I married Laryia with the idea in my head that I could walk away? No one goes into bonding or marriage with that intention. You loved him enough to bond with him before. Are you telling me that your love is dead?’

Kira shook her head. ‘I can’t be what he wants.’

‘I don’t think that’s the reason, clanmate,’ said Tresen more gently. ‘I think your stinking father made you feel so worthless that you don’t believe that anyone could possibly love you.’

Kira stared at Tresen dumbly, her throat too tight to speak.

‘I don’t know the future, Kira, but Tierken’s asked you to marry him more than once. He’s abandoned his duties in Sarnia to chase you south, and he’s refusing to marry anyone else.’

Kira still said nothing and he took her by the shoulders. ‘Kandor’s dead and you came into death to bring me back. We both know the bitterness of death, its blackness and its burning. But look around you, Kira. Look at the sunlight, how it gilds each leaf edge, how it warms the shoots uncurling through the litter. This world’s made whole through love. Don’t turn away from it, clanmate, I beg you.’

Tears shone in his eyes and she came to his arms. ‘I love you, Tresen,’ she mumbled, her face buried in his shoulder.

‘I love you too,’ he said, ‘which is why I say these things to you.’

They stood enclosed for a long while, then Tresen took her hand again. ‘Come, at this rate it will be midday before we reach Kashclan.’

Caledon didn’t seem shocked by her appearance or the fact that she carried, and Kira wondered whether Miken had prepared him, or whether Caledon was simply better at hiding his feelings. Certainly his Placidien sensibilities seemed to have reasserted themselves in her absence, his concerns now centring on the maintenance of the Terak–Tremen unification.

They sat at the table in Tresen’s rooms, for though Caledon accepted her battered appearance, Kira knew that her clan-kin wouldn’t, and she didn’t want any more ill feeling directed towards the Shargh.

When Kira offered her apology, Caledon simply told her that he had forgotten for a time the significance of her having bonded to Tierken, and the strength of her passion for healing, and that apologies were unnecessary. Then the rest of the day was taken up with his questions about how she’d spent her days with the Shargh, and what Kira thought would now unfold.

But Kira couldn’t offer Caledon any more assurance about the Shargh’s future actions than she’d been able to offer Tresen. All she could say was that there had been genuine gratitude for her efforts from Palansa and Tarkenda, and as Palansa was the mother of the next Leader, this must surely augur well. Caledon agreed.

He then questioned her at length about the manner of Shargh life and their beliefs, information Kira knew he’d file away for future use. It was as a Placidien he acted now, firmly focused on how the world could be made to conform to the pattern he read in the stars. Surprisingly, he didn’t raise the subject of her going back to Tierken and, as the day wore on, Kira allowed herself to relax.

It was fully dark before they finished their speech, still sitting in Tresen’s rooms. Miken brought them their evening meal, and Kira lingered over it, guessing Caledon would soon leave for Talliel, and that this might be their last night together.

‘When I first saw you near the Azurcades, I thought you were a Terak Kutan,’ she said with a smile. ‘I couldn’t imagine anyone outside the trees apart from the Shargh and them.’

‘The world is a very big place,’ he said. ‘There are other lands over the Oskinas and, I’ve no doubt, other peoples further south beyond Allogrenia’s trees. But my travels have taught me that for all the strangeness of others, there is much that is shared. For instance, there are no peoples who do not love their children, or desire peace and safety for them. Isn’t that why you first left Allogrenia, Kira, and since went to the Shargh?’

Kira nodded.

‘It’s also why you must go north again.’

Kira pushed her plate aside. ‘Miken says this time I should choose to do what makes me happy.’

‘I agree with Miken.’

‘So you’re saying I can’t be happy here?’

‘Why did you bond with Tierken, Kira?’

‘Why did I break the bond, Caledon?’ she countered.

‘You’ve never told me,’ he said.

‘Because we were destroying each other. There was one argument after another. He wanted me to wear gowns, refrain from working in Queen Kiraon’s garden, not to ride without Guard . . .’ She trailed off, realising how childish her complaints sounded. ‘I can’t be what he wants,’ she tried again. ‘He wants a Terak wife, who will do what he says, who will be acceptable to the Marken, who won’t cause comment in Sarnia.’

‘He wants you, Kira, that much is clear. But I wonder what you want?’

‘Is what I want important in the stars’ grand design? Is that why you’re pursuing this?’

‘When the stars allowed Kasheron and Terak to be born, they offered the north the chance to balance the swords they must have for defence with the healing they must have to be fully human. That prospect was lost in the Sundering. But the stars have gifted that opportunity again in you and Tierken.’

‘I’m not a Placidien, Caledon, and won’t live my life according to the stars’ rules.’

‘I’m not asking you to, Kira. I’m simply asking what you want. Of course, you don’t have to answer that.’ He smiled and touched her hand. ‘Regardless of your answer, on the morrow I’ll start my journey home. I’ve been gone for over a year and miss my family very much. And there’s nothing more I can do here to serve the stars’ intent. That’s for others now – for you, perhaps.’

Kira caught his hand. ‘Will you visit, Caledon? I hate the thought of never seeing you again.’

‘I’ve never journeyed for journeying’s sake. It might seem strange to you, Kira, but I have less free will than even the smallest child who plays at chase through the trees.’

He stood and Kira came into his arms. He held her close for a moment, before kissing her on each cheek.

‘I leave before dawn, but would prefer we make our farewells now,’ he said, his grey eyes intent. ‘Sometimes what the stars want and love, my own heart wants and loves too,’ he said softly. ‘So it was with you. So it will always be with you. Remember that, Kira, when you remember me.’

Caledon was gone when Kira rose the next day, and she wandered around Tresen’s rooms for most of the morning, feeling restless and bereft, in no mood to hurry back to the complications at the Bough. So it was after midday before she and Tresen set out on the return journey. They had walked very little time, however, before Kira came to a stop.

‘I need to go to Sogren,’ she said urgently.

‘Sogren? Why?’

‘To visit my dead. They’re at the Kashclan First Eight?’ she asked, as Tresen hesitated.

‘Your father is, and Merek and Lern. Kandor was laid to rest beneath Wessogren, with your mother.’

‘But . . . Kashclan stay with Kashclan!’ cried Kira, tears starting.

‘There were too many dead to bury at one time,’ said Tresen gently. ‘It would have risked Sogren. So Miken and Sarclan leader Berendash agreed to lay Kandor with his mother. It was such a dreadful time, and you were still healing those who’d survived, so the decision was taken without you. I’m sorry, Kira.’

Kira dashed her tears away, forgetting her injured eye and cursing as the pain in it doubled.

‘We’ve got time to divert to Sogren now, if you wish, but you’ll have to make a separate trip to Wessogren, otherwise it will be dark before we reach the Bough,’ said Tresen. ‘And then you’ll have to put up with the northern Feailner shouting at you, or sending out Terak patrols on search,’ he added lightly.

Kira said nothing and it was a while before she trusted herself to speak. The decision as to where Kandor should be laid was sensible, and given Maxen’s bullying, perhaps it was best he was with their mother. It was just that . . .

‘I . . . I know Miken did the right thing,’ she said finally. ‘But when I was away, I always thought of Kandor being safe with Maxen, Merek and Lern – under Sogren. Like in the Bough, all of them together . . . safe.’

Tresen put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug, and they went on in silence, tippets and springleslips flashing above. It was dusk by the time they neared the alwaysgreen and Tresen stopped.

‘I’ll wait here, unless you want me to come,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Kira, keeping her gaze fixed on the tree’s vast canopy as she continued on.

Kira reached the tree and circled it, trying to still her thoughts sufficiently to think of those beneath her feet, but with little success. Finally she stopped and laid her palms flat against the bole, letting the tree’s skin soothe her. Lern was easiest of the three to bring to mind, for he had been gentle and kind-hearted. Merek had been too much like Maxen, and Maxen had been . . .

Kira sighed. She hadn’t come here to think ill of the dead, but to fulfil long-neglected obligations of respect and ritual. Perhaps lack of respect was another one of her flaws, like her inability to tell the truth or to keep faith. She took a deep breath and tried again, but it was no use, and in the end she made her way back to Tresen, her guilt exacerbated by his expression of tender concern.

‘I’m not upset so you needn’t feel sorry for me,’ she snapped.

‘You’ve endured a lot of death, Kira,’ said Tresen, as they went on. ‘Don’t judge yourself harshly. You –’

He stopped at the sound of cracking twigs.

‘A Terak,’ said Kira. ‘No Tremen moves that heavily.’

‘Or a Shargh,’ hissed Tresen, cursing under his breath at his lack of weapon.

Kira was intent on the trees ahead. ‘It’s Tierken. Come to check up on me, no doubt.’

‘He wouldn’t know you’d be at Sogren,’ whispered Tresen, as Tierken drew near.

‘I’ve been sent on an errand by Laryia for silvermint,’ said Tierken pleasantly, coming level. ‘But I must have strayed too far to the east.’

‘You haven’t, Feailner,’ said Tresen. ‘We diverted to Sogren. It might be quicker if I gather the silvermint for you, as it’s near dark. I’ll join you back at the Bough.’

He nodded to Tierken but avoided Kira’s eyes, hurrying away and soon lost among the trees.

‘And how are those of your clan?’ asked Tierken, falling into step beside her.

‘Those I saw are well, but I didn’t have time to speak to many,’ said Kira, staring after Tresen in dismay. ‘Most of my time was spent with Caledon.’ Glancing at him, Kira was surprised to see that Tierken’s expression remained unchanged. ‘Caledon has started his journey back to Talliel,’ she added, watching him closely.

Still his face was bland.

‘I’m sorry, Kira. I know you’ll miss him.’

‘He comforted me when things seemed hopeless, and kept me safe on the journey to Maraschin,’ muttered Kira, keeping her gaze on the leaf litter.

‘And for that I will always be in his debt. And for his bravery and skill in battle, and for his aid in building understanding between myself and King Adris.’

Kira raised her head to stare at him. ‘But you don’t like Caledon!’

‘No man likes the rival for the woman he desires,’ said Tierken quietly. ‘But that doesn’t diminish what I owe him, or his contribution to our victory.’

They walked for a while in silence, Kira chewing on her lip. ‘He says I should go north with you. So does Tresen.’

‘Then my debt is greater than I thought – to both of them,’ said Tierken.

Kira stopped. ‘Tierken –’

‘It’s getting dark and the air’s chilling,’ he interrupted. ‘We need keep moving. Do you mind if I take your hand?’

‘No, I –’

‘Good, because it’s rough here. Protector Aris has explained to me how the allogrenias are named. So Sogren is a contraction of south alwaysgreen, and is south-west of your longhouse. Why did you go there?’

‘I . . . it’s where my family are buried; at least, most of them.’

Tierken’s hand was warm, tightening now and then to steady her where the land steepened. The thickening dusk made it even harder to see with her injured eye and she felt glad of his aid.

‘Laryia tells me that there are rituals which are observed after burial, but that the fighting prevented you from doing so,’ said Tierken.

‘Laryia’s well informed,’ remarked Kira.

As I should have been, thought Tierken, had I been open to what Caledon or Tresen offered. ‘So you went to honour your dead?’ he continued.

‘Yes. But Kandor isn’t there. He’s at Wessogren instead. I didn’t know. I thought he was at Sogren, but he . . .’

Kira choked to a stop, but Tierken didn’t say anything, holding his silence till she’d managed to calm.

‘Wessogren belongs to Sarclan,’ he said. ‘Why has he been laid to rest there?’

‘My mother was Sarclan. There were too many dead to bury them all at once at Sogren. I will visit him on the morrow,’ she said.

‘Can I ask a favour, Kira?’

The nearness to night made it hard to see his face, but his tone remained even.

‘What is it, Feailner?’

‘That you allow me to come with you.’

‘I don’t think it will be a very enjoyable journey for you,’ she said reluctantly.

‘No, but I was hoping you would show me a little of the southern octads afterwards, if you feel well enough. I haven’t seen much of them yet.’

‘Very well,’ said Kira, recalling her pledge to be courteous to the northern Feailner during his visit. ‘We’ll spend the night at the chrysen groves, if you wish. They’re prettier earlier in autumn but they might still bear some leaves.’

‘I thank you,’ he said with a small bow.

As Kira lay in bed that night, she wondered what had possessed her to agree. Maybe it had been Tierken’s demeanour. There had been no shouting or demands, no criticism or harsh words about Caledon. Nor had there been words of love, or shows of passion. His detachment puzzled her, for it was totally out of character. The only explanation was that he had resolved to go back to Sarnia without her.

She should have been pleased, but the sense of loss was as sharp as a knife, and she curled into a ball, hugging herself. Tresen had been right in his claim that she still loved Tierken, and she knew that she always would. But she also knew the truth of Caledon’s earlier assertion – that the differences between the Terak and the Tremen couldn’t be reconciled.

The stars had since coerced Caledon into changing his mind, but Kira was no prisoner of star-patterns. To return to Tierken – even if he wanted her – would be to reopen old wounds, and renew the pain for them both. She must get used to living without him, settle into the quiet routine of Kashclan, and focus on the care of her babe. His babe too, a treacherous voice in her head reminded her. My babe, she countered, and resolutely shut her eyes.

Kira slept much longer than she intended, and the sun was well up before she’d bathed and dressed. Tiredness was one of the effects of carrying, she knew, as she yawned and struggled to button her shirt across her ever-expanding belly. She braided her hair off her face, reassured at how well she could now see, and confident that in a few more days her right eye would be completely healed.

The smell of warm nutbread greeted her in the hall, and she was surprised to find Morclan leader Marren there, taking his breakfast with Tresen and Tierken. He rose at her approach, his astonished gaze moving between her face and belly. Then he recollected himself and bowed.

‘Your presence is celebrated throughout Allogrenia, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon, but it’s not known that you’re injured, or that you carry,’ he said.

‘The Bough welcomes Morclan leader Marren,’ said Kira, returning his bow as well as her belly allowed. ‘I see no reason to upset the Tremen with news of my injuries, which are healing well. As for the babe I carry –’ she continued, glancing at Tierken in spite of herself, ‘I am happy that it be known that a Kashclan–Terak babe will soon be born. Along with Laryia’s babe, the first of many, now our kin have reunited.’

‘It’s of this very thing that I would have speech with you, Tremen Leader,’ said Marren, as they all settled at the table.

Tresen filled Kira’s cup and passed her a plate of nutbread. ‘While we waited for you to wake, Clanleader Marren and I discussed a proposal,’ he said. ‘I am in agreement, but as Tremen Leader, the decision is of course yours.’

Kira ate while Marren outlined what he proposed, a course of action the other Clanleaders were apparently amenable to. He suggested that the Clancouncil be held at the new moon and that Thanking be celebrated immediately afterwards. It certainly made sense to hold the two on the same day, thought Kira, and while Thanking was normally celebrated at the end of the first full moon of winter, no one knew exactly when in winter Kasheron and his followers had actually arrived in the forests.

It suited Kira to bring the council forward too, for she was also keen to get it over with.

Marren’s next suggestion, however – that bonding ceremonies be carried out at Thanking, rather than waiting for Turning – astonished her.

‘Bonding ceremonies are usually held at Turning,’ she said, glancing worriedly at Tresen.

‘Indeed they have been in the past,’ agreed Marren. ‘I ask for this variation on behalf of Kesilini of Morclan, who wishes to bond with Terak patrolman Anvorn. She fears that if she must wait for Turning, he might be sent north again before their union is formalised. I believe there will be a similar request from a Barclanswoman who also wishes to bond with a Terak patrolman, and I am aware through the other Clanleaders of at least six Tremen couples who wish to bond now, rather than wait.’

‘Are the Terak patrolmen about to go north?’ Kira asked Tierken.

‘The rotation of Terak patrolmen is something I have yet to discuss with Protector Commander Kest, and with you or the next Tremen Leader,’ said Tierken. ‘But of course, at some time those here will return home.’

‘I can understand Tremen–Terak couples having an urgency to their bonding,’ said Kira, ‘but not Tremen couples.’

‘It’s an effect of the fighting,’ said Tresen. ‘There’s not a longhouse that wasn’t touched by death, or the fear of it, and that gifted an understanding of the preciousness and fragility of life. Those who truly love each other don’t want to wait.’

Kira felt the heat rise in her face and took a gulp of tea, avoiding looking at either Tresen or Tierken.

‘Very well, Clanleader,’ she said, setting her cup down. ‘The Clancouncil will be held at the new moon, and we will celebrate Thanking that evening, here at the Bough. Couples who wish to bond will be able to come before the Tremen Leader to do so. It won’t be me, though,’ added Kira sadly, then forced a smile. ‘By then I will have renounced the leadership.’

‘I thank you, Tremen Leader,’ said Marren, ‘and will alert the other Clanleaders to your decision.’

Tierken spoke little on the journey to Wessogren, and Kira, too, was quiet, her thoughts taken up with what Tresen had said over breakfast. His words were true, but things were rarely as simple as love overcoming all. If she went back to Sarnia with Tierken, within a short time their destructive quarrels would begin again, and it would serve neither of them well, nor the Tremen–Terak union. In fact, if she had any feelings at all for the northern Feailner, she must spare him the pain of a brief reconciliation. All very sensible, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan, she told herself bitterly.

The chrysen groves were bare, the slender branches stark against Wessogren’s dark canopy.

‘It seems we’re too late,’ she said, kicking at the golden carpet of leaves strewing the ground.

‘It’s still pleasant,’ said Tierken. ‘I’ll set a fire and wait for you here.’

Kira nodded, leaving her pack beside him and heading off through the chrysens.

Tierken set the fire swiftly, but the bare trees were a potent reminder that time was running out. Soon he was going to have to broach the subject of Kira coming north again and, if she refused, his duties as Feailner were clear.

He had nothing to gain by stretching Terak resources to include the southern forests. The Tremen would become as the scattered Kir herders were – acknowledged as kin, but following their own ways and providing their own protection. It would be pointless him addressing the Tremen council or wasting time discussing with Kest how the Terak were to be deployed long term – for there would be no long term. He would simply add another patrol to include Kira in their guardianship until she birthed. If Kira birthed a girl child, and Laryia a boy, then Laryia – and Tresen, if he so chose – would come north. Then Tierken would recall all the Terak patrols, and try to forget he had a daughter in the south.

But if Kira birthed a boy he must leave patrols here to guard her and his son. Then, after four or five seasons, his heir must come north, whether Kira willed it or not. The idea was abhorrent, but there were a number of things that made him hope it wouldn’t come to that. Kira had owned him publicly as the babe’s father, and seemed committed to renouncing the leadership, which would mean one less tie to Allogrenia. And she still loved him, the gradual healing of her eyes revealing the telltale softening of the gold as she looked upon him.

But she remained wary, calling him by his title and keeping her distance. And he was still waiting for the right moment to speak to her of the painful truths he’d arrived at about himself, to tell her of the changes he’d made to Sarnia, and to offer her the sanctuary of Kessom for part of each season. All these things were like the last arrow in a battle he’d long fought with himself, and now with her, to win her back. And if this arrow went amiss, he had nothing left to fight with.

Movement caught his eye – a grenia owl, or mira kiraon, as they were known in the forests. The Tremen had named it for Queen Kiraon, and it was Kira’s namesake also. And as it stared down from a chrysen bough with eyes as bright as the flames, Tierken hoped with all his heart that Irid had sent it as an omen of what was to come.

Kira circled the alwaysgreen, nerves taut, the babe prodding and punching inside her as if sensing her turmoil. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Kandor lay beneath her feet, along with the mother she’d scarcely known, and the bones of countless Sarclan dead, but she felt no more connection with her younger brother than she had with Maxen and Merek. She stopped and laid her palms against Wessogren’s trunk, struggling to think of all their happy times together, but the babe seemed determined to drag her back to the present. The night had grown icy and she began to shiver. Fearing for the babe, she turned back to the camp Tierken had set.

He sat by the fire, staring up at a mira kiraon, his face illuminated by the flames. It was Kandor’s face, in all its beauty, but also Tierken’s, the polite mask of the last few days gone, his longing and pain for her clear. Kira stumbled forwards and Tierken scrambled upright, catching her as the mira kiraon took flight.

‘I saw . . .’ she choked out, shivering violently.

‘The mira kiraon,’ he said, arms tightening around her as she sagged against him. ‘You’re cold, I’ll –’

‘I saw . . .’ she tried again, teeth chattering.

She’d seen the wound her loss had inflicted on him and it was every bit as deep as the wound Kandor’s loss had inflicted on her. She wanted to share her understanding with him but she couldn’t find the words.

Tierken pulled her closer to the fire, and cradled her on his lap, and as she continued to shudder he opened his jacket and held her against him. His warmth and scent washed over her and she nestled closer, despite the babe’s restless twistings. But then she felt his heart begin to thrash and looked up in alarm, expecting to see some threat. His gaze was on the fire, his jaw so tightly clenched that his neck muscles roped.

And then she realised that he could feel the babe pummelling too.

Taking his hand, she guided it to where the babe kicked, and he closed his eyes as his pain intensified. And as she stared up at his face, the terrible reality of their situation broke over her afresh.

‘Go back to Sarnia and forget me,’ she begged.

‘You’re asking me to carve out my heart and leave it here, on the forest floor, and yet somehow go on living. I can’t, Kira.’

‘I’m faithless,’ she said. ‘We both know it. Even were I to come north again, I probably wouldn’t stay.’

‘You’re not faithless.’

‘I am! I am!’ she said sitting up. ‘I broke the bond. You don’t know what that means!’

‘I didn’t then, that’s true, for I didn’t know what bonding was. I saw it as a string of meaningless words, and in my mouth, they were meaningless. I said them only to keep you from Caledon, to keep you with me until I forced you to marry me. That’s why I didn’t acknowledge you as my escort at Laryia’s wedding, and why I didn’t trust you not to leave me. After all, why would you stay in the hated stone city of a Terak Kutan just because you’d uttered a few words to him in private?’

Kira buried her face in her hands as he confirmed her worst fears.

‘Caledon tried to tell me what bonding was, as did Tresen,’ continued Tierken quietly. ‘But I didn’t want to hear. It was only when I lost you that I began to understand, and only when I came here that I realised there had never been a bonding between us. For a bonding can only occur when both people commit to it – isn’t that so, Kira?’

She nodded miserably.

‘So it wasn’t you who was faithless, Kira, it was me. When you left, all I wanted to do was gallop after you and force you back. But to what? All the hard seasons of training with Poerin and the moons of fighting the Shargh had taught me how to hunt enemies and to kill well, but they hadn’t taught me patience, nor to understand and accept Tremen ways.

‘So this time I forced myself to wait, to have patience, to try to comprehend how it must have been for you, and how I could make it better. I’ve had hand-workers from Kessom make Queen Kiraon’s garden lush with herbs again, and to replace the allogrenia stump with a strong young sapling. Trees have been planted throughout Kasheron’s Quarter, and Tremen already live there with their Terak wives and bondmates. Plantings along the Domain path were begun before I left and should be complete now.

‘Sarnia will be a green city instead of a stone one, Kira, and the Tremen who live there will share your way of thinking and seeing and bring you comfort. But there are things I can’t change. As Feailner, I must patrol. So I thought you might spend that time in Kessom – when it’s safe to pass Glass Gorge. Eris’s house is mine and Laryia’s now, and yours if you will trust me again, and I know Thalli, Leos and Jafiel would welcome you.’

He brought his finger under her chin and raised her face to his, as he’d done so many times before. ‘I’ve betrayed you in every possible way, but I’m begging you to trust me again.’

Kira jerked away, unable to bear the look on his face.

‘No,’ she muttered finally, and heard Tierken’s breath slowly empty. ‘No,’ she repeated, bringing her eyes back to his. ‘The fault is not all yours. You were raised Terak, to be as a Terak must. And I was raised Tremen. There will always be this clash.

‘If I come north again, Tierken, I will still be Tremen. And while I’ll try not to disgrace you in the Domain, to argue with you in front of your men, or to cause gossip in Sarnia, I won’t succeed. Is that what you really want? More weapons for Rosham and his kind to injure you with? Can you endure that and still want me? Still love me?’

Tierken brought the back of his fingers gently down her cheek and love shone so brightly from his face that she could scarcely bear to look at him.

‘If you come north you will fill the Domain with joy, my men with envy for the grace Irid has granted me, and Sarnia with gratitude for your healing,’ he said. ‘You will make our two peoples truly whole. And you will make me whole, in a way I can never be without you. And I swear to you, in Irid’s name and by his grace, that I will never again fail your trust.’

Kira gripped her hands to stop their shaking, but the babe was calm, and her resolve strengthened.

‘There are seven days till Thanking, Tierken. If you still feel the same way then, I’ll return to Sarnia with you. But I hold you to nothing you’ve said this night, and I’ll tell no one of it. If you reconsider, only we two will ever know.’

‘And our child,’ said Tierken hoarsely.

‘And our child.’

The days leading up to Thanking were so busy in the Bough that in the end Kira took refuge in her room to escape the bustle. A steady stream of Tremen brought food from the long-houses, or chairs, or climbed ladders to weave greenery around the ceiling beams or fasten strings of ornate lanterns. Kira was also reluctant to show her bruised face to others, tired of their shocked reactions. But when Laryia lent her a small looking-glass, she at last saw why. The yellowy-green bruises should be gone by Thanking, but the dark blood in her eye would take longer to clear. Still, her vision was normal, and that was all that mattered – that and her child.

Tenerini had sewn Kira larger shirts and breeches, and a beautifully embroidered tunic to wear at Thanking. Kira was grateful for the clothing, as hers no longer fitted. The size of the babe suggested it must be at least six moons, and it would be seven by the time she reached Sarnia – if she went.

As the days had passed, Kira’s dismay at having broken her undertaking to remain in Allogrenia grew. Tierken loved and wanted her and she’d yearned to end his pain, but she still feared that, in the longer term, she might have worsened it instead. Nor could she pretend that her agreement had only been for his sake. As she mulled over her reasons for it each night, Palansa and Ersalan’s plight kept coming back to her.

Ersalan would grow without his father, and Palansa must endure a future without her bondmate. But Kira still had a chance for happiness, and in the shadow of Wessogren – where the happiness of so many others had ended – she had reached out and snatched it, both for her own sake and for their child’s.

But she remained mystified as to why Tierken would again risk damage to his feailnership. At least she’d had the strength of will to leave the final decision on their future to him, and he may well have changed his mind, for she’d barely seen him since their return from Wessogren.

Laryia had said that he was at Kashclan, and then Miken had told her a few days later that he was in discussions with Kest at the Warens, then Tresen had said that he was out with the Terak patrolmen.

And the northern Feailner seems to be in a very good mood, Tresen had added, eyeing Kira speculatively.

Kira had made no response, knowing from Laryia’s coolness that Tierken had kept to their agreement not to discuss the possibility of her going north with others. However, as Thanking drew nearer, and with it her appointment with the Clancouncil, Kira forgot about Laryia’s aloofness and even Tierken’s absence. It was the right of the Clancouncil to pass judgement on her and, whichever way Kira looked at it, she hadn’t acted well. She had fled Allogrenia – and her responsibilities there – without seeking the council’s permission; she hadn’t returned when the fighting had finished; and then she’d gone to the Shargh, again without their approval.

Kira had never wanted the leadership, but nor did she want to relinquish it knowing she had disappointed those who had argued for her and, worse, betrayed their trust. She spent much time rehearsing explanations for her actions, but they increasingly sounded like excuses. In the end, she gave up. It was impossible to put into words now – when the forest was disturbed by nothing more than squabbling tippets and springleslips – the desperation of the times that had impelled her actions. All she could do was hope that at least some of the Clanleaders had memories of it too.

Tierken didn’t return to the Bough until the evening before Thanking, and Kira was dozing on her bed when he knocked on the door and came in. He kissed her gently on the forehead, each cheek and, as she came awake, on the mouth. Kira curled her hand around his neck and drew him close, luxuriating in his kisses, and in the feel and sense of him. Having him near, having his love, was the most wondrous thing the world could offer.

‘Are you well?’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘And our babe?’ asked Tierken.

‘Him too,’ she said with a smile.

‘Him?’

‘It’s amazing how much advice you get when you’re carrying,’ said Kira. ‘Apparently boys bring more sickness early and kick more. And I hope it’s a son, for I know you need an heir.’

‘It doesn’t matter. There will be others.’

‘You haven’t reconsidered?’

‘Whether I want to breathe, my heart to beat, to have joy and love in my life? No, though I’ve thanked Irid many times for your gift. We leave the day after Thanking, if you’re agreeable. I’ve sent message to Marin to prepare.’

‘So soon,’ said Kira in dismay.

‘I’ve been away a long time,’ said Tierken. ‘And it will take over a moon to reach Sarnia, for we must travel slowly. By then the babe will be at least seven moons and riding dangerous for you.’

‘Seven moons? How do you know?’

‘I remember the last time we made love,’ he said. ‘I remember all the times we made love. The babe could be even older than that, but I hope not. I want you safely in Sarnia before the birth nears. I’ve sent scouts back to prepare the Domain and with message for Farid to send to Kessom for birthing-women.’

Kira sat up and pushed her hand through her hair, discomfited by Tierken’s knowing being greater than hers. The plans Tierken had put into place also made her departure to Sarnia frighteningly real.

‘You should sleep now,’ he said. ‘The morrow will be long and I know parts of it will be difficult for you, though I hope they will be balanced by more enjoyable things.’

He smiled, and there was a chink as he set something on the table beside the bed. ‘Kasheron’s ring. I think it fitting that it stays here, don’t you?’

‘Yes. It belongs with the people he established. I thank you, Tierken.’

Tierken’s lips brushed her forehead again. ‘Sleep, Kira.’

Early the next morn the councillors filed in to the meeting room, greeting each other briefly as they took their seats. The room was crowded, and all but filled by the large table and the councillors’ chairs, making it very different to the last council Kira had presided over. Someone, Tresen most likely, had decided that it would be better to hold councils less publicly and so a separate meeting room had been built in the new Bough. And it made sense, for the hall was where Tresen and Laryia took their meals, where their children would one day play, and where the injured or ill came to seek cure. It was also where Kest, Tresen and Tierken now waited.

Kira kept a polite smile on her face as each councillor nodded to her, glanced at her belly, then struggled to hide their reaction. The councillors looked the same as she remembered, except for Dakresh, who had aged terribly and now needed a steady-stick to walk. The change was due to the loss of Bern, Kira guessed, and instead of fearing his irascibility, she began to pity him.

Silence fell and Kira rose and delivered the formal words of welcome, surprised at how calm she felt. At her first Clancouncil she’d been almost sick with nerves. Then she sat and Marren rose and gave the council’s response. She was about to rise again, but before she could do so, Kemrick stood.

‘I’m sure the council will waive protocol, Tremen Leader, and allow you to remain seated,’ he said.

There was a murmur of agreement and Kira thanked him, for at that moment the babe had inconveniently decided to direct its kicks up under her lungs, making her breathless.

‘As you know from the message . . . I sent south with Healer Tresen . . . I am intending to relinquish the leadership . . . at this council,’ began Kira, snatching breaths between the kicks.

Marren was the first to rise. ‘A course of action we are hoping to dissuade you from,’ he said. ‘You remain our best Healer and Kasheron intended the best Healer to lead the Bough.’

Berendash sprang up next. ‘A situation where we have our best Healer living outside the Bough might also undermine the authority of the Leader who resides within it. Are you intending to remain in Allogrenia, Healer Kiraon?’

‘I am intending to resign the leadership,’ repeated Kira, meeting his eyes.

There was a brief silence, then Kemrick took to his feet. ‘The Shargh attacks brought you to the leadership in the most terrible way, Leader Kiraon. And since then you have seen and experienced things no other Tremen has. Some of these things are known to us, but in an imperfect way – tales spread by the volunteers or their clanmates. Would you tell us what occurred beyond the trees? I think it’s important that all Tremen have an accurate understanding of this part of their histories.’

Kira nodded, realising Kemrick was right. So, taking care that her gaze travelled around all the councillors, she began to recount her reasons for leaving Allogrenia in the first place, her meeting with Caledon in the Azurcades, her going to Maraschin, and her healing there. She told of Caledon’s advice that their northern kin wouldn’t own them, causing at least one of the councillors to hiss, but Kira pressed on, telling of her reasons for sending Caledon to seek Tremen volunteers, of her capture by the Shargh, then of her rescue by the northern Leader.

The councillors’ horror told Kira that most knew nothing of her capture. She told of going north with the Terak – careful to emphasise the Terak’s kindness and protection – and then of Caledon’s skill in bringing the Terak and Tain, and then the Tremen, together against the Shargh. She told of establishing the Haelen in Sarnia, of the Terak histories that spoke of Kasheron’s folk going over the seas, and the manner of life of the Tremen’s forebears in Kessom. And she told of her joy at the ending of the fighting.

Kira paused then and licked her lips, wondering how best to speak of what followed. ‘I didn’t immediately come back,’ she began, her eyes drawn to Miken’s sympathetic face. ‘I was unwell for a time from the long moons of healing.’ At least that part was true. ‘And I was confident that Healer Tresen was skilled enough to take my place here. Also, I had developed . . . affection for the northern Feailner.’

She dragged her eyes from Miken but the other councillors’ expressions were merely expectant, her relationship with Tierken obviously known to them.

‘The northern Feailner recognised the kin-link and opened to the Tremen the part of Sarnia that would have belonged to Kasheron and his followers. That was a difficult thing for him to do, for many in the north still believe that Kasheron went over the seas, and there is no love for Kasheron. It was one of the reasons I found it hard to live there and so decided to return.

‘I journeyed with the Lord Caledon, but on the way we came across a Shargh woman with a sick child –’

‘Shargh! Where?’ broke in Marren.

‘Near the northern edge of the forest,’ said Kira. ‘Afterwards, I –’

‘You informed Protector Commander Kest?’ asked Marren.

‘Kest knew it was one of the reasons I went to the Shargh,’ said Kira.

There was a stunned silence.

‘So that’s the real reason the last Clancouncil was suddenly cancelled,’ exclaimed Kemrick.

‘Going to the Shargh was an act of treachery,’ growled Dakresh.

‘Withdraw that remark,’ demanded Miken.

‘He merely states the truth,’ interjected Berendash.

‘He insults the Leader and should withdraw it,’ said Sanden, then there was a jumble of speech as the other councillors offered contradictory opinions, their volume increasing as they sought to be heard.

In the hall outside, Tierken sprang from his seat and strode to the door of the council room, Kest and Tresen hastening after him.

‘You can’t break protocol by entering,’ warned Tresen.

Tierken’s face was like thunder. ‘If they distress Kira . . .’

‘Kira’s dealt with the council before,’ said Kest, exchanging glances with Tresen. ‘The worse they can do is reprimand her.’

‘Reprimand her? What in Irid’s name for?’

‘The Tremen Leader is not free to do exactly what he or she wants,’ said Tresen. ‘They are required to take advice from the council and to keep them informed as to their intentions.’

‘And that’s what her father Maxen did?’

‘You underestimate Kira’s ability to look after herself,’ interrupted Kest, ignoring Tierken’s question.

Tierken’s brows lowered and then Kira’s bellow for quiet sounded from beyond the door. ‘See?’ said Kest with a smile.

The councillors paused in their shouting and Kira seized the moment to order an end to their argument, gratified to see them obey.

‘Brutality doesn’t breed peace, councillors, it breeds more brutality,’ she said, staring at each in turn. ‘And all women grieve for their dead bondmates. The babe I carry is the same as the one a Shargh woman carries, its needs for food, shelter and love, the same.

‘If it grows without these things, it grows with hate, and once grown it reaches for the sword. I went to the Shargh to show that there were things other than swords that we of northern blood could offer them. And although I found hatred, I also found a want for peace, the very reason Kasheron brought us south.

‘I will not beg this council’s pardon for having gone to the Shargh. It was a decision made with full knowledge of the possible consequences.’

Berendash rose slowly to his feet. ‘And what of the consequences of the Shargh holding you hostage against us, Tremen Leader? It would be a betrayal of every dead and wounded Tremen. Did you consider that?’

‘I did.’

‘And how did you intend to prevent it?’

‘By using everest.’

There was a hiss, as if every councillor had released their breath simultaneously. Even Miken looked shocked.

‘The Protectors who fought, and the volunteers who went north, carried knives and swords to protect themselves and their comrades. I carried a Healer’s weapon, but I wasn’t forced to use it, for the Shargh released me.’

‘Badly beaten,’ pointed out Marren.

‘I was beaten by the violent and hateful among them, and released by those with a wanting for peace,’ said Kira. ‘If it means that in the future there are more of the latter, then my beating won’t have been in vain.’

No one spoke, the mood in the room sombre, and it was Kira who broke the silence.

‘I thank you, councillors, for inviting me to tell you of how the events beyond the trees unfolded,’ she said. ‘But time draws on and I know you have much business to attend to before the happy celebrations of Thanking this evening. I wish now to renounce the leadership, but you will have to forgive my ignorance as to the correct procedure for doing so.’

Kemrick rose. ‘I do not think any among us know how it is to be done,’ he said. ‘But before you do relinquish it, I would like to thank you, Tremen Leader Feailner Kiraon of Kashclan, for all you have done for Allogrenia and its people. Never since Kasheron’s time has so much been asked of a Tremen Leader, nor, do I believe, has such courage and fortitude been shown by one. Whatever the individual judgements of the councillors here, you have acted according to values Kasheron held most dear – those of wholeness and healing – and while I regret that you will no longer lead us, I believe you are richly deserving of the happiness which I hope awaits you.’

Kira nodded, too moved to speak.

Then Miken rose, holding a small wooden box. ‘May I suggest, councillors, that we pass the box to the Leader in the same way as we did when she became Leader, so that now she may replace the ring of rulership? It would be a fitting ceremony of renunciation, I believe.’

There was a murmur of agreement and Miken went to Marren – who was sitting at Kira’s left – and handed him the box, then it was solemnly passed from hand to hand around the table to Tenedren, who sat at Kira’s right and passed it to her. Kira slid back the lid, the red cloth still shocking, slipped the ring from her pocket and placed it in the box. For a moment she stared at it, then she snapped the lid shut.

The tension in the room dissipated like a sigh and, as Kira stood, the councillors stood also, and bowed as one. Kira bowed and made her way unsteadily to the door, vaguely aware that the babe was now quiet.

Tierken jumped to his feet as she appeared but she turned to Tresen instead, embraced him and kissed him on each cheek.

‘I congratulate you and wish you well, Tremen Leader Tresen,’ she said softly. Next she turned to Kest, embracing and kissing him also. ‘I thank you for our time of working together in the care of the Tremen people, Protector Commander Kest,’ she said.

Tierken’s eyes burned into hers but, aware of Tresen and Kest’s presence, she simply nodded to him as he followed Tresen and Kest into the clancouncil, then made her way down the hall, and out the large double doors at the end. It was sheltered and sunny on the step outside, and with a sigh she lowered herself down, balancing the awkward lump of her belly. Springleslips gave voice, and as leaves whispered in a small breeze, she shut her eyes and breathed in the fragrant air.

Then the door opened again and someone settled beside her.

‘So, you’ve given up the leadership?’ Laryia’s voice asked.

Kira nodded.

‘What do you intend to do now?’

‘Sit here and enjoy the sun,’ said Kira, keeping her eyes closed.

It wasn’t what Laryia wanted to know, but the answer seemed curiously apt. For the first time since the Shargh had found them, Kira felt she could simply sit and be at peace.

‘I think you should make Tierken happy by going back to Sarnia with him,’ said Laryia.

‘Those two things might not be the same,’ said Kira, reluctantly opening her eyes.

‘They are for him – despite everything,’ said Laryia.

Kira kept her gaze on a group of noisy tippets. If Kandor’s or Lern’s or even Merek’s happiness were at stake, she’d be acting exactly the same way as Laryia, she mused. Silence stretched, then the tippets abandoned their quarrel as the crash of people running sounded from the trees.

It was Anvorn with a patrolman Kira didn’t know, and she struggled to her feet even as Anvorn saw her and swerved in her direction.

‘We need your help urgently, Lady,’ he panted. ‘A tree’s come down on a Tremen.’

‘I’ll fetch Tresen,’ said Laryia, scrambling upright too.

‘No – we need someone who can take pain,’ broke in Anvorn. ‘We can’t get the tree off him in his present state.’

‘Wait,’ Kira ordered Anvorn, and hastened back into the hall, Laryia at her elbow.

‘You can’t take pain,’ said Laryia, alarmed. ‘Not when you’re carrying.’

Kira rushed to her room and scooped up her pack but Laryia seized her arm. ‘You can’t risk yourself like this!’ she exclaimed.

Kira shrugged her off and hurried back to where Anvorn waited.

‘Kira!’ screamed Laryia, but she had already disappeared into the trees.

Anvorn kept a firm grip on Kira’s arm to ensure she didn’t slip as they hurried through the forest. They were going southeast, Kira noticed with a sinking heart.

‘The injured man’s Kashclan?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. I beg your pardon, Lady, but your people all look the same to me. The Tremen who found us came from further north. They wait ahead.’

Sherclan perhaps, thought Kira, then felt guilty at her sense of relief. They were Sherclan, she saw, as a group of agitated men emerged from the trees, dressed finely for Thanking.

‘Thank the ’green!’ one exclaimed as he saw them. ‘It’s not far from here, Tremen Leader. We were on the way to the Bough in preparation for Thanking. Sener wanted to get there early, as Clan-leader Dakresh frets without him.’

‘Sener?’ gasped Kira. ‘He’s not the injured man, is he?’

‘Indeed he is, Leader. An ill wind seems to blow on that line,’ he added under his breath.

They went on, and a short time later, the stench hanging in the air was unmistakable.

‘What is it?’ asked Anvorn, grimacing.

‘Heart-rot,’ said Kira. ‘It’s a decay that eats away the inside of a tree. You can’t tell it’s there till the tree comes down.’

‘Give me fanchon any day,’ muttered Anvorn, as Kira saw Sener and hastened forward.

Another step and the bole would have missed Sener completely, Kira saw as she knelt beside him. But it had smashed one of his legs, and now pinned the crushed flesh to the ground. Sener’s breathing was shallow and his face clammy, but his clanmates hadn’t been idle, having wedged branches under the bole to take as much weight off him as possible, and constructed a carrier, ready to transport Sener to the Bough.

Kira wrenched open Sener’s intricately patterned shirt and brought her hands down over his heart. The burning in the tunnel had lost none of its ferocity, but even as it seared her, she sensed another place, safely closed off, and floating within it was her son. Then Kira was back in the forest, nauseated as usual, sweating and trembling, but enveloped in a sense of wonder.

It calmed her as she watched the men heave the tree off Sener and drag him free, and stayed with her as she laboriously guided his fractured bones back into place, splinted and bound his leg, then walked beside him as he was borne to the Bough. It even survived Tierken’s furious face appearing at her shoulder in the hall.

Tresen supervised Sener being shifted to a pallet, and fortunately Laryia was taken up with comforting Dakresh, so only Tierken followed as she threaded her way through the early arrivals for Thanking to her room. The door banged shut behind them and Tierken’s tirade started – much of which consisted of his earlier prohibition on her taking pain, her selfishness in risking the babe and her complete disregard for her own safety.

Kira sat on the bed, still filled with the astonishing joy of having seen her son. It was a strange gift in recompense for the terrible burning of taking pain, but a gift it was. Tierken had finished his outburst but still strode up and down, taking out his anger on the floor. Kira knew that it stemmed from his fear of losing her, and that his need for certainty would continue to taint their time together.

‘This is why I left it up to you,’ she said.

‘What?’ he demanded, swinging back to her.

‘The decision as to whether it’s me you really want – this is why I left it up to you. I’m a Healer, Tierken, and that’s not going to change. Neither is the fact that I am Tremen, nor the fact that I’ll never be your wife.’

There was a knock and Tenerini’s voice sounded. ‘I’ve come to dress your hair, Kira, and help you prepare,’ she called. ‘It’s getting late.’

Kira struggled off the bed and opened the door. With a brief nod to Tenerini, Tierken strode out.

There were already a considerable number of Tremen in the hall, chatting to each other as they sipped ale or tea, but they hushed as they saw him, their conversations picking up only after he’d passed.

Still fuming, Tierken went swiftly on towards the doors, aware of the whispers and covert stares that followed him. At least no one had spat at him – yet, he thought grimly. He had reached the end of the hall when the door to the Haelen opened and Clanleader Dakresh tottered out in front of him. In the room beyond, Tierken glimpsed Tresen bent over the man on the pallet.

Dakresh was the last person Tierken was in the mood to deal courteously with. He had been the least amenable of the Clanleaders in the council earlier that day, causing the meeting to drag on twice as long as it should have. Tierken’s proposals as to how the Terak–Tremen unification was to be continued and strengthened had otherwise been well received, the way smoothed by Kest’s considerable eloquence. The Commander Protector had a pragmatism which was almost Terak in quality, but Tierken knew Kest’s desire to build a relationship with Sarnia was also motivated by his sister’s forthcoming bonding to patrolman Anvorn.

Tierken nodded to Dakresh and tried to pass on, but Dakresh’s gnarled hand fastened on his wrist.

‘Northern Feailner,’ he whispered, his voice so strained that Tierken had to stoop to hear him.

Dakresh had looked old at the council, but now he looked as if the life had been bled out of him and Tierken was shocked at the change.

‘I thank your bondmate,’ said Dakresh, his watery eyes piercing Tierken. ‘I thank her for the life of my son,’ he repeated, his bony fingers shaking on Tierken’s wrist.

‘I will tell her,’ said Tierken.

Dakresh shambled away but Tierken remained fixed to the spot. Tremen swirled around him, clad in the greens and browns of the forest, while above, the green-swathed beams replicated the canopy outside. He stood in the Bough, in the centre of the place created by a man who’d sacrificed everything for healing, and yet it was only now that Tierken at last comprehended what it meant. And as the full implications of his understanding washed over him, Tierken closed his eyes and groaned.

The hall was full and the players ready to start the music before Kira emerged from her room. Tenerini had spent much time braiding her hair and setting it with tree-gems, then helped Kira into the tunic and breeches before pronouncing her ‘lovely’. Given that neither Tenerini nor Miken were given to empty praise, Kira was confident that she did indeed look well.

And she was determined to enjoy herself, despite renewed uncertainty over Tierken’s intentions. She was among her people again, the fighting was finished, and the burden of leadership gone. And she’d been gifted with the sight of her beautiful son. There was no reason not to be happy, especially as she had taken the precaution of requesting the music-makers not play The Parting. For even now she didn’t trust that Kandor’s last song wouldn’t send her fleeing from the fiery terror of that time.

Kira moved around the hall, accepting thanks for her leadership and congratulations on her carrying, older women stroking her belly and speculating on the sex of the babe. No one asked her whether she intended to stay in Allogrenia and all mention of the northern Feailner was studiously avoided. Tierken was nowhere to be seen in any case, and given his mood earlier Kira suspected that he might not attend Thanking at all.

The music started and Kira had the first dance with Tresen, an acknowledgement of the old Leader by the new, as well as a gesture of affection between clanmates. Tresen didn’t ask where Tierken was either, but Kest, who danced with her next, did.

‘Most likely readying his men for his departure,’ replied Kira.

‘I’m disappointed you’re not wearing the owl I gifted you,’ he said. ‘I hope the Lord Caledon gave it back to you before he left.’

‘It’s safe,’ said Kira, a bland smile masking her realisation that Caledon hadn’t, indeed, returned the owl. She had given it to him as proof of her trust in him to show the Tremen, when Caledon had sought Tremen volunteers for the fighting. Recalling Caledon’s last words to her, Kira was glad it remained in his keeping.

‘So the northern Feailner intends to depart on the morrow,’ continued Kest. ‘And what do you intend?’

‘When you carry, Protector Commander, it’s the babe’s intentions that take precedence,’ she said lightly.

‘So, what does the babe intend? To be born in Allogrenia or in Sarnia?’ said Kest, not put off.

‘You’ll have to ask the babe,’ said Kira, with another smile.

‘I might just do that,’ said Kest. ‘And while we’re in conversation, I will seek to persuade it of the benefits of living its life beneath the trees.’

Kest’s intense blue eyes held hers, but then the dance came to an end and Kira excused herself and went to the table to get a cup of sweetened water. She wanted to escape his interrogation but also needed to settle her belly, still feeling a little nauseated from her earlier taking of pain. She sipped the water slowly and then the nearby conversations died and she looked up to see Tierken making his way through the crowd towards her.

He was dressed in the Domain black and silver, the colours and glint of metal shocking among the sea of forest dyes.

‘I was wondering if you’d come,’ she said, as the talk around them slowly picked up again.

‘I wouldn’t absent myself from such an important Tremen celebration,’ he said. ‘But I beg your pardon for being so late. I needed to ensure that all was in readiness for the morrow.’

‘I’m surprised you found room in your pack for such clothing,’ said Kira. ‘You certainly stand out.’

‘Like you, I’ve never been able to blend into a gathering,’ he said with a smile.

The music started again and they moved to the side of the hall as dancing couples formed.

‘Do you realise we’ve never danced together?’ he said after a little.

‘Perhaps because we’ve never been in accord, like the dwinhir that has yet to settle on a mate.’

‘Ah, you remember our conversation at the Tiar Lookround. And do you think, Kiraon of Kashclan, that we will ever be ready to dance?’

His tone was bantering but his eyes burned into hers.

‘No,’ said Kira honestly.

‘I said at the Tiar Lookround that the dance wasn’t over with. I still believe that.’

‘As you leave on the morrow, its end must be close,’ murmured Kira, unable to meet his eyes.

‘I saw Clanleader Dakresh earlier. He wishes me to pass on his thanks for the aid you rendered,’ said Tierken. ‘He seemed badly shaken by the accident.’

‘His younger son was killed by the Shargh,’ said Kira. ‘But about Sener – I need to tell you that when I took his pain, our babe was quite safe.’

‘And you know such a thing because you’re a Healer?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Kira, taken aback by his lack of anger or argument. ‘I –’ she began, but then the music came to an end and people started to move towards the top of the hall.

‘What’s happening now?’ asked Tierken.

‘The bonding ceremonies are about to begin.’

‘Come, then,’ said Tierken, catching her hand.

‘I didn’t think you’d want to see them,’ she said, as the crowd parted to allow them through.

‘Of course I want to see them,’ said Tierken, his gaze on Tresen, who had taken up his position on the players’ platform with Laryia by his side.

Kira stared at Tierken, surprised that he looked genuinely interested in both Tresen’s speech and what was about to unfold. Relaxing a little, she looked over at the waiting couples.

There were actually eight couples intending to bond, in addition to Kesilini and Anvorn, and the Barclanswoman with her Terak patrolman. They looked excited or apprehensive, but none of them looked doubtful. Kira thought of her own bonding in the shelter-hut and of Tierken’s confession as to his motives, and her eyes pricked.

Kest stood to her left, intent on his sister, and Kira could feel his tension. She guessed that Kest was upset because Kesilini was to leave Allogrenia, and she resolved to make time later to reassure him that there were Tremen already in Sarnia who would provide company and friendship for his sister.

The bonding ceremonies began, and Kira cheered and clapped with the rest of the gathering, caught up in the happiness of the moment. The Tremen bondings were completed first, then the Barclanswoman – Sharini – bonded with Terak patrolman Thoren. Thoren completed his part of the ceremony smoothly, obviously having been well schooled in its requirements, and then Kesilini and Anvorn stepped forward.

Anvorn likewise finished his part of the ceremony without stumbling, but Kesilini was far more emotional. No doubt she remembered her first bonding to Merek, as did Kira, who had to mop her eyes as the ceremony concluded. The applause and good wishes were particularly loud and long, as if those witnessing the bonding remembered too.

‘Our turn,’ said Tierken, as the clapping died away.

‘What?’

‘You know I can’t take you north as “my woman”.’

The crowd were looking about to see if any other couples were intending to bond, but Tresen’s eyes were fixed on them, and after a little the crowd followed his gaze. Kira, though, remained frozen.

Tierken brought the back of his fingers down her cheek, ignoring the attention now focused on them.

‘You gifted me your trust, Kira. I took that to mean you would bond with me. Was I mistaken?’

‘No, I –’

‘Come then,’ he said gently, tugging her forward into the open space below Tresen.

Kira was dimly aware of Laryia’s astonishment, and of Tresen grinning hugely, but the hall was hushed.

Then Tierken turned to her and took both her hands, beginning the pledge slowly and deliberately. ‘I, Tierken of the Terak Kirillian, son of Merench, son of Lyess, brother of Laryia, speak now at Thanking, that I choose Kiraon of Kashclan as bondmate and Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.’

There was absolute silence but Kira’s throat was so tight that she could hardly speak.

‘I . . . Kiraon of Kashclan, daughter of Maxen . . . daughter of Fasarini, sister of Merek, sister of Lern, sister of Kandor . . .’ Tears slid down her cheeks and Tierken’s hands tightened on hers. ‘. . . speak now at Thanking,’ she managed to say, ‘. . . that . . . I choose Tierken of the Terak Kirillian . . . as bondmate and . . . Shelter, until leaf-fall and branch-fall shall end all my days.’

Tierken pulled her into his arms as the gathering erupted, and she stayed in their shelter with her face buried in his shoulder, dazed at the turn of events, but comforted by the scent and sense of him. It was a while before she was able to compose herself sufficiently to accept people’s congratulations and good wishes, and these went on for some time. Laryia’s hug was intense, and her tears scarcely less than Kira’s, which flowed afresh as Miken, then Tenerini, embraced her.

Kest simply kissed her on each cheek. ‘It looks like the babe has decided,’ he said. ‘And Kesilini will have a good friend in the north.’

Kira nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. On the morrow she would start the journey north again. She already knew the difficulties of living in Sarnia, but she’d be with her bondmate and their babe, and with other Tremen, and increasingly the stone of Sarnia would be softened by the green and growing.

The players started once more and Tierken took her hand and led her to where the other couples gathered. ‘The dance of the dwinhir ends, and our own begins – one that will last till the end of our days. Will you dance with me, bondmate?’

Kira regarded him steadily, then smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’