Magister Viyeki, I have watched you. The thoughts came in whispering fragments, as if carried on an inconstant wind, and scratched at his thoughts like the claws of rats. From the wasteland of death, I have seen things even the queen could not see as she drifted in the yi’indra through the land of dreams and endings. I have seen your bloodline, like a shining road, leading to this moment and to all that will come after.

Everything in him urged him to turn, to run, but Viyeki forced himself to stand instead and answer that terrible whisper with the steadiest voice he could manage.

“I cannot believe I am anything to you, great mistress. Not to one of the Red Hand. Not to one who has twice returned from the other side of death.”

You are much to me . . . because of the web of circumstance. Beyond death . . . I could see many things. Each word seemed to echo slowly through Viyeki’s head. You are part of the great perhaps. Soon the queen will give you a task, but your blood tells me that you have an even greater task to come . . . that of saving the Hikeda’ya race. Do you understand, little magister? Vast things . . . are now in motion.

He bowed his head, not in piety, but because it was impossible to look for long at the unnatural light seeping from between Ommu’s bandages where a face should be. “Two tasks, but only one of them from the Mother of All? I do not understand you, Mistress.”

No, you do not, said the Whisperer, her voice like a wind from the loneliest place that ever existed. You cannot. Remember this only. I have come from beyond death itself—from the shores of Unbeing. I can tell only truth. And I say that to complete that greater task, a moment will come when you will have to choose.

“What . . . what do you mean, Mistress?”

To save what you love, you will be forced to kill that which you love even more. If you fail, all will fall to pieces. Your people—and they are my people, too—will die and vanish from the world.

Viyeki felt suddenly helpless, sickened. “But why me, Mistress? My blood is as nothing compared to the greatest of our people!”

The voice came at last, as thin as if it had blown to him from beyond the moon and stars. You might as well ask why up is not down . . . or dark is not light. It is ordered so. And I cannot tell anything but truth. Now leave me. I wish to bathe in the blood of the earth. I am cold here in your world, you see . . . so cold!

Ommu abruptly turned her back on him, the hooded robe swirling more slowly than seemed right. She drifted upward once more until she was only a spot of darkness high in the wafting flames, like a spider waiting inconspicuously at the edge of its web.

Viyeki did not bow, but stumbled out of the cavern as fast as he could, hurrying toward the mine cart and the long shaft that would carry him back to a place that made better sense. His skin was cold as ice, his heart a loose stone rattling in his chest. The chief Builder, who had spent countless years in the deep places of the earth, had never in his life wanted so badly to smell fresh air, and maybe even see a glimpse of light from the true sky.

31 A High, Dark Place

“There will be wine,” Astrian promised. “Good wine. Captain Kenrick has promised to roll out several casks of Perdruin claret. That’s worth an earful of boring soldier’s talk, isn’t it?”

Because Morgan had not yet been able to pay Hatcher the publican, they were ensconced in The Jackdaw this evening instead of The Quarely Maid, their usual port of call.

“Nothing is worth that sort of boredom,” said Olveris, ending his most recent silence. “That’s why I’m starting to get drunk now. So I can stand it until the Perdruin is opened.”

“You make light of it, but Sir Zakiel deserves this honor,” said Porto, frowning at them. “The Order of the Red Drake is not one of your cheapjack trinkets, given to anyone who can bow deep enough to impress the court. It is a warrior’s honor!”

“Will you truly not come, Highness?” Astrian asked Morgan. “It should be an amusing time.”

The prince shook his head. “My grandfather will be there. Hell’s hammers, both my grandfathers will be there. They will drink too much and spend the night telling old war stories. And they will both glare at me because I haven’t been in any wars.”

“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Porto seriously. “Rather, it is something to inspire gratitude.”

“Easy for you to say, man. You’ve been to war. You’ve all been to war. That’s the first thing anyone thinks when they see any one of you—‘Oh, there’s a soldier.’ What’s the first thing they think of when they see me? ‘Ah, the prince. He’s quite spoiled, you know. Just drinks all day and dices.’”

“Yes, but you drink and dice with us, the brave soldiers,” Astrian said, smiling. “That has to count for something.”

Morgan was not in the mood to be amused. The hard words he had heard from the king still echoed in his thoughts. “No, I’m not going. The last thing I want to do is hear how the Erkynguard protected me from danger when the Norns attacked. I would have fought! It’s not my fault I was forbidden to come out by the queen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Astrian said. “Nor are you the only one who missed out. I was on the mountainside, but only dodged a few arrows. I never even saw any of the fairies.”

“But you’ve been in fights and battles a-plenty. Nobody’s going to think you’re a coward.”

“Nobody thinks you’re a coward, Highness,” Porto said.

“Hah! Everybody does. The nobles at court and the people in Erchester. Did you hear them when we rode in? Half of them were calling me Tosspot and Prince More-Wine. I heard them.”

“And the other half were cheering you,” Astrian said. “It is a known truth that the people are fickle, my prince. They are like children who do not know what they want. Offer them milk, they cry. Take the milk away, they cry even harder.”

“Or piss all over you,” said Olveris.

“Just so.” Astrian poured Morgan another cup. “Go on, take this and warm your blood enough to come with us. You’ll enjoy the evening.”

“No.” Morgan pushed himself upright, then got to his feet, although not without a few adjustments; he did not actually feel very well, and hadn’t all morning. Waking up with an aching head was not as appealing a sign of maturity as it had been a year earlier, when he had first begun drinking steadily with Astrian and the others. “I’m going to find something else to do. I wish you well, gentlemen. I hope Kenrick’s Perdruin is as fine as everyone has said.”

He got up and started toward the door as steadily as he could, then remembered the royal guards who would be waiting for him in front of the inn. He turned back across the tavern toward the back door and the privy yard.

“Our young prince is troubled these days,” he heard old Porto say as he passed near his friends’ table. Sir Astrian’s reply was lost in the noises of a drunken argument outside as Morgan pushed the door open, but he did hear the others laugh.

Morgan realized long before he reached the residence that the last thing he wanted to do was go to bed, but he had left himself with very little chance for company or diversion. Most of the Erkynguard were either at the Red Drake banquet or on duty. The keep’s several guardrooms were empty except for a few old veterans nursing their bones in front of the fire, and he already owed money to the participants of the one dice game he found going on at the Nearulagh Gate guardhouse.