Hercol’s shoulder, not caring how hard she landed. And Myett, from her perch on the wolf’s back, did the same, and they met and embraced at the centre of the landing, overcome as ixchel rarely let themselves be. Myett was safe, whole, healed, and Ensyl kissed her hands and her forehead, asking no questions, needing no answers. Ularamyth, Ularamyth, for this I love you already.

For Pazel too, the sight of Myett was overwhelming. He rushed to greet her, along with Thasha, Neeps and Bolutu. He had never quite trusted Myett: she had played a part in Diadrelu’s betrayal, after all. But she was one of them. She had tried to make amends by joining this expedition. And after so much death, she had returned to them alive.

Over their joyous shouts Myett was saying that she had been seized by a woken hawk, and had been here for two days already. Like the selk themselves, the hawk had been terribly suspicious, and had left her with a pair of selk who happened to be circling east around the Infernal Forest, while it flew on ahead to share her story with Thaulinin.

‘The two he left me with got a shock when the bird came back and said Thaulinin had found you, and decided to bring you here, and that I should be carried on ahead. But they obeyed, and tied me up in black cloth like a bundle of sticks. It’s a wonder they didn’t smother me.’

Her habit of gripe had not changed, Pazel saw. And yet it had, for though the words were the same ones the old Myett might have spoken, there was no rancour in her voice, this time. ‘Even when I arrived, the selk had their doubts,’ she added. ‘They thought I was one of Macadra’s spies.’

‘And we feared the same of your companions,’ said Nolcindar.

‘It was not an unreasonable fear,’ said Thaulinin. ‘Macadra has heard of Ularamyth, and hates it, for she knows that the power here is not her kind — not the power of fear and threat, but of healing and nurture. She knows too that those who fight for the Vale do so freely, and with full hearts, while her armies serve with broken hearts, in terror and derangement, and longing for the Empire that was. She dreams that one day the bloodied flag of Bali Adro will fly over Ularamyth.’

‘While we live it never shall,’ said the wolf. Pazel jumped, and looked again at those green eyes. Woken eyes: once you saw it, the intelligence, you wondered how you could have ever failed to.

‘That is certain, Valgrif,’ said the old selk, ‘but who knows how long we shall live? For the fight is coming; the mountains are encircled. Since you left us the noose has tightened, Thaulinin, and every day new servants march eastwards from the river’s mouth. Yet I am sorry, Myett of Ixphir House, that we have been forced to take such precautions.’

‘No ixchel could ever condemn you for them,’ said Myett. Turning to her fellow travellers, she said, ‘This is Arim, second eldest of the Lords of Ularamyth. Lord Arim, these people are my. . clan.’

Pazel looked at her, startled. Myett had struggled with the word, and he knew the weight of her choice. To an ixchel, ‘family’ would have meant far less.

Lord Arim gazed at them piercingly. His gaunt face and fine eyelash plumes made him look like an old bird of prey. ‘You are people of the Chathrand,’ he said, ‘and that alone would mark you as heralds of great change. The Chathrand, Erithusme’s Great Ship. When last I saw her, the wizardess stood upon the forecastle, holding the chains of the demon Avarice. “I will take this one across the sea to a place of punishment, Lord Arim, and return before two summers pass, and dwell with you awhile in the Vale.” So she declared, on that storm-swept morning. But neither she nor the Chathrand ever returned across the Ruling Sea. Until today.

‘Your sister Myett has told us many things,’ the old selk went on, ‘but she too has her secrets. She would not name the burden you carry. I will not name it either, although I could. It is the darkest thing to enter here in many centuries.’

Thaulinin, chastened, bowed his head. ‘We must speak of it soon, my lord,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Arim, ‘we must. For the present, take it to the home we have prepared for you, and keep it there, guarded and unseen. Do not unwrap it, or carry it about, unless an elder be with you. Now then, wizard.’ He looked at Ramachni. ‘Why do you not speak? For I think you are an old friend returned.’

‘I am that,’ said Ramachni, ‘and your eyes are as keen as ever, Arim, to spy me out in this disguise. You may call me by the name you chose yourself, on the bloodied sands of Luhmor.’

Cries of joy and wonder rose from many of the selk. ‘Arpathwin! Arpathwin has returned!’ But there were cautious looks too, as though darker memories had been stirred by the name.

The white wolf padded nearer to the travellers, lowering his head and sniffing. ‘Lord Arim, they are gravely hurt,’ he said. ‘The flame-trolls have burned them, and the poisons of the Infernal Forest are in their wounds.’

The old selk walked forward until he stood among them, and turned from one traveller to the next, and his eyes were grave. He looked a long time at Pazel, and even longer at Thasha. But when he came to Neeps a flicker of pain crossed his face.

‘The youths are burning, wizard,’ he said.

‘But with different fevers,’ said Ramachni. ‘We have great need of your physicians, my lord.’

‘Go down into the city,’ said Lord Arim. ‘What can be done shall be done.’ He turned once more to Pazel. ‘But you we shall carry, child of the North, for your wound makes walking a misery, I think.’

Again, Pazel shook his head. ‘You’re very kind, Lord Arim, but I can manage.’

The others tried to persuade him, but Pazel was steadfast. It was true that his leg hurt terribly, and the descent looked very steep. And yet he wanted desperately to walk. He put an arm over Neeps’ shoulder. ‘Just help me, once more,’ he said.

‘Go then, citizens,’ said Lord Arim. ‘Valgrif will escort you, and keep me informed of your progress. Thaulinin, you may walk with them until your paths diverge.’

The wolf looked at the ixchel. ‘You may ride together, if you like,’ he said.

With Myett and Ensyl clinging to his back, the wolf led them downhill, by stairs and sloping paths. The way was narrow at first, and they walked single file, passing over bridges, along raised boardwalks through the rice paddies, beside small streams that trickled down from the heights. At times Valgrif led them through tunnels, where Pazel saw stairs and corridors leading deeper into the earth. Most of the time, however, they walked in bright sunlight. The paths grew wider, the descent less steep. They marched for half a mile through a stand of ancient oaks, where fat acorns snapped underfoot, and unseen creatures scurried in the brush.

Pazel’s leg now ached unremittingly, and yet he found he could bear it more easily than he had feared. And at every turn he was struck by the beauty of Ularamyth, the moist health of its woods and meadows, the sheer variety of its forms of life. Water tanks teemed with fish; an ivy-shrouded doorway let into a hidden smithy; a troop of monkeys raced like agile spiders through the treetops, beehives hummed in a glade. There were few sounds of industry, and none of machines. They did meet with other selk, and occasionally passed groups of houses or workshops cleverly fitted into the landscape. But when he looked out across the sweep of Ularamyth, what he saw was less a city than a garden.

‘I can’t understand,’ he said at last. ‘How can all this be here, lost in the wilderness?’

Ramachni glanced up at him. ‘After what you’ve seen of Alifros, lad? How could it be anywhere else?’

Pazel found no answer. Like Hercol, he had felt upon waking from the drug that his memory was impaired, along with his sense of time. The feeling was mostly gone, but he still wondered if he might be forgetting something.

They stepped through a gate in a hedge. Beyond it the trail forked, and Thaulinin took his leave of the party. The travellers showered him with thanks, but he waved them off, smiling. ‘Rest and heal, and do not forget the world outside. That will be thanks enough.’

He turned and walked briskly away. Far down the trail ahead of him, Pazel saw a small house carved into a hillside. It had a door of iron, and its windows were barred.

The path was level, now; they had reached the crater’s floor. Here the houses grew more numerous, and there were squares and meeting-places between them, and some larger buildings with great porches and balconies draped in flowers. They passed along the streets, under the eyes of the silent, olive-skinned people, until Valgrif stopped at last before a door in a stone wall. He barked once, sharply, and the door flew open.

A trio of selk came out into the street. They were doctors, they said, and bustled around the newcomers to prove it, studying them, touching their wrists and shoulders. They were quiet and serious. Pazel had the feeling that

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