toward the camp. It did not take long before her suspicions were confirmed. She could see lines of torches moving through the tents. At the point where the line fragmented, near the edge of the camp, she could make out tents being erected.
As she drew closer she saw four pale figures standing outside the war-council tent. Facing them was a small crowd, lamplight reflecting from an abundance of polished metal and shining cloth. Nobles and other important personages, she guessed. One figure stood a few steps in front of the rest.
She hovered above the gathering. The sound of the king’s voice drifted up to her. Deciding it would be rude to interrupt, she sent Juran a quiet communication.
He made a small, surprised movement, then glanced upward.
She heard him say something. Then he made a small beckoning gesture. She dropped down and landed beside Mairae.
The king turned to stare at her in astonishment. He looked up at the sky, as if expecting to find she had jumped from some structure, then at her again.
“Auraya,” Juran said. “I believe you met King Berro just after your Choosing?”
“Yes,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you again, your majesty.”
The king drew in a deep breath and appeared to gather his wits.
“It is an honor to see you again, Auraya of the White. You have settled into your new position with impressive speed and confidence. I had heard of your Gift of flight, but did not quite believe it until now.”
She smiled and made the sign of the circle. “The gods give us what we need in order to do their bidding.”
His gaze flickered, and she was pleased to see his thoughts turn to the Siyee. By pointing out that the gods had given her the Gift of flight, she had hinted they had done so in order that she might convince the Siyee to become the White’s allies. Hopefully he would think twice about contesting the removal of Toren settlers from Siyee lands. No monarch dared to defy the gods.
The king’s attention returned to Juran. “I have travelled at the fastest pace my troops could sustain in order to join you in time. We are, I believe, two days’ travel from the pass. Will there be time to rest?”
Juran frowned. “I can only give you a shorter day’s travel tomorrow. Your troops may have more time to rest once we reach the pass, however.”
“That will be sufficient.”
“You are also weary,” Juran stated. “It is late to be discussing war plans. If it is agreeable to you, I will travel with you tomorrow in order to relate to you all that has been discussed and decided.”
Berro smiled with relief. “That would be most agreeable. Thank you.”
Juran nodded and made the formal gesture of the circle. “I will speak to you in the morning then, your majesty.”
The king returned the gesture, then moved away, the crowd of nobles following. Auraya turned to regard her fellow White. Juran looked relieved, Dyara resigned. Rian and Mairae appeared to be pleased.
“At least they’re here,” Dyara murmured. “The Dunwayans are in the pass, setting traps. When they join us we will be quite a force.”
“Indeed we will,” Juran replied. “For now we should return to our beds.”
The others nodded. Mairae and Rian strode away. Dyara paused, then headed toward the Genrian army camp. Seeing that Juran hadn’t moved, Auraya approached him. He looked at her.
“What is it?”
“I was surprised you didn’t call me,” she said.
He looked relieved. “No. Mairae said you were doing an aerial patrol. That you have been doing so for the last few nights and I should leave you to it. Actually, I’m surprised you hadn’t told me.”
Auraya shrugged. “It’s just my way of pacing when I can’t sleep.”
He smiled, then suddenly became serious. “Well, just remember that effects from lack of sleep have a way of sneaking up on you when you least need them to. I don’t imagine an unintentional nap would be beneficial if you happened to be airborne.”
“No,” Auraya grimaced. “Not very. But... don’t hesitate to call me if you do need me here.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“I’d best be off to bed then.” She paused. “You too.”
He sighed. “Yes. You’re right.”
She moved away. Hearing a quiet yawn, she glanced back to see Juran cover his mouth with a hand. She nodded to herself. Perhaps he would rest a little easier now that the Torens had arrived.
Emerahl jolted awake. For a moment she felt panic rising. Was the caravan being attacked? Then a lingering feeling of suffocation sparked her memory and the dream came flooding back.
The tower dream. She felt a flash of irritation. Had the Dreamweavers become so unskilled they could not teach one of their own to stop projecting his or her dreams?
“Are you all right, Jade?”
Emerahl looked at Star. A mattress had been brought into Rozea’s tarn for the girl. Star was managing to pretend her injury had been bad, but not potentially fatal. Unfortunately, being mostly healed meant she easily grew bored with lying about all day. Sometimes Emerahl pretended to fall asleep to escape the girl’s chatter. Right now, Star was looking up at Emerahl in concern.
“A dream, that’s all,” Emerahl replied.
“What were you dreaming? It wasn’t about a tower falling down, was it?”
Emerahl blinked in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
Star shrugged. “A few of my customers have told me about it. Said they had the same dream many times.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”
Emerahl shook her head. “I mean, how many customers told you they had the dream?”
Star considered. “Three or four.” She looked at Emerahl. “So did you have it?”
Emerahl nodded. “Yes.”
“Is it the first time?”
“No, I’ve had it a few times.”
“What’s it all about then?”
“There’s a tower. It falls down.”
Star grinned. “I mean, why are people having the same dream? What does it mean?”
“ ‘A dream’s meaning depends on the dreamer,’ ” Emerahl quoted. She frowned, considering her theory that the dream was about the death of Mirar. Something about this didn’t quite fit.
“To be crushed under a building...” Star shuddered. “Nasty way to die.”
Emerahl nodded absently. If the dreamer was dreaming about the death of Mirar, they couldn’t be reliving their
That was extraordinary. The thought of it sent a shiver of cold down her spine. No wonder the dreamer could not stop experiencing the dream over and over.
“Maybe it means the White will fail.”
“Dreams aren’t predictions, Star,” Emerahl said.
Not this one. This one was historical. Mirar’s experience of death must have passed from Dreamweaver to Dreamweaver for the last century. Now, in the mind of a powerful Dreamweaver, it was being projected to every man or woman Gifted enough to receive dreams.
