with an aura that demanded reverence and quiet contemplation. Any sailor not tending sails or wheel, dropped briefly to one knee with bowed head, touching the centre of his forehead with his right index finger.
'You are here, Lyanna,' said Ren'erei. Erienne started; she hadn't heard the elf approach. 'Soon you will be standing with the Al-Drechar.'
The name sent shivers down Erienne's spine. Al-Drechar was a name written in legend and ancient texts. They were the holders of the faith, the guardians of true magic. They were the Keepers of the One. There had never been any doubt that a substantial sect had survived the Sundering, the cataclysmic battles that had seen four Colleges emerge from the ruins of the one that had previously dominated Balaian magic. But that had been over two thousand years before and they were assumed to have died out as time passed and peace returned to Balaia. All that was heard were rumours, explained away by the clashing of charged mana or the unpredictability of nature.
Yet the idea that descendants of the One had survived had never been conclusively disproved and through the centuries, enough mages had been strong enough to state their beliefs and perpetuate what had appeared at best a myth.
Now, Erienne knew different. She knew. And in a while, she would physically meet with those who many dreamed still lived, but more prayed were dead.
'How many are there?' she asked.
'Only four remain,' replied Ren'erei. 'Your daughter truly
represents the last hope for furtherance of our cause.' She placed a hand on Lyanna's head who looked up and smiled, though a frown chased it quickly away.
'Are they dying then?' Erienne asked.
'They are very old,' replied the elf. 'And they've been waiting for you a long time. They couldn't have waited too much longer.'
Erienne noticed tears standing in Ren'erei's eyes.
'What will we find there?' she mused, not really expecting an answer.
'Peace, goodness, purity. Age.' She looked into Erienne's eyes and the mage saw desperation burning in those of the elf. 'They can't be allowed to fade uselessly. I and the Guild, we've watched them grow steadily weaker over the years. She must be the one.'
'She is,' said Erienne, Ren'erei's fervour unsettling her. Lyanna felt it too and had leant against her mother. She was gazing again at the island that would be her home for the Gods only knew how long.
'Tell me, Ren'erei, how many of you serve them? The Al-Drechar, that is.'
'We are few. Forty-three in all, but our sons and daughters will carry on the work until we are not needed any more, one way or another. We've served them for generations, ever since the Sundering, but the honour is undiminished.' She stood tall, pride on her face. 'We are the Guild of Drech and we will not falter until our service is fulfilled. All else is secondary.' She turned from Erienne and looked towards Herendeneth, touching index finger to forehead as she bowed.
The ship dropped anchor about a quarter of a mile off the bleak northern coast of the island. Only the most tenacious of vegetation clung to the towering rock wall ahead of them and waves raced into crash against hard stone. In the sky, a few birds circled, their calls lost in the breeze.
Immediately they were stationary, the crew began unlashing the three long boats and lowering them into the water. Scrambling-nets and ladders followed, and a brief flurry of activity saw luggage and supplies passed swiftly down to be securely fastened to two of the craft. Each boat took four oarsmen and a skipper. Erienne was invited to climb down a ladder while Lyanna sat on Tryuun's broad
shoulders, very quiet and pale, as the elf descended swiftly to the boat that would carry them ashore.
The crews pulled away strongly, heading for a shore apparently barren of landing sites. But rounding a spit hidden from shipboard view, they beached on a narrow stretch of shingle, away from which a path climbed up and disappeared through a cleft in the rocks. Ren'erei helped Erienne and Lyanna out of the boat, smiling as they skipped through the cold shallows to escape the water and joining them as they stared down, wet above their knees.
'Not far now,' she said. 'Just one last climb. The crew will bring up all your things.'
The path was well kept, its steps long, carefully carved and shallow in the rise, and it wound up in a deliberately gende incline overlooked by birch trees.
Looking back down the stairway, Erienne could see the scope of the illusion. This was no harsh rock island. True, the landing points were difficult and crowded with reefs, but the height of any cliff had been hugely exaggerated. And beyond the shore line, the island rolled gracefully up to a low pinnacle through tumbledown rock and rich green forest under which the heat of the day was captured. Away from the sea breeze, the air was humid and Erienne felt sweat beading and running all over her body.
Beside her, Lyanna trotted along, clutching her doll in one hand, humming to herself, her face intent.
'Are you all right, darling?' Erienne trailed a hand across Lyanna's head.
'Yes,' she affirmed. 'Will you do the walking song again?'
Erienne smiled. 'If you like.' She held out her hand and Lyanna gripped it tightly. 'Here we go,' Erienne said, changing to a shorter stride.
'I step with my right foot, And the left follows on. If I do it once again, Then the journey soon is done. If I don't move my left foot, Then the right one gets away. If I don't move my right foot, Then just here is where we'll stay.'
Repeating the words over and over while they stepped and double-stepped, Erienne couldn't help but blush as she caught Ren'erei and Tryuun watching her over their shoulders. Both elves were smiling and as they turned back, Ren'erei mimicked the double steps the song demanded.
'One day, it'll be your turn,' said Erienne, joining in their laughter.
Lyanna skipped up to the elf and took her hand.
'You're not doing it right. Mummy, sing it again.'
'Just once more, then,' said Erienne. 'Pay attention, Ren'erei.' And while she sang, she watched her daughter, carefree, giggling at Ren'erei's attempts to mimic the steps, and wished fervently that Lyanna had been born without the burden she carried. And with that, came guilt. Because Erienne had planned it to be this way. And though it was a great thing they were trying to do, before they achieved their goal, there was so much hardship to come. And Lyanna, of course, had no choice in the matter. Erienne already grieved for the childhood she was to lose.
Lyanna let go of Ren'erei's hand and trotted on, warbling a vague approximation of Erienne's walking tune. She turned out of sight, around a corner of the tree-lined path a few yards ahead. Erienne had upped her pace the moment she heard the song falter. And by the time Lyanna's scream had split the air, she was moving at a run.
Chapter 3
Four years after the last Wesmen had withdrawn, the College city of Julatsa had returned to something like its old self, with one significant difference.
Ilkar stood on one of the few undamaged sections of College wall and turned a full circle, his shoulder- length black hair drifting in the light breeze. On the city's borders, the Wesmen's wooden fortifications had long been stripped away to use in rebuilding homes, businesses, municipal offices and the scores of shops and inns burned and demolished by the invaders during their brief occupation. Original stone was much in evidence, bearing the scarring and scorches of war. The populace, scattered or enslaved, had flooded back once the Wesmen departed and the destroyed city now glowed with energy again, the people bringing with them the pulse of life.
Ilkar shook his head slightly at some of the new architecture. The kindest word to describe much of it was 'enthusiastic'. Yet no one could deny the energy that the rash of twisted spires, white stone domes and flying buttresses exuded. They had been built with tremendous verve but Ilkar couldn't help but wonder what those builders thought now.
