But he remained still, long sensitive ears sharply forward, nostrils wide. As his strange blood slowly cooled, something new caught at his senses.

Pawing the rock with one cloven hoof, he uttered a plaintive bellow, then stood motionless, listening.

The answering call was nothing more than the faintest of whispers in the silence of his mind. There was no voice or scent or image, only the summoning of instinct.

North, still north. Follow and trust.

Like a bird that suddenly recalls the route south after the first frost, Alec gave himself up to the pull of that faint glimmer, his mind still too clouded by the stag's to question or doubt.

With another deep-throated cry he set his face to the wind and bounded onward.

Moon shadow patterns slid across his broad back as he ran and his human mind gradually began to marvel at the sensation of this startling new body.

He could feel the strain and bunch of the stag's muscles as he sprang, the pumping of its great heart, the weight of the heavy rack that it bore with no more thought than he'd ever given to a hat.

The familiar scents of sea and forest took on a new richness beyond human perception. Pausing to drink at a flowing spring, he couldn't resist the aroma of young mallow shoots growing around it. The wet green taste of them filled his mouth like honeycomb. A little grey owl winged across his path with a soft rush of feathers as he set off again.

The coastline grew more desolate as he moved north, and in the distance he could see a solitary peak jutting up against the stars. The ledges were broader here, extending out into the sea and cleft with crevasses and bands of darker stone. Farther up, where rock met grassland, mats of crowberry and lichen sent up a sweet aroma as he trampled across.

The sea slowly retreated down the rocks toward the low mark, leaving behind glistening tide pools that shone like black mirrors in the darkness. The moon sank into the sea and the stars danced toward home. As the wind shifted and night scents began to fade he smelled horses and men.

Picking his way down into a gully, he stood motionless, sniffing the breeze, until they'd passed him and disappeared to the north.

Alec sensed the coming dawn long before the first tinge of it appeared in the sky. The pellucid light of the false dawn welled up behind the mountains, waking flotillas of gulls and ducks that had ridden the waves out beyond the pull of the breakers. Something in the change of light tugged at his memory, but consumed by the irresistible pull of instinct and the summons, he could not recall what it was.

The first ray of true dawn touched him as he sprang across a foaming cleft in the rocks. The stag form blurred in midair, leaving in its place a thin, naked youth.

Sheer momentum carried Alec across. He landed awkwardly, skinning his knees and elbows. Still reeling from the transformation, he sprawled on his back and blinked up at the marbled gold sky, wondering dully where he was and how he'd come to be there.

Waves surged up the cleft he'd just jumped, flinging glittering white spray across his bare skin.

As Alec struggled to his knees, he realized he was still wearing the ivory vial he'd taken from Vargul Ashnazai. Prying it open, he emptied the contents into his palm, a few dark slivers of wood.

A blinding flash of memory rocked him—Ashnazai toying with the vial as he wove his tortures aboard the Kormados, the look of satisfaction on his face when he cut Seregil's throat, There's last despairing cry as it mingled with the howl of whatever had been unleashed against them after their escape. With a choked sob, he flung the pieces into the sea and screamed his sorrow after them.

But even as he mourned, the summons was still there, fainter somehow but still clear enough.

North.

The first Plenimaran scouts reached the temple site just after dawn. Micum was on watch and heard their horses in time to hide in the underbrush next to the track. He waited until they passed him, heading toward the white stone, then hurried back to the pine shelter to warn the others.

"They're on their way," he whispered, crawling under the screen of branches. "Two Plenimaran scouts just went by on the road, headed north."

"It is fortunate that they keep to the road," Nysander murmured, stroking his chin absently.

"Why is that?" asked Seregil.

Nysander sighed heavily, then looked up at his two companions. "Alec is on his way to us. He is keeping to the shoreline, so it is fortunate that the Plenimarans take the road."

"He's on his way?" Micum gasped, incredulous. "How do you know? When did you know?"

Seregil said nothing, but Micum saw the sudden tension in him, and the hectic spots of color that leapt into his sunken cheeks.

"I sensed him just after midnight last night," replied Nysander.

"You knew he was out there and you didn't tell us?" Seregil hissed. "Illior's Light, Nysander, why not?"

"You would only have charged off in the darkness with very little hope of accomplishing anything but damage to yourselves. He was too far away for you to reach on foot. Thero seems to have had a hand in his escape—"

"That traitorous bastard?" Seregil's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Stop it, Seregil!" Nysander ordered, finally giving rein to his own anger. It flashed across his face, startling as lightning from a clear sky.

"Whatever Thero's past actions may have been, it would appear that he used his own magic to aid Alec's escape, quite possibly at the expense of his own life. Alec is alone. This has brought him closer to us than losing either of you would have. If Mardus' scouts have reached us already, then the man himself cannot be far behind."

Seregil opened his mouth to protest but Micum spoke first. "I don't like it either, but he's right and we both know it," he said grudgingly.

"Well, what about now, then?" demanded Seregil, still boiling. "We can't just sit here hoping he finds us by sheer luck! Bilairy's Balls, Nysander, if you're so certain of where he is, magick him in!"

"You know I cannot expend that kind of power now. However, I was able to send a summoning and place some protections around him, as well. Mardus will not find him by magic."

Seregil reached for his boots and sword belt.

"But you knew about him last night," Micum said, frowning. "How did you do that, if not with magic?"

"I did nothing. The knowledge simply came to me."

"Then why don't Micum and I sense him?"

Seregil demanded.

"Who knows? Go to him now; help him. He is coming from the south."

"Ah, that's one of my titles, isn't it? The Guide?" Seregil growled, grabbing up a water skin and pushing out through the branches.

Micum moved to follow, but Nysander laid a hand on his arm. "Let him go."

Seregil's anger quickly gave way to cautious joy as he loped along over the rocks. During the long days on the Lady, hope had dwindled to a stubborn refusal to imagine the worst. Now it seemed Nysander's faith in the prophecy had been proven. Against all odds, the four of them were being brought together again on this hostile shore.

The tide had just turned past low, leaving tide pools and treacherous masses of bladder wrack gleaming in the morning sun. Great green swells rolled in from the open sea, wave upon wave smashing to geysers of glistening spume against the rocks. A freshening wind off the water carried the spray up the shore; Seregil turned his face to it as he stalked along, tasted salt on his lips.

Nothing else mattered. Alec was alive.

He kept one eye on the trees as he went. One patrol had shown up already; there would be others. Within the hour he spied the glint of sunlight off metal.

Taking cover in a rocky cleft, he listened as a group of riders passed at a gallop. From the sound of it, there were at least a dozen of them. Waiting until the last sound of their horses had faded away to the north, he continued on his way.