Something hit Phoran in the chest with the force of a kicking war stallion. He stumbled back, and the half wall hit the backs of his legs. If the power the wizard had thrown at him had lost any of its force he might have still been all right, but it just kept pushing him until he tipped off the edge.

“We can’t run,” Tier told Hinnum, and was surprised at how calm he sounded. Seraph was stiff and shaking under his hands. He whistled, a clear, two-note sound he used for calling the children in for meals or work. Even if he were asleep, Jes would answer it.

“You can’t win,” Hinnum said. “That ring does not a Lark make, whether it was your daughter’s Order once or not.”

“Nevertheless,” said Tier collecting his sword and lute—a Bard needed a lute upon occasion. “My children need me.”

“You are the world’s only hope,” said Hinnum. “You cannot sacrifice the world for your children.” He paused. “I had grandchildren who died with Colossae.”

Seraph slipped the tigereye ring over her finger. “Sometimes sacrifice is necessary,” she said. “Sometimes. But everyone is not always asked to make the same sacrifice, Hinnum. Colossae’s death was the only way to save the world. Without your children’s death, everyone would have died. My children’s death would serve only to buy us time.” She turned to look where the storm clouds were dissipating. “You and Hennea think the only way to defeat the Shadowed is with the names of the Elder gods—and we don’t have those.”

The strain of yesterday showed on her face. Her cheeks were hollow, as if she had not been eating well for months, dark circles ringed her eyes, and her hair was mussed in its braids. Tier thought she was beautiful.

“The temptation in fighting,” Tier told Hinnum, “is to adopt the enemy’s successful tactics.” He opened the corral gate and took Skew out and began saddling him. “Willon could have faced us the night we destroyed the Path in Taela, but he chose to run and pick a time and place that better suited him. It seems to me he has been very careful to hide all these years—perhaps that is why he left. I don’t know. If we follow his tactics, we should abandon our soldiers in the field, pick up, and run until we are more ready for him.”

“Yes,” said Hinnum.

Seraph and Hennea let him talk while they saddled their own horses.

Tier shook his head at the wizard as he tightened Skew’s cinch. “We cannot win that way, Hinnum. There is no victory in playing to your enemy’s strengths. Willon doesn’t age: he can afford to wait. You tell me that he is here now. If we leave to ready ourselves, to prepare for certain victory—we’ll never find him. He’s hidden his presence for years, another fifty will make no difference to him.” He took in a breath. “It may not be for us to destroy him. Perhaps that chance died when Willon killed Mehalla all those years ago. Perhaps it was destroyed this morning when we let Lehr, Rinnie, and the others go off to find the names. But if we abandon our own, it will not be for victory over the Shadowed. You sacrificed your children for the world. I might be willing to do the same—but not for the mere chance of saving the world.”

Jes came. “Papa?” He stiffened, looked at Seraph, and the Guardian asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Willon is here,” said Tier. “It looks as though he might have taken Lehr and the rest.”

The Guardian drew a deep breath. “I want to go after them.”

“No,” said Hinnum. “You have no chance if you meet him alone.”

“Go,” said Tier, knowing full well that he might be sending his son to his death. “We’ll follow as fast as we can. We’ll head straight to the Owl’s temple.”

The Guardian flowed into wolf form, shook himself once, as if to get a feeling for the shape of the wolf, then ran.

Hinnum threw up his hands. “You would feed your children to the Shadowed one by one.”

“No,” said Seraph. The rage she felt was so strong her voice shook with it. “Jes is almost immune to magic. He’ll buy us the time we need to get there.”

“I’m ready,” said Hennea swinging onto her horse.

“Wait,” said Hinnum. He stared at his feet for a moment, then knelt before Hennea. “I failed you once, lady. I’ll not do it again. Like the Guardian, I’ll go to hold off the Shadowed until you get there, or die in the attempt. I think it foolish. I don’t believe it will work. But I will go.”

“You’ve never failed me,” said Hennea, her voice tender. “Never once.”

Hinnum stood and then, like Jes, he changed form. A magpie, ebony-winged and black-eyed, replaced the boyish form, and then took flight.

“Wizards can’t change form,” said Tier. “Not even Ravens.”

“Hinnum can,” Hennea said. “Hinnum can do a lot of things other wizards never dreamed of.”

Rinnie watched in shock as Phoran fell off the wall. She’d been so glad to see him, though she’d known, really, that he couldn’t rescue her from the Shadowed.

Something cold grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet. “Fly, Cormorant,” hissed the Memory in her ear. “Fly!”

And he threw her off the tower as the Shadowed screamed his rage after her.

The winds that had been comforting her ever since Ielian had dumped her on the floor of the guard tower caught at her hands and feet.

Trust us, they said, and then, like Phoran’s Memory they said, fly, Cormorant, fly!

And she did.

“Help Phoran,” she demanded of her winds and they let her speed down the tower, down the cliff, all but falling so that she didn’t lose sight of him. She landed, overbalanced, and then tripped and stumbled, trying to keep her feet. She landed on her knees not ten feet from Phoran’s body. She didn’t bother to stand up, just crawled to where he lay.

There’s no blood, she thought, surely there would be blood if the winds hadn’t obeyed her fast enough. If he was dead there should be blood. But if he wasn’t dead, he should be breathing, shouldn’t he?

“Phoran?” she said.

His eyes popped open in an almost comic expression of surprise. He still didn’t seem to be breathing, but he rolled to a seated position. His eyes watering, he sucked in air shallowly—and Rinnie sagged with relief. She recognized the signs, having fallen out of the rafters of the barn a time or two.

“You’ve just had the breath knocked out of you,” she said. “You’ll be all right.”

“The Shadowed is coming,” said the Memory from somewhere just behind her.

Phoran, still not breathing quite right, got to his feet. Rinnie grabbed his hand hard when she saw what lay just beyond him.

Ielian wasn’t going to be stabbing anyone again.

She turned away, but was caught by Phoran’s hand briefly. “Wait. He had an amulet—no, don’t look.”

He left her for a moment and returned, shaking his head. “No use,” he said taking her hand again and setting off at a jog.

“What were you looking for?” Rinnie asked him.

“An amulet that was supposed to release the Shadowed’s spell.”

“How did you break free?”

He smiled at her, though his eyes were tired. “No one commands an emperor,” he said. “It is unbelievable, inconceivable.”

Rinnie tried to put his answer with her question, but she couldn’t see how they connected.

“His spell was an illusion,” said Phoran helpfully. “When I didn’t believe it anymore, I could move.”

“He hurt some people before he took me,” Rinnie said. “I remember blood and Gura barking.”

Phoran’s hands tightened on hers. “Rufort’s dead. Kissel, I think, will be all right. I bandaged Gura, but he’d lost a lot of blood.”

“Look, there’s Lehr,” said Phoran.

Rinnie looked ahead and saw her brother running toward them. Phoran straightened a little more and sped up until they were running. Lehr caught up to them and turned to run with them.

“The Shadowed is coming after us,” Phoran told her brother. “We need to get out of here.”

Being able to breathe again made Phoran more aware of his surroundings, so he saw Toarsen and Kissel before they saw him. Toarsen had managed a more professional bandage than Phoran had taken time for, and Kissel was on his feet.