'Why Erienne, it takes all our energies to maintain ourselves and the illusions that protect us. I'm very much afraid that training your lovely daughter will be the death of us all.' She smiled and squeezed Erienne's arm. 'But that is the way of things and death never comes quickly to an Al-Drechar.'

'When will you begin?' asked Erienne, not sure whether she should let them. Not just for Lyanna's sake but for theirs too.

'Tomorrow morning. Time is pressing. Ren'erei feels that our enemies are closer to us than they have ever been, as poor Tryuun's wound demonstrates. We must be vigilant. Nothing must deflect us from our task,' said Aviana.

Erienne had lost her appetite. In her dreams, she had seen the Al-Drechar as simply lifting the veil that fell between Lyanna and her understanding of the One. But now, with this talk of enemies, she was scared of what Denser would find in his way as he searched for her. And she found herself hoping he wouldn't find her.

'And now we should all take to our beds. The time for hard work and great strength is here. Sleep is the healer of the mind,' said Cleress.

'I'll finish my wine,' said Erienne, not able to even contemplate

sleep. She took a sip and watched as the Al-Drechar helped each other from their chairs and made painfully slow progress to the ballroom door, each supporting another; Ephemere bowed under a curved back, Myriell ramrod straight but limping, Cleress tottering as if true balance eluded her and Aviana clearly plagued by arthritis in her knees.

They were just four terribly old women muttering to each other as they made their way to their chambers somewhere in the huge house. Erienne almost laughed at the thought that it would be almost dawn by the time they reached their destinations but managed to stifle it.

She poured another glass of wine and held it under her nose, letting its deep fruity aroma enclose her. What in all the hells had she done? She was entrusting the life of her daughter to a quartet of witches who all looked as if their final breaths were imminent. It should have appeared utter madness but somehow it made perfect sense and, through her fading anxiety Erienne saw what she had been searching for but that had eluded her until now.

A purpose for her and a chance for Lyanna.

Perhaps she would sleep well, after all.

Chapter 5

Ilkar awoke to the familiar sounds of hammering from outside on the College grounds. By the smell of it, the day was another dry one and a steady light shone around the gently billowing drapes covering the open window. Beside him in the bed, Pheone shifted and turned over to face the wall. Ilkar smiled, as he had been doing every morning since the night of the long-room testing five days before.

That had been a wild night. They'd set up rough carved and painted wooden blocks depicting Wesmen Lords and members, past and present, of the Xeteskian Circle Seven and the Dordovan Quorum. Taking turns, they had destroyed them using an imaginative range of offensive fire and ice spells, some better prepared than others.

Twenty mages had joined in the barrage, easing a frustration that had been building up for weeks. It had been a spectacular sight, with mage fire thrashing off the walls, ice shattering wood and forming deep icicles in the corners of the long room, that were subsequently burned away with tight-beamed flame, filling the place with steam. And every time he wasn't casting, Ilkar had stood ready to deploy shields for those who didn't have the targeting skills of their companions.

Ilkar had felt Pheone's closeness the whole evening and in the drunken feast that followed, he'd found his arms around her and her head on his shoulder more times than he could count. His memories, though indistinct, were full of her flashing smile, her laughter and the revealing shirt she had worn.

The alcohol-fuelled sex had been abandoned and fantastic, though he had to confess to himself that time had blurred. He wasn't sure it had been a lengthy experience but the feeling of a female body against his, even that of a non-elf, had been wonderful.

Pheone had quelled his concerns once their hangovers had cleared enough for their brains to function. Elves shouldn't become involved with humans, the lifespan differences leading to inevitable heartbreak and, too often, the suicide of the almost-always elven survivor.

'I don't think either of us believe this will last,' she had said. 'But we need each other now. Try and enjoy it and don't think too much about tomorrow.'

Ilkar wasn't sure Pheone really believed her own words and their passion on subsequent nights had been physically if perhaps not emotionally profound. She had been right. Their sexual union had given him a new outlook on everything. He had allowed himself to become so wrapped up in the rebuilding of Julatsa, all else had paled. He had even found himself beginning to resent The Unknown's infrequent visits, which was unforgivable. Pheone had reminded him how to relax and he found himself beginning to love her for that at least, if love was the right word.

More than that, though, he had started to look beyond the physical rebirth of the College to the longer term. The rebuilding of its psyche. There was so much to be done to attract mages back to Julatsa, to help it begin again, and he knew that, ultimately, he would need to leave to spread the word that his College of magic lived and breathed again.

But right now it was dormant and the place he had to be was here. He leaned over and kissed Pheone's sleeping face before jumping out of bed on to the cold stone floor, grabbing green breeches and rough woollen work shirt. He pulled on a pair of sturdy calf-length boots, pushed his hands through his ruffled hair and, hunger building, walked out into the passage, heading for the refectory which lay across the courtyard.

Outside, the day was fresh and warming. Dawn was an hour gone and he glanced at the work being done on the library roof and to a new structure whose foundations had been laid over the last seven days. As he always did, Ilkar paused for a while at the hole in which the Heart lay, contemplating their greatest remaining task.

One day, it would see light again and the bodies of those entombed within, including Barras, the last elven negotiator, could

be paid proper respect. He mouthed a short prayer that the Gods would deliver him the tools to do the job.

'Ilkar!' He spun at the sound of his name, recognising the voice instantly. Its owner came through the gap that had been the north gate, leading his horse, and behind him, a second sight that gladdened Ilkar's heart still more.

'Denser!' He strode towards the gate. 'Gods, they'll let anyone in here these days.'

'Sorry. I thought I had the freedom of the place after last time I was here.'

'That you do.' The two old friends embraced. 'Let's look at you.' Ilkar stepped back and took in Denser's face. 'A bit dusty, perhaps. And certainly a touch of grey here and there. Oh, and you need a haircut. But still recognisable.' He shook his head. 'It's great to see you. You've brought your hammer and chisel, I hope.'

Denser smiled. 'Sorry, never did go in for it much. I brought my pipe, though.'

'And I've missed its rank stench.' Ilkar patted him on the upper arm and looked past him. 'Hey, Unknown, it's been a while.' Ilkar tried to keep a smile on his face but seeing these two men riding through his College gates together could only mean one thing. Something bad, probably very bad, had happened.

The Unknown walked over and shook his hand warmly, his grip, as ever, crushing.

'Too long,' he said.

'So.' Ilkar returned his attention to Denser. The Xeteskian was tired despite the hour of the morning and seemed solemn. 'How's Erienne and Lyanna?'