'And you'll try to do everything they ask?'

Another nod.

'It's important, you know. And I'll be here if you need me.' She looked into Lyanna's eyes. All the Dordovan training had been taken in her stride, accepted like learning to use knife, fork and spoon. This could be the same but somehow Erienne didn't think so. 'Gods, I wonder if you have any real idea what's happening?' she breathed.

'Of course I do, Mummy,' said Lyanna. Erienne laughed.

'Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Of course you do. Tell me, then.'

'The teachers will help me chase away the bad things. And then they will open the other magic doors and then show me how to hold the wind in my head.'

Erienne gasped. Her heart lurched. She was too young, surely, to have any concept. Erienne had anticipated rote learning. It seemed she was wrong.

'How do you know all that?'

'They told me,' said Lyanna. 'They told me last night.'

'When?'

'While I was sleeping.'

'Oh, did they?' Erienne felt a sour taste in her mouth and a quickening of her pulse.

The door to the orchard opened and Cleress stepped outside, a broad smile on her face. Gone was the tottering of the night before, replaced by an almost youthful stride.

'Is she ready?' she asked brightly.

'Well, apparently you know more about that than I do,' said Erienne sharply.

'What's wrong?'

'Next time you wish to invade my child's mind while she sleeps, you will have the decency to ask me first, is that clear?'

Cleress' smile was brittle. 'We must prepare her, and there are many things she will not accept awake that her subconscious mind will.'

'Cleress, you aren't listening.' Erienne stood up, putting Lyanna

down and holding her close. 'I didn't say, don't do it. Gods, I brought her here because I believe you know exactly what you are doing. I merely want you to check with me first. No one understands Lyanna like I do. Sometimes she needs her solitude.'

'Very well.' Cleress scowled.

'She's my daughter, Cleress. Don't any of you forget that.'

'I understand.' She nodded at last. 'We've been alone a long time.'

'Let's just get started, shall wer'

Chapter 6

Denser had no trouble gaining access to the Dordovan College library despite it being after dark, when the grounds were closed to all but College mages and staff. Indeed, on The Raven's arrival in the city the previous day, Vuldaroq had been anxious to help them in their investigations and offer any information available. He had even welcomed Denser and Ilkar's suggestion that they read the Tinjata Prophecy but had extended his official invitation to Denser alone.

Denser was, of course, extremely suspicious. But, with The Unknown and Ilkar out combing the streets for contacts and anything the Dordovans had missed, there was nothing for him to do but read and hope it became apparent why Vuldaroq had been so accommodating.

The original Tinjata Prophecy was kept under airtight glass in another part of the College. What Denser's assigned archivist produced for him was a large leather-bound volume, light brown and titled in embossed gold leaf. It contained upwards of sixty thick parchment pages, the left-hand pages being a transcript of the original lore, the right, a translation, which was incomplete.

Denser had asked why there were blanks in apparently random places, to be told that those parts of the lore were for the eyes of lore scribes only. He had frowned, curiosity aroused, and read what he could.

The early pages turned out to be a rambling account of the dangers of inter-College sexual union, the threat to Balaia of a return of the One Way of magic, and the importance of identifying and retarding the development of any such mage identified.

Denser raised his eyebrows. It seemed that Dordovan thinking hadn't advanced too far on this subject in the intervening millennia.

He read on, past some blank and fractured passages of translation, the prophecy moving to encompass the likely results of ignoring the threat or of failing to control the developing mage. Denser's heart began to beat faster, his mouth drying. Balaia had already been struck by tidal wave, hurricane and days of unbroken thunderclouds and here they were, all laid out. It was hard to believe it was a prophecy, not a diary because, not only did Tinjata foresee the weather systems, he also knew where they would strike.

' "The sea will rise and smite the mouth of the land."' It didn't take a genius to deduce that Tinjata had meant Sunara's Teeth. ' "The sun shall hide its face and the sky's smears will grow thick and deliver floods upon the earth. And when the gods sigh, the tall will be stunted where they felt most secure and the proud will be laid low, their stone temples the graves of their families." '

And further on, Denser shivered at what might be to come. ' "The beasts from below shall rise to gorge themselves and the mountains will crumble, their dust seen by none, for the eyes of the world will be blinded, awaiting the new light of the One. It shall be the light of hell on the face of the land."'

'Dear Gods.' He looked up and found the archivist looking at him. 'It really is happening, isn't it?' The mage nodded. 'Is there more?'

'It's worth you reading,' said the archivist. 'It might help you understand our fears more fully.'

Denser blew out his cheeks. T already understand. I just don't agree with your methods. This is my daughter we're talking about.'

'What can I say?' The archivist shrugged.

'You could say, "can I get you some coffee and a sandwich".'

'I'll be back in a moment but don't leave the library. There are still those who are very bitter about what happened the last time you were in our Tower.'

The archivist bowed slightly and walked away, Denser hearing the door shut gently. It wasn't so much Denser they were bitter about, he assumed, more his Familiar who had, at his bidding, killed a Dordovan mage in a room high up in the Tower. He had never felt any sympathy for the man – his had been a stupid action in capturing the mind-melded demon in the first place – but he had regretted the necessity of his death nonetheless. Dawnthief and the salvation of

Balaia had been at stake and there was nothing that couldn't be sacrificed.

Denser turned his attention back to the prophecy, flicking on, the pages creaking against their bindings. He frowned, looking again at one of the partially blank pages. There was something not right about the parchment. He brought the lantern closer and looked, smoothing down the opposite pages. They were different colours, the translated paler than the transcript. And the clinching evidence was there in the spine and the bindings. He quickly checked all the blank and part blank pages, six of them. There could be no doubt. They were newer.

He really had no choice. With his heart thumping in his chest, and his ears straining for any sound of the returning archivist, Denser drew a dagger and slit the untranslated pages from the volume, folding them hurriedly and stuffing them inside his shirt. He resheathed his dagger and turned to an undamaged spread as the door opened.

'Thank you,' he said as a tray containing coffee and bread were placed on the table. He poured a mug with a slightly quivering hand. That had been a little close.

'Anything you need help with?' asked the archivist.

'No,' said Denser, smiling. 'I'm all but done. Just a few more passages.'

The Dordovan moved away. Denser leaned back and watched him, blowing on his coffee and taking a sip. It wasn't too hot and he gulped down half the mug. He took a bite out of the cold meat sandwich. The archivist disappeared behind a shelf and Denser took his chance, closing the volume and snapping the clasps into place. To him, it looked so obvious that pages were missing; to one who wasn't looking, there probably wasn't anything to arouse suspicion. Probably…