Esme screamed as her bones began to contract, snapping and popping in protest. Her heart thundered like the steps of a giant in pursuit, then reversed its pace and steadily slowed. Beyond the excruciating pain, she felt her pulse's last terrified, fluttering beats as the world grew larger, then silent as snow.

When Belize uncurled his fingers, on his pasty palm lay a ceramic statue of a golden-haired woman in trousers and tunic.

Castle DiThon was as near the magical plinths as he could get through the mirror world. Guerrand had no idea if he was walking into the middle of a siege, or even if the castle still stood. Assuming it did, Guerrand knew instantly which mirror to summon to mind. He instructed Zagarus to stay inside the mirror until he called him forth, knowing the bird's presence would only make the meeting he anticipated more difficult.

Standing knee-deep in the pastel mist, Guerrand recalled a polished cherrywood, freestanding frame. Dried heather and wild geranium, treasures of happier days, were slipped between the frame and the silvered glass of the mirror. Guerrand took a step, and the mist gave way.

Kirah's room looked virtually unchanged since last he'd seen it-frilly feather bed, milk-paint armoire, unused dollhouse – reassuring him that somehow the Berwick threat had been prevented. To his greater relief, Guerrand saw his sister at the window seat, gazing through the leaded windowpanes at the weed patches where gardens once grew. It was late, past the middle of the night, judging from the angle of the moonbeams that framed Kirah's golden hair. Her face was colorless and wan. She was dressed in the palest of yellow, a hue that only emphasized her pallor, and her hands lay thin and lifeless in her lap. If she heard his entrance, she made no sign.

"Hello, Kirah," he said softly.

Her head swung around slowly. Kirah looked first stunned, then annoyed. Guerrand could see the great effort it took her to resume an impassive expression. "Hello, Guerrand," she said at last, her unusual use of his full name cutting him to the bone. "You've come too late with your grown-up beard and mage's red robe."

Guerrand could stand the distance between them no longer. He rushed across the room and dropped to his knees beside the window seat, taking her cool, limp hands in both of his. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." She shrugged disinterestedly.

Guerrand gripped her frail shoulders and shook them gently. "Be angry if you must, I deserve that, but please talk to me. Tell me what's happened here."

"Oh, nothing much." Kirah arched one brow listlessly. "The Berwicks attacked the castle."

He frowned. "Didn't Lyim get here in time to warn you?"

"Oh, yes," she said, a spark of life just beginning to show in her eyes at the mention of the apprentice. "He's the reason I'm still in the castle, along with the rest of the family. Without him, the Berwicks would have captured it, and who knows what would have happened then."

"Is everyone-" Guerrand began haltingly "is everyone else… all right?" Kirah nodded, and Guerrand heaved a huge sigh of relief. He was suddenly struck with a distressing thought. "Where is Lyim? He wasn't hurt, was he?"

Kirah shook her head. "He left for the coast yesterday, or was it the day before?" She shrugged again.

Guerrand twisted to search her face. "I expected you to be mad, but why are you acting like this, Kirah?"

A glimmer of her old fire sparked. "You expected me to be angry, so that, as usual, you could protect yourself in a cloak of guilt. Well, I won't make it easier for you to avoid responsibility for what you've done."

"What I did was follow your advice to run away before the wedding and study magic!"

"You have a selective memory," she accused. "The advice included taking me with you, so that we could both escape this prison."

Guerrand felt the weight of her accusations. He reached a hand to her cheek. "You're the one who said we can never stay mad at each other."

Kirah slapped the hand away. "Things have changed, Guerrand. You changed them." Her eyes narrowed with remembered pain. "Mother, Father, Quinn… then you." Tears welled and sparkled against her lashes, making her look even younger than she was.

"I'd hoped my note would explain…" Guerrand's voice trailed off.

"A note is a poor substitute for a brother." Kirah pulled the much-folded piece of parchment from the sleeve of her butter-yellow frock and fanned herself with it. "Lyim said you were unable to leave your master."

"Apprentice mages aren't supposed to have families," Guerrand explained bitterly. "When Lyim offered to come here in my stead, I thought maybe I could have it both ways."

Kirah's bitter expression eased momentarily at the mention of the other apprentice. "So why are you here now?"

"The world is a lot different, a lot more difficult than I'd thought." Guerrand stood and ran a hand through his hair, turning away. "I was wrong not to come myself before. I was wrong about a lot of things."

He turned back to her, his shoulders set with determination. "But I've come to put things right."

"Does that mean you're back to stay?"

"I can't, Kirah. You know it's too late for me here."

Kirah took the news with a bowed head. "I hoped… but I knew," she said at last.

Guerrand's gaze wandered above Kirah's head to the window, where bright Solinari and murky red Lunitari moved ever closer to each other. Invisible Nuitari could not be far behind. When the moons rose again, a half day hence, they would align on the Night of the Eye.

"I need your help, Kirah." Guerrand cleared his throat and put up a hand to still the protest he knew would come. "I know I've forfeited the right to expect it, but before you say no, realize I don't ask for myself. There's another person I pray I haven't lost, but I need a horse to get to Stonecliff immediately. Please, do me this one last favor."

Kirah threw up her arms in disgust. "Stonecliff! That's what's caused this pain from beginning to end. I'm sick to death of hearing about that land! No wonder Berwick was willing to give it back in the first place. I think Cormac is right about those pillars being created by pagan magic-they make people crazy!"

What insanity did Belize have in store for Esme at Stonecliff? Guerrand had asked himself that a hundred times since he'd left the mage's lab.

"Please, Kirah," he breathed again, clasping her cold hands tightly in desperation, "get me a horse before it's too late."

Guerrand rode, his body bent low to the animal's sweat-lathered back. The sun was setting behind his shoulder, pushing the craggy shadows of the heath far ahead of the plunging horse. An interminable half day had passed since Kirah smuggled him from the castle and helped him saddle a horse and slip away. Guerrand knew her cooperation, however reluctant, was a sign that she might forgive him in time.

Unfortunately, time was something of which he had too little. Guerrand rode the animal hard, strands of froth spraying around the bit in its mouth, but he couldn't stop. By the time the plinths came into view atop a hill ahead, his own sides ached from the arduous ride. Guerrand reined in the horse briefly to catch his breath.

Zagarus alighted on the horse's rear and followed Guerrand's gaze skyward. The Night of Three Eyeballs can't be far off.

Guerrand nodded. Shining brightly through shreds of dark clouds, the red moon already half lapped the larger white one, adding a sense of wonder to Guerrand's ever-present fear. Any hour now, all three moons would align briefly. By itself, the unusual triple conjunction would be a fearsome spectacle. More important, though, the event would amplify the power of all magic on Krynn. The thought of what that might mean for Esme brought Guerrand's heels into the flanks of the horse. Startled, Zagarus took wing while Guerrand pushed his mount over the last stretch to Stonecliff.