Mikhail scratched his stubbled chin. "But why?" he asked. "Why does Jared even want to fight the Sisterhood, let alone destroy it?"

"Because of Bava K'aa."

"Bava K'aa is dead."

"A mage of her power does not simply cease to exist," she said. "After all, any soul with a purpose can remain among us. That's even truer for a spirit mage.

"King Jared fears the spirit of Bava K'aa will take revenge for what he's done. Even more, he fears that she might transfer her power to another mage who would rise up against him. Arontala cast a spell over Shekerishet to banish the spirits that guard the king. Only then was he able to kill Bricen." She paused, worry clear in her eyes. "Jared may fear that his brother is a greater threat than he expected."

"But why is Jared attacking the Sisterhood if none of you can stop Arontala?" Mikhail pressed.

Fallon folded her hands in frustration. "Because he believes that Bava K'aa's body is buried in one of our citadels," she replied. "He thinks that if he .finds it, and destroys it, that he will end her power and influence."

"Can he? I mean, would it?" Soterius asked.

"Who can say?" she replied. "Bava K'aa was the greatest mage of her generation, save the Obsidian King himself. I don't know whether a mage of that power is governed by the rules that limit lesser mages. There are ways to desecrate the body that also bind the spirit."

"If the Sisterhood knows what's happening in Margolan, then why in the name of the Crone don't they do something to help?"

"The Sisterhood never quite recovered from the Mage Wars. We feared that Bava K'aa was the last of the great mages. The mages that survived the war—and the ones born since then—have not equaled the power of the mages who fought that war. We haven't seen another mage of her power— until now. Until Martris Drayke."

"So while my Sisters have many fine words to talk all around the issue, the Sisterhood does not get involved because many of the Sisters are afraid. They don't think they have the power to stand up to Arontala, or to the Obsidian King. The Sisterhood has always walked a fine line between intervention and meddling—not everyone would agree on the difference. Now, I'm afraid their fear has turned them inward. Those of us who are willing to put ourselves at risk— like myself and Sister Taru—are distinctly in the minority. You understand that you will not be able to leave this citadel until the soldiers are defeated."

"I don't claim to understand magic or mages," Soterius said, "but I understand the oath I swore to Tris. And I'm doing a poor job of it locked up in a tower!"

"I understand. But a large force is headed this way, with siege machines. We can't permit you to leave until the confrontation is over—else, I fear, you will find yourselves captured by Margolan troops."

"We can't just sit here," Mikhail objected. "We have a job to do."

Fallon looked quietly at the two men, as if she were making up her mind. "Yes, you do," she agreed. "And perhaps, for that reason, the Lady has brought you to us."

"So we just wait? I don't like this." Soterius began to pace. "A siege could take months! We don't have that kind of time."

"Perhaps," Fallon interrupted gently, "events will take their own course. But today, and for a while to come I fear, this will be your home. Rest. You look like you've traveled all night. One of our Sisters will show you to your rooms and bring you food. Your rooms are in the levels below ground where no daylight will intrude."

She turned. "Before you came, I was headed for a Council meeting. We must get ready for the attack."

"We're grateful for the shelter," Soterius said, with a glance at Mikhail. "But we're both soldiers, and we have no love for Margolan troops. Give us a way to help."

She seemed to consider his offer. "Yes, you may indeed be here for a purpose." Fallon signaled for a Sister to take Soterius and Mikhail to their rooms.

Soterius and Mikhail found themselves in two adjacent sparse rooms, with a small sitting area between them. Another Sister arrived with a platter of salt pork and a bowl of boiled eggs for Soterius, and a carafe of fresh goat's blood for Mikhail. In the weeks since they had left Principality, Soterius found that the vayash moru's choice of nourishment no longer bothered him. He did not watch the dark red liquid being poured, or think too hard about its source.

"I don't think I like the way she said that, about being here for a purpose," Soterius grumbled.

"I've always believed," Mikhail said, "that the Lady keeps her hand on those who do for themselves. So if we do what we can here, where the Lady has led us, perhaps we can change the course of what happens later."

"Maybe," Soterius said thoughtfully. "Who here would know Margolan tactics better than you and I? If anyone can find the troops' weakness, we should be able to do it."

"You have a point there."

"We've got to get into the Sisterhood's strategy meetings. We don't even know how this citadel is situated, or where it's vulnerable. I'd rather fight than sit around waiting on the Sisters to save us."

Fallon needed no convincing. As the evening bells began to toll, Soterius and Mikhail found themselves on their way through the windowless twisting corridors to join a war council of the Sisterhood. Soterius felt the heady, fear-edged anticipation that always surged through him on the eve of battle. Mikhail, usually imperturbable, looked nervous as a cat.

Fallon led them through the corridors with a ball of blue mage light carried in her hand, and stopped before a great wooden door. Iron-bound and ancient, it swung open to reveal a large, circular room, lit by brilliant torches and a fire that roared in a massive hearth. Along the stone walls, tapestries recounted battles whose names were lost to time. In the center sat a great table, a massive scrying orb fitted at one place. At the table sat eight brown-robed Sisters.

"Come in," a Sister gestured for them to enter. Her face was lost in the shadow of her cowl, and her voice sounded ancient. Fallon stepped back for them to pass, and closed the door behind them. "We have heard your tale from Sister Fallon," the cowled Sister continued. "And we know that you are swordsmen." She pointed a gnarled finger at Soterius and Mikhail. "You have both served the armies of Margolan. Within a day, those troops will be at our door. Where does your allegiance lie?"

Soterius stepped forward and made an awkward bow. "My lady," he began, "we are the liegemen of King Bricen. At his death, we swore our vows to his son, Prince Martris. We will not serve the traitor Jared. His armies are our enemies."

"You have spoken well, swordsman," she said. "Come closer." It was eerie, Soterius thought, to hear the rasping voice from beneath the brown cowl, but see no face. On the far side of the table were two empty chairs. "Please sit down." The other Sisters watched them in silence, giving Soterius cold shivers down his back.

"Fallon tells us that you have volunteered to serve the Sisterhood in this matter. Is that true?"

Soterius hoped he looked confident. "I was King Bricen's captain at arms."

"And in my mortal lifetime, I was liegeman to King Hotten," Mikhail said.

"I trained Margolan troops and I know their tactics," said Soterius. "If you can tell us more about this citadel, and the terrain around it, perhaps we can find a way to turn their attack."

"This citadel stands on the Plains of Marccam, built by King Lwelyn more than five hundred years ago. It can support several hundred troops for many months with its own water supply and a more than ample stockpile of food. We can protect our villagers, but not indefinitely." She paused. "The tower rises as high as five buildings atop each other, and has withstood fire, battering rams and siege."