"While we're out of range, we're not out of danger—especially given what they've been sending our way of late," Fallon said. "We can't possibly bury the corpses as quickly as they've been thrown at us. We already had a hundred of our own dead from the battle with nowhere to bury them and little enough wood to spare for pyres. If the carcasses Curane's sending our way weren't diseased already, they'll draw disease quickly enough. At least it's not summer, or we'd be thick with flies."

Palinn nodded. "I thought the same myself. Since the cold shows no sign of letting up, I sent men out to bury whatever they could in the snow. If it freezes solid it may not stink or fester as quickly. But the fresh kills will draw wolves, and the rest will bring foxes and weasels—and worse. Once they come, they may decide we look like better food. We have enough problems without worrying about that."

Latt nodded. "I've already set wardings to warn the animals away from camp. It's in our interest to let them clean up the carrion—the sooner the better. I don't think all those bodies are war dead. Curane's been holed up for a while—and ill humours spread fastest when people are cramped together. My magic tells me that at least some of the bodies carry disease. Sooner or later, what's out there will be among us."

"If there's plague within the fortress, will that work to our advantage?" Senne mused.

"Come the harshest days of winter, there's always fever somewhere," Soterius replied.

"So long as Curane can wall off the affected parts, the rest of his people may make it through."

"What of our supplies?" Tris asked.

Palinn shrugged. "Our supply line is holding. Curane had snipers hidden along the main supply line, but he didn't count on our having vayash moru scouts. The snipers didn't last long, so since then, we haven't been troubled by raids. The biggest problem is there's not much left. Jared burned enough fields and farms that the people are barely feeding themselves, let alone an army. Even if we were of a mind to take what we could by force—"

"Which we won't," Tris said decisively.

"—it wouldn't be enough. I've sent out scavenging parties to within a full day's ride. Curane's own people are on the brink of famine. It takes a lot to keep an army fed. We don't have the luxury of a long siege."

Tris turned to Fallon. "Have the mages recovered?"

Fallon shared a glance among the other magic users. "We were able to contain the worst of the dark sending. Next time, we'll work on reflecting it instead of absorbing it. What worries me is the way the Flow is dropping out and then flaring back."

Tris and Fallon explained to the generals as best they could how the magic had fluctuated wildly. "If there was anything good about it, I think it flattened Curane's mages as well," Trisfinished. "It's the Flow itself that caused the problem."

"One of us is actively using magic at all times," Fallon added. "So we're very aware of the Flow. Just since the battle, we've counted more than a dozen times the energy dropped to nothing, then surged back. We're learning to read the warnings, but this is all new."

"What happens if you're caught in one of these surges?" Senne asked.

"Ana isn't here because of that," Fallon replied. "She was working with the water supply when the magic buckled around hen She said it was the way she's always imagined it would feel to be struck by lightning. It'll be several days before she's well again."

"And you're sure nothing Curane is doing causes the surge?"

Tris shook his head. "Curane's mages aren't causing the surge itself, but their blood magic is making the imbalance in the Flow worse. The more they draw on magic for dark power, the more unstable the Flow becomes. The question is—what happens when it shatters? We only have the stories from the Mage Wars. The last time that happened, it was in the Blasted Lands in the far north. That's why they're called the Blasted Lands."

"Have your ghost spies provided anything of value?" Tarq asked.

"From what they see—and they aren't all-knowing—Curane still believes he can outlast us. That means he thinks he's got something we don't have—or knows something we don't know. The ghosts have heard talk about some fever and plague in parts of the town, so that explains where they're getting some of the bodies. No one's seen the girl and her baby—they seem to be prisoners in the manor's tower." Tris looked at Soterius. "We do have the map Tabok's ghost gave us. Maybe it's a long shot, but if we could get a mage and a strike force through the caves and into Lochlanimar, we could coordinate another assault like the first one—magic and vayash moru and the siege engines. Bursts of small magic, rather than big pushes to keep the Flow from shattering. Curane's forces can't be everywhere at once." "What about the ashtenerath?" Senne asked. Soterius shook his head. "We know it takes a lot of power to make them. That means Curane started before we got here. Whether or not he's used up all he has, they're hard to replenish and dangerous to keep for any length of time. The troops know how to kill them, and now that they've fought them, they're not afraid of them anymore." "And the vayash moru?" Tarq pressed.

"They certainly can't take Lochlanimar alone," Tris said. "Tabok's ghost says the tunnels are charmed against the vayash mom, or I'd send a team of them into the caves. I'd like to send Ban and the strike force out tomorrow night, get them in place. Once we attack, maybe we can keep Curane busy until it's too late." He grinned. "I think I can manage to bring down the blood charms inside the castle—the ones keeping the ghost horde at bay. As for the vayash moru—Gabriel always said that those charms aren't as dependable as the Nargi like to think. I'll see what I can do."

"I have some men in my division you'll want for your strike force," Tarq said. "They're from the mines near the Trevath border. They're not afraid of the dark, and they can navigate underground."

"Done."

Tris looked from one face to another. "Let's hope this works. I don't know how much more the Flow can take, and if it splinters, it won't really matter who wins. We'll all be dead."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CARROWAY WAITED RESTLESSLY in the cold night air for the carriage. When it arrived, he glanced up at the driver.

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Take me to Dragon's Rage Inn."

"As you wish, m'lord."

Carroway watched the winter landscape slip by as the carriage made its way from the palace down into the town. With the lengthening winter nights, his mood had grown pensive. Spending so much time near Macaria of late only made it worse.

Goddess! I should get it over with. Tell her how I feel. At least maybe then it wouldn't gnaw at me. Maybe I'd get some sleep. He closed his eyes as the familiar internal battle raged on. I can't tell her. How could I ever believe her response? She'll always think of me as her patron, the one who sponsored her at court. If she doesn't share my feelings, she won't feel free to turn me down. She'd be afraid I'd have her sent away. She'd lose her livelihood. And if she said she loved me, how would I know it's love and not just gratitude? He sighed. I know better than anyone what it feels like to be pressured by a patron. By the Dark Lady! I won't ever do that to someone else. Never. It's hopeless. I've gotten that through my head. But when does my heart catch on?

The patrons of the Inn recognized him as he entered, and cheered at the sight of his lute. The regulars remembered him from the early days, when he played for drinks and food. The innkeeper remembered also and, though he knew his bard was now court musician to the king, came out with a tankard of ale and a plate of cheese and sausage that Carroway accepted graciously.