You could do it, he told himself. You know you could.

Yet something told him he couldn’t. Arcannen wouldn’t have left anything to chance. There would be wards or warnings that any such attempt would trip. As tempting as the opportunity might be, he knew he should pass it up.

He slouched in the chair, his mind working, his doubts and fears roiling in dark waves, and wished he had never started any of this. He should have found another way, back when he was still in Portlow and there was a chance. Now he was trapped, not only by the sorcerer’s expectations and demands, but also by his attraction to Lariana. Even knowing she might not feel toward him as he had hoped, even believing it was all a game.

He was still worrying it like a dog would a bone when he fell asleep.

And found it waiting for him when a hand rested on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Reyn.”

Lariana.

He opened his eyes to find her bending over him, her smile heartbreaking, the sound of his name on her lips so welcome it brought tears to his eyes.

She started to kiss him, but then Arcannen appeared, his dark shadow sliding into the light as he came up behind her to rest his hands on her shoulders, causing all the boy’s doubts and fears to return in a rush so that he shied away from her touch.

“What word?” the sorcerer asked, eyes only for her.

“It went as expected,” she answered, glancing back at Reyn, sensing his reluctance, her expression suddenly uncertain. “They wanted me to lead them to you, so I let them think I was. I followed your instructions, disappeared when the magic allowed it, and left them to find their way out. What happens now?”

“You go out again.” He walked over to the table. Picking up the invitation he had taken such pains to compose, he brought it over, folded it twice, and gave it to her. “Take it to the Command Center at the Red Slash compound and present it. Don’t linger, don’t give them a chance to detain you. Now, go.”

And with a final look at Reyn, her expression unreadable, she was out the door and gone.

Dallen Usurient was sitting alone in his office, trying to make sense of what had happened earlier on the coast of the Tiderace, attempting to put all the seemingly disconnected pieces together in a recognizable form. He had thought to sleep long ago, his escape from the ruins of Arbrox and flight back to Sterne having worn down what remained of his strength. His hands had finally stopped shaking, and the images he had carried back with him of the fates of his companions—the ones that had twisted and torn at his sanity for hours—had finally subsided.

But he was hardly whole. Nothing had turned out as expected save for one thing—Arcannen was dead. He knew the sorcerer was dead because he had killed him, had shot him to pieces with a handheld flash rip when he had finally appeared out of hiding and exposed himself long enough to allow it to happen. But the deaths of Mallich and Hammer were terrible nightmares that would haunt him forever, and he could assume that Bael Etris had met a similar fate—though he would not take it for granted, not for a second.

But the boy and the girl—who were they? What sort of power did the boy possess that he could turn those animals against their handlers so effortlessly? Where had he come from? And the Druids! How had they found their way to Arbrox? Had they been tracking him all along, somehow alerted to where he was going and what he intended? Or had they learned of Arcannen’s whereabouts through another source? Had they seen and recognized him before he had managed to get clear of them?

He stood up and paced the room for a few moments, trying to still the thoughts that roiled through his brain, sharp daggers that pricked and cut at his confidence. What did he do now? He had to deal with matters as they were, and he wasn’t at all sure how to do that.

But Arcannen—Arcannen was dead. He clung to that as he would a lifeline, drawing on what comfort it offered him. The worst was past with the sorcerer dead. Whatever else threatened, that much at least was behind him.

He sat down again at his worktable and began considering choices for how he would handle his affairs from now on. Deny all involvement in whatever was discovered at Arbrox. After all, those who knew the truth were dead. Arrange to have the bodies discovered and file a report with the Federation Army High Command that did not implicate him. Track down Bael Etris, if he was still alive, and quietly put an end to him. Pretend that he knew nothing …

A knock sounded at his door. It caused him to jump, and he was instantly enraged. “What is it?” he screamed.

His aide entered, his face terrified, holding a folded sheet of paper. “A street boy just delivered this. I was told you would want to see it right away. Said it was a matter of life and death.”

Usurient rose. “Give it to me.” He snatched the paper away and motioned his aide out of the room. When the man was gone and his door closed again, he opened the paper slowly and read:

ARBROX IS HERE

Sunrise

Horn of Honor

That was all. But that was enough. Usurient read it again and again, trying to make it mean something other than what it clearly did. No amount of twisting or turning of its words could change the essential truth of it.

Arcannen was alive.

And Arcannen was summoning him.

He looked down and found his hands were shaking once more.

TWENTY-FOUR

REYN FROSCH WAS STILL STRUGGLING WITH THE MIX OF EMOtions generated by Lariana’s abrupt reappearance and even more abrupt departure; everything had happened so quickly, there was no time to sort it out. Then Arcannen said, “How would you like to have the answers to all those questions you’ve been asking?”

It caught the boy by surprise; he hadn’t expected any answers at all until the girl returned and wouldn’t have been surprised if Arcannen had continued to put it off even then.

But Arcannen led him over to the table on which he had composed his mysterious invitation and sat him down. Taking a seat across from him, the sorcerer leaned forward. “We are done with games, boy. We are done with practice. What happens next is a real test of your abilities. Can you stretch your magic in a way you haven’t tried and master it in the process? We’re going to find out tonight.”

Reyn felt his throat tighten. Tonight? “What do you mean? What’s going to happen?”

The sorcerer cocked his head slightly. “You’ve done well enough with images, but your magic has so much more potential. Let me tell you a little about its history. Once you understand what is possible, you might be better able to accept what I intend for you to do.”

He leaned back again, his gaze drifting off into the shadows of the room. “Lariana’s worked so hard with you. Tell me. Do you like her? It appears that you do. A great deal, in fact. Isn’t that so, Reyn?”

“I like her a lot,” the boy answered. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Surely Arcannen knew as much. “But you already know that, don’t you.”

He made it a statement of fact rather than a question. Arcannen laughed. “I do. And I’m happy for you. But let’s leave that subject for later discussion. The wishsong, then. The wishsong appeared centuries ago, an aberration created by Wil Ohmsford’s wrongful use of the Elfstones. It first manifested itself in his children. We’ve discussed this. What matters is that the sister, Brin, could make use of his gift in almost any way she chose. With it, she could change the world around her, altering the look and feel and behavior of other living things. She could literally bring a seedling to bloom or cause that very same bloom to wither.”

Arcannen paused. “Do you see what I am saying? She had the power of life and death at her command. What she could do to flowers, she could also do to humans and animals. There were no limits to her abilities. I think it likely there are no limits to yours, either.”