"I don't care if the Goddess herself sent you, lad," the guard snapped. It was the middle of the night. What kind of half-wit came stumbling up to the palace with some whore hanging on his arm, blathering about gods and Gifts? "There's healers aplenty in the city. Go and find one of them."

 "You don't understand," the kid snapped back, though the tall boy wasn't really a child. It was just that the pools of torchlight on the walls of the gateway softened him, took away some of the street-bred hardness. His face had an odd, artless vulnerability to it, despite the fact the guard had seen him nipping through crowds on countless festivals, robbing anyone fool enough to keep their purse in the open.

 Now, he was stood tall and glaring fiercely, dark hair dishevelled. "They can't heal this. She's blind!"

 "Well, be still my bleedin' heart," the guard drawled. "Ain't that convenient? I know that woman, lad, and the only thing she's blind to is her reputation."

 "Don't you dare talk about Hana that way," the kid snarled, something very fierce sharp in his voice.

 "It's no use, Ryan," the woman said. For the first time, the guard felt a twinge of unease. She had kept her face down, shielded by the blazing mass of red hair he had seen fluttering in a crowd so often, but her voice was drained and husky, as if she had been crying. "Folk like us ain't meant to meet the high an' mighty."

 "You show 'im, Hana," the kid demanded, his dove-grey eyes fierce as he glared at the guard with undisguised loathing.

 The intelligent, sharp-cut face reminded the guard a little of his own son, if Michael hadn't eaten for some weeks and was dressed in rags. Despite his thinness, the boy had a sinewy strength to his quick movements. And there was life enough in that firm mouth and obstinate jaw.

 Slowly, the woman lifted her head. A beautiful face, the guard thought, dominated by her full mouth. But then he saw her eyes and started back before he knew. In place of her eyes sat two orbs of opaque white.

 "Mithros bless," the guard whispered, sketching the sign of the Gods. Then he straightened up and remembered his duty. "Look, lad, I'm sorry, but you can't come in. We don't just let commoners in. For all I know, that's just some spell you've cast. You ain't comin' into the palace."

 "I have to!" the boy said desperately. "I ain't lyin' an' I ain't tryin' to rob you. 'Sides, there's you guards everywhere. What harm can I do?"

 "Over my dead body," the guard snapped.

 The boy stared at him and as the guard watched, those dove-grey eyes seemed to swell and change, filling with a fiery, unnatural blue that was like the moon's corona, like the first crashing wave of a tidal storm on a sunny day. A colour that screamed...

 Inhuman.

  A determined little smile and a slight shrug from this curious streetboy.

 "Fine by me."

 A whispered word and fire leapt between the boy's hands like a fey flower, and then that mild, rough- and that, the guard thought, was the worst of it, the fact that the boy was so ordinary - voice was murmuring, "I ain't wantin' to hurt you. So I think you'd best run.'

 "You can't use magic here!" the guard shouted, gesturing wildly to his companions to lower the portcullis.

 The boy looked at him, and suddenly his face didn't seem at all open or vulnerable, but merely sharp and intelligent and utterly stubborn. And under that voice, ocean tremors rolled.

 "I hate to tell you this, but I can an' I am."

 And then the guard was running for his life, shouting for them to close the gates and rolling under the portcullis as it dropped with a harsh thud as his companions on the gate looked at him in bafflement. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

 "What-?" One of them began...

 And the gate exploded in a surge of that cobalt fire.

 The guard felt shards of blazing hot metal streak past him, one scorching his skin in a blaze of searing pain before he threw himself flat and prayed to any gods listening to protect him. The light rolled over his eyes in wave after wave of that beautiful, ethereal blue, the crash of the explosion resounding in his ears.

 He blinked, to try and clear the blackness that seemed to have imprinted itself on his eyelids. And blinked again. Again. Again...againandagainandagain, trying to deny what he knew was true.

 He was blind.

 He staggered up, hands waving in front of him desperately and he heard someone sigh and recognised the young, weary voice at once, before the boy deftly moved him out of the open and sat him down.

 "Goddess, not again."

~*~

 Numair Salmalin crept quietly into his room and shut the door carefully. He smiled as he saw the girl asleep in the bed, her brown curls an unruly tumble on the pillow. Even in sleep, Daine Sarrasri's face was stubborn. There was a smear of dirt across one cheekbone that he was itching to wipe away, but he didn't want to wake her.

 Silently, he began to pack clothes and necessities, putting off the inevitable moment as long he could. But  eventually his shoulders slumped. He had to say goodbye, even if it was only for a few days.

 He shook her gently. Her eyelids lifted slowly, to reveal hazy blue-grey eyes filled with bemusement. "Numair?" Daine propped herself up on one elbow and yawned. "What's going on? It's not even dawn."

 "I'm leaving, sweet," he answered gently, seeing the disappointment blossom in her face at once. "Jon's sent me out on an excursion to find some Gifted children who've been causing mayhem."

 She frowned, her mouth turning down. He hated to see her unhappy, and was so often afraid to be the cause. What if, one day, he made her so miserable, she simply turned away from him? "That's sudden."

 "I know." He pulled at one of the curls hanging across her eyes gently. "The gods enjoy making us work for our lives. If they made it easy, we'd all be bored."

 "Don't talk to me about gods," Daine said grumpily. "I seem to spend my life being ordered around by them."

 Numair smiled, adoring the way she still had a hint of the Snowsdale accent to her voice. "That's what happens when they're your parents, sweet."

 "You really have to go?" She took one look at his resigned face. "You really have to go," the young woman confirmed with a sigh. "Well, I'll still have the horses to keep me company, surely." Her face brightened. "Onua's bought a new string from them Gallans. And the dogs...and the Queen told me they've some falcons that need training..."

 The mage looked at her glowing face and grinned. "You won't miss me at all ,will you?" he said playfully.

 Daine gave him a wry smile. "The animals are wonderful," she said, "though some of those beasties need to be told who's herd leader here, but they aren't you!"

 "I know," Numair told her. "They're far more intelligent."

 She laughed and kissed him. "That's why the King's sending you away and not them." Her blue-grey eyes were stern. "Well, you be sure to come back in one piece. One living piece."

 "Of course-"

 An echoing crash thundered through the air and both of them jumped. Outside, something like lightning flashed once.

 "Mithros bright, did the Lioness lose her temper again?" Daine demanded.

 "I doubt it," Numair said, leaning out of the window. His black eyes were keen as he scanned the courtyard. Below, he could see a man stagger to his feet. And a boy, striding in with a woman clinging to him. By the Goddess, what on earth...? "That was magic, sweet, and powerful magic at that. If very raw magic."

 She began to get up, pulling on clothes and briefly running a comb through her tousled hair. "You'd best go," she advised, absently petting one of the dozens of palace cats that seemed to wander in from nowhere every day. She looked up and in a breathtakingly matter-of-fact voice, told him, "I love you."

 He paused on his way out as she threw him the bag of clothes he had left on the floor and cast a brief spell. "I love you," he answered softly, delighted as always by the warmth in her eyes.

~*~

 Andrea yawned and stretched, hearing bones crackle, to find herself not asleep on the hardness of ground, but in a dark place. Around her she heard the constant drip of water, echoing softly like a thousand footsteps. Cold air lay over her skin like a mist, making her shiver convulsively as she sat up and felt only hard rock under her.

 I must be in a cave, she decided, fear building slowly in her stomach in an icy knot. What else can it be?

 There was soreness tingling in her feet. She reached down and couldn't suppress a gasp of pain. They felt as though they had been ripped to shreds. Of course, she had been running, hadn't she? Far and fast, away from that haunting, terrifying man on the gallows, away from that soulless town. She had no one, she had nothing, except the ghost of startling boy who had vanished like a cobweb in daylight.

 "Gods help me," she whispered, not knowing what else to do. "Gods give me strength to go on."

 And perhaps she only imagined, perhaps the hum of that baritone voice in her ears was only wishful thinking, or maybe a man did say, "We are always here."

 But even if it was her imagination, it comforted her, filled her with hope. For after all, she was alive, as far as she knew, and she had only a little pain, and she was far from the long drop. Perhaps it isn't so bad, she was thinking, deciding to try and explore this darkness, to see where that gurgle of water came from; for after all, if water could get in, why could she not get out?

 "Awake..."

 The voice came like nails dragged across squeaking floor and made her flinch. At once, her calm dissipated, and she moved frantically, scrabbling backwards to find a jagged wall in her back.

 "Want..." Another whisper, to her right this time.

 No...please, Mithros, send them away, she pleaded silently. But what if Mithros wasn't here? What if they didn't hear, if she was where the gods couldn't reach? A dreadful thought struck her, froze her utterly still.

 What if she was dead?

 No! I can't believe that, I will go mad if I think that. Andrea could hear her own high, rushed breathing in the darkness. All around her, voices were whispering, overlaying one another like layers of torn silk so she could only catch fragments of what they said.

 "Pretty...touch it...want it...mine...mortal...taste so sweet...hungry..."

 And that last word was taken up by all the strange, broken voices, whispering in the darkness of a world she couldn't comprehend.

 "Hungry...hungry...hungry hungry hungryhungryhungry..."

 No...all around, voices that cut her like jagged glass, driving her further and further into panic and fear and into the certainty that she would die and they would-

 "We are here." That smooth, male voice again, intruding into her thoughts and she was sure it was real. She caught her breath, felt her heart slow a little. "Listen to me, daughter."

 Who are you? she asked in the silence of her mind.

 "I am your god and you are my Chosen," the warm voice answered. It was powerful, but compassionate too. "Do not fear these creatures. You are more powerful than them. Think, Andrea, think why you ran..."

 "I don't understand," she whispered into the darkness and heard the rush of eerie, ugly voices stop.

 The voice touched with irritation. "You will understand. You are a warrior of Mithros; you can fight if you choose. Fight, mortal...fight or die." And as suddenly as it had come, that magnificent voice was gone.

 Mithros? Andrea thought, stunned. The Sun-God has chosen me as his own? But I have nothing. I am nothing but a freak, a cursed thing, a-

 My Gift. I have magic.

 She concentrated and the golden fire leapt into her hands, as the sun had risen from her soul. She hurled it into the air, a glowing globe and as she saw it what it illuminated, her heart leapt.

 A cave, a cave of sleet-grey stone, with a roof that arched high and stalactites hanging from the ceiling like bladed teeth. Water trickled from them to pools on the floor, murky and rippling. And there, there it was, a tunnel some two hundred metres away that had light, true light, weak daylight lighting it faintly.

 And then she saw what lay beneath it.

All the breath was snatched from her throat, and she choked on the silence, unable to drag her eyes from the horrors before her.

~*~

Kel was already halfway to the stables when she heard the explosion from the courtyard. She turned and ran towards it as behind her, she heard shouts and doors flung open.

 She skidded outside to find a strange boy standing in the midst of a scene of devastation. Kel gaped. The gate into the castle was gone, scraps of metal lay everywhere, silver in the moonlight, and the boy...he was glowing. A faint blue aura hung around him and threw his face into sharp contrast.

 "By all the gods," the King began as he strode outside, still clad in a dressing gown of dark-blue silk, then he stopped short and stared at the boy, his mouth falling open. "You!" A few flicks of magick from his fingers threw light into the courtyard, casting a bright white glow over everything.

 "I ain't nicked anythin'," the boy said quickly. There was a red-headed woman clinging to his arm. She was blind, Kel realised just as quickly, and her lovely face was streaked with tear-tracks. "I just want a healer for my friend."

 "You...want a healer?" the King echoed, as if he couldn't quite believe it. Above, shutters were flung open, as people leaned out to hear the commotion. As he saw the white, milky orbs of his guards' eyes - identical to the woman's, the King sent for healers with a brief word to the nearest servant.

 Behind her, Kel heard a soft, "Oh dear," and turned to see Master Salmalin, who gave her a brief wry smile which faded as he looked over her shoulder. He had a stunned expression identical to the King's. Kel turned and stared at the boy. What was so special about him? Nothing she could see.

"Mithros, Mynass and Shakith!" the mage breathed. "It's him!"

 "Aye." The boy stuck his chin out, looking steadily at King Jonathan and Kel could see a long scar gleaming from his ear to his jaw. She wondered what could have caused it. "That's all."

 "And you felt it necessary to destroy my castle to get one?" the King said in disbelief. "Young man, we need to talk about priorities."

 The boy looked alarmed. "I tol' you, I didn't nick anythin'!" he said. "I don't know who's got your priorities, but it ain't me. All I want is a healer." He pulled the woman forward. "Hana's been blinded an' there ain't no one in the city can heal it."

 "If you keep blinding people," the King said mildly, "there certainly won't be anyone who can."

 "I don't do it a-purpose," the boy muttered.

 "How on earth did we miss a Gift like yours?" Numair Salmalin demanded, stepping forward.

 The boy's eyes were a soft, dark grey as he stared at the man. Heartmelting eyes, Kel thought, even if they aren't green and...no, I have to stop thinking about that.

 "You're that mage, ain't you? The one what fought that Scanran in t'Immortals War. No one Salmon."

 "Numair Salmalin," the mage said with a half-bow. "Yes, I am. And you, young vandal, saved a young woman earlier."

 Shock flashing on the boy's face. "How'd you...well, you's a mage, ain't you?" he said in that rough voice. "You know everythin'."

 "Not quite," Master Salmalin murmured. His dark eyes rested on the boy in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "I certainly do not know how we missed a Gift like this."

 "I do." The woman spoke for the first time, in a husky, drained voice. She sounded bone-weary, ruined. "I warded t'house. Ryan always sleeps there - ain't nowhere else safe. Ye wouldn't a' felt a thing."

 "But whoever who warded it, surely...?" Numair said.

 The woman shook her head. "I paid her not to notice. An' Ryan didn't know he was Gifted until yesterday. He ain't ever tried to use his Gift afore, an' I think I'm glad. It sounds like he's done ye some damage, sir."

 "It's minimal," the King said with a sigh. "It can be fixed. Unlike your condition. I'm afraid we have never yet had a healer powerful to undo magical hurts this serious."

 "Then we'd best go," the boy snapped angrily. "I've a temple to burn down."

 The King and Numair exchanged looks. Suddenly Kel twigged. This must be the boy in the dream! That was why they were wondering why they had missed him...and how they knew he had saved a girl.

 "And the girl?" Numair said gently. "Ryan, is it? What about her?"

 There was sudden anguish on the boy's face. Not so old, Kel thought, perhaps afraid, despite his anger.  

 "I'd help her if I could." His voice low, passionate, startling in its intensity. "But I don't know where she is, who she is, I know nothin' an' maybe that Goddess has made me one of her Chosen, but she ain't given me nothin' but mysteries. It's she who blinded Hana, an' I ain't goin' to let her hurt my family!"

 Him? The Goddess's Chosen? Like the Lioness was rumoured to be?

 "Have you not thought, boy," the King said gently, his mouth relaxing into a smile, "that she sent you here for a reason?"

 "We were going to ride out to find you and the girl," Numair added mildly. "We know where the girl is; you, however, were protected and now I understand why."

 "You know where she is?" Ryan said in amazement. "Can I go with ye?"

 The king nodded and walked forward, slowly, as if he thought the boy was a deer that might run at any moment. And with those wary, dark eyes, he was, Kel decided. "Hana may stay with us. And Master Salmalin can teach you to control your Gift. Perhaps we can learn where it came from. No mortal so powerful has ever been known. If you could do that without training, boy..."

 There was a flurry as Bruna ran into the courtyard. "What is going on?" she demanded haughtily. "I heard something, but I was just arranging my hair..." Her voice trailed off as she saw the boy and her eyes widened. "You?"

 "Why do ye all keep sayin' that?" the boy said. "Who else am I t'be?"

 "We have a new companion," Numair Salmalin said mildly. He, like Bruna and Kel, was dressed for travelling. But looking at Bruna's expensive robes and heavy bags (that, Kel noticed, her servant was carrying), it would be a long journey.

"You're going now?"

 The voice was soft and curiously hesitant, but Kel recognised the elegant drawl at once. She spun so fast she elbowed Peachblossom, who promptly shifted his weight onto her right foot. Kel yelped and swore furiously.

"That wasn't the reaction I was aiming for." Neal was at her side at once, green eyes soft and worried as he knelt down to examine her foot. He glanced up and gave her a brief grin. "You needn't think me kneeling at your feet will be a common occurrence," he remarked, as a cluster of jade firethreads flowed over her foot and the pain evaporated.

 He was dressed, she realised, only his hair remaining curiously tousled as if he had raked his hands through it again and again. His usual wry expression was gone, replaced by an odd, shy smile that made her stomach liquefy.

 She gave him a watery grin. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

 "I wasn't expecting to be here," Neal told her thoughtfully. "But my feet seemed to have ideas of their own."

 "Funny," Kel said, and her dreamy hazel eyes had a little mischief to them as she relaxed. "Normally they take you into the nearest tavern."

 "Will of the gods," Neal said promptly. "And where my gods speak, I do not hesitate to obey."

She laughed, though her heartbeat struck her ribcage like a madman with a sledgehammer, and turned back to Peachblossom, hoping he wouldn't see the flush that had risen on her face. "And what do your gods tell you today, Neal?"

 "That I should do this," he said and with a firm gesture, turned her around, so she had no choice but to stare into the crystalline beauty of his eyes, the proud face and that sleep-rumpled hair that looked shockingly touchable. "And I should tell you goodbye, and I will miss you, and...where did that split lip come from?"

  Kel grimaced. "I woke Lalasa to tell her I was going. She was...surprised."

 "Surprised?"

 "She threw me into the wall. Next time I wake her up, I think I'll stand well back and shout."

 Neal arched an eyebrow. "Sounds painful. Well, I can heal that." A deep breath, and his hands shifted to cup her face. "Hold still."

 What am else am I going to do? she wanted to ask, but all questions promptly flew out of her head as he kissed her gently, mouth settling tenderly on hers and she felt the startling bitter-sweet sting of magic flow from him. And then he wasn't healing her, but saying goodbye in what Kel was sure was a time-honoured fashion. Body language, after all, could say more than a thousand words. And Neal had a lot to say.

 When he finally lifted his head and looked at her with something between confusion and awe, Kel was completely speechless.

 "You'd better go," Neal told her, green eyes glinting with something she couldn't decipher. A mild sigh. "I probably won't be here when you get back. The Lioness is getting restless." He shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing."

Make your mind up, Kel wanted to say. Are you going to sit here and rave about right and wrong or are you going to do something? If it's going to be no, then at least tell me so I can start working out how to cope.

 But she would rather have stayed there forever, with him staring down at her like she was a star that had dropped into his hands, than walk away and leave her unsure and hopeless.

 "Squire Keladry?" Master Salmalin walked in and Kel and Neal sprang apart like lightning had struck them. "Are you ready?" His dark eyes glanced over Neal and he frowned briefly, looking from one to the other. "Nealan, is it? Alanna's squire?"

 "Sir," Neal murmured. "I was just saying goodbye."

 "Yes, that's exactly what it looked like," the mage said with a hint of wickedness and much to her immense embarrassment, Kel felt herself start to flush. "Well, if you would like to finish your goodbyes, we have to leave soon. And please tell the Lioness that I'd appreciate it if she could write the sandstorm charm down for me." She could swear that as he left, Master Numair had the starts of a positively evil smile on his mouth.

 "You don't think...?" Neal said, staring after him.

 "I don't know," Kel replied with a sigh. "I don't feel like I know anything at the moment, Neal."

 He tilted her chin up and looked at her with a solemn face. "Well, I shall miss you," he informed her gently and took a deep breath. "More than I thought I would. And while my head might be shouting no..." He kissed her again, hands tracing reverent patterns on her skin. A soft smile, a little bit of colour in his cheeks. "My heart most definitely controls my mouth," he said gently, and strolled out before Kel could even start thinking again.

 Funny, Kel thought. My heart doesn't let anything else get a word in edgeways.

~*~

 Dawn flowed over the landscape like a tender wave, the sun boiling slowly into the sky and throwing fireshot pinks and purples and oranges around it. It looked, Kel thought, like something from a dream. All around, only beauty and silence and the rhythmic clip of their horses hooves on the road and-

 "Mithros bite me!" There was a muffled thump as the street boy, Ryan, fell off his horse and hit the ground at high velocity. He must have fallen asleep - Kel had had to concentrate to stop herself dropping off as they trotted through the night. From the vibrant cursing that followed, it wasn't only Mithros who would be biting him if the other gods were listening to just what the streetboy was saying about them.

 "Mithros will do no such thing," Numair Salmalin remarked quietly, his eyes sparkling under the veil of his unfairly long eyelashes. "I take it you never learned to ride, Ryan?"

 The boy scowled up at him, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. "I can ride, I was just kippin'. Though where I come from, most folks eat horses."

 His horse tossed its head and pranced away from him. The boy sighed heavily. "Not me, ye great lug. I ain't goin' to eat what's goin' to carry me."

 "From what I've heard, it's about the only thing you street-rats won't touch," Bruna drawled in her icy, haughty voice.

 "I could make an exception for you," Ryan said. "I ain't never been one for the village horse."

 "The what?" Bruna said in total bemusement, her voice arching with derision.

The street-boy gave her a dazzlingly angelic smile. "Everyone gets a ride."

 Kel had to turn her face away so the noblewoman mightn't see her smile. The boy had a wit far quicker than Bruna's, that was for sure. And the easy way he lounged in the saddle belied his astute glance. He had ignored her so far, mostly, except to look at her in brief appraisal.

 "Do you know who I am?" the noblewoman shrieked in outrage. Kel saw Master Salmalin wince as if her voice hurt his ears. It was certainly grating and shrewish enough.

 "Thank Mithros, no," Ryan murmured, his rough voice cool as the air around them. "But I get this feelin' I'm about to."

 "I am Lady Bruna Darjeelan the Fifth of Farbrook," she informed him haughtily.

 "Y'mean they had four tries before you an' they still didn't get it right?" The street boy's voice was gleeful, rich with amusement. Kel was starting to like him.

 "You-"

 "Children!" Master Salmalin's voice cut the air like a honed blade. "Enough. We are not here for you two to indulge in sparring matches. We have a long ride ahead of us, and you may need your strength."

 "Y'ever plannin' on stoppin'?" the streetboy enquired. "I've had sleep enough, but I'm willin' to bet them two ain't." He glanced at the girls and Kel stared back.

 "I'm used to long rides," she told him. "It's a rare day when our enemies set with the sun."

 "Huh?" Ryan's grey eyes narrowed fractionally. "You're that lady knight, ain't you? Keladry of Mindelan. I heard 'bout you in the city. They says you're causin' trouble."

 "They have it wrong," Kel said staunchly. "I don't cause trouble. I happen upon large quantities of it. And it's Kel. Just Kel."

 The boy grinned lopsidedly. "Well, Just Kel, I know all about trouble. An' if you're wantin' to find it, you have to go lookin' for it first." He winked. "An' ain't it fun when you find it?"

 "I don't know about that." Her voice was wry as she remembered the dozens of bruises and cuts she had received sparring with Joren and his cronies before they found her and her friends more than a match for them. "It hurts."

 "Then you don't know how to fight proper-like." The boy bared his teeth in a startlingly feral gesture. "You teach me some of them Shang moves I hear you learn, an' I'll teach you how we fight in the streets."

 She looked at the bright face, noted the scar running from ear to jaw that glistened in the weak morning light and decided that above all else, this boy was a survivor. "Done."

~*~

 Andrea could only hear her voice shrieking crazily for a brief second in the hellish golden glow that illuminated the cave, and then she had no breath to scream.

 Dear Mithros, they were horrible.

 Deformed things, hideous, half-man, half-beast things ringed her. If she looked at one, she saw the spark of sharp teeth, the tufts of fur sprouting from its body like some magical experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. Another had horns perched atop its head, like twisted and bowed antlers, its arms unnaturally long and prehensile, reaching out towards her while those tiny, dark eyes glittered with hunger.

 Everywhere she turned her head, they sat or stooped or lay; tails, claws, fangs, muzzles, all animals parts melded into a man's body, some appearing to be made up of several animals. One with a mouth that hung loosely and drooled onto its misshapen hands, another slithering closer, with no limbs and a strange pebbly skin.

 She shrank back, wanting to douse the golden light of her Gift and at the same time, too, too afraid to leave herself alone in the darkness. They lay like a writhing, living carpet across the cave, their voices hissing from lipless mouths, hissing in a strange rhythmic chant...

 Hungryhungryhungryhungry

 No! she cried silently. I can't stay here, I can't! She wanted the blazing strength of Mithros's voice back, talking to her, even being angry with her because his rage was better than this horror. But no sound bar their cracked whispers, nothing but herself.
 
 She was trembling madly, but Andrea knew she had to get out for these were far more dangerous than ever the gallows had been, far more primal and dangerous. She didn't want to hurt anything but...

 "So hungry," she heard a voice sigh, almost human bar that eerie high pitch. "Want you..." The thing that stepped forward made her swallow hard to stop her stomach churning. Its hands were a lobster's claws, while silvery fur tumbled from its head like a mane, down to its hunched back. It was bent almost double, but still she saw the points of the wickedly long fangs that stretched to its chin like chunks of dirty ivory. Its legs had the strong, muscled look of a rabbit's, odd against the rest of its contorted body.

 "No," she said, and could think of nothing else at all. "No, no, no!"

 "Fight us not," it said, the words slurred. Of course, it couldn't speak properly around those...teeth. "We want...we take. You ours. We take you."

 "Not me," Andrea whispered, pressing her back against the rock until the pain made her mind sharpen. "I'm not yours to take."

 It laughed, a cold sound that made her think of ice cracking. "Wrong."

 And then she saw why it had those odd, strong legs. Legs that coiled under it, that tensed...

 It sprang.

~*~

 "Ah!" Ryan put a hand to his head briefly, swaying on the horse.

 "Ryan?" Master Salmalin was alert at once, nudging his horse over to peer at the boy's face anxiously. "Goddess take me!"

 Kel glanced over to see what was wrong and stared. Ryan's eyes were no longer grey, but that fiery dawn-touched blue, and his hands on the rein were laced with green threads, strands were spreading up across his body until he was haloed in that unholy light. The Gift, she thought and shivered. A blessing perhaps, but also a curse.

 "It's her," the boy said through gritted teeth. "The girl. Somethin's goin' on. I can feel her. An' she's scared..." Fierceness in his voice at that. "A-feared and far away." He straightened, grimacing slightly. "We ain't got time to waste fussin' over me. Let's get on." But Kel noticed, however he tried to hide it, the pain that was soft in his voice.

~*~

 She froze for a moment, then felt her magic soar inside her, and briefly, she blinked and could sense the boy, riding somewhere, his mind shocked as the bond between them leapt into life, and the gold of her Gift turned that fatal emerald.

 She screamed and hurled her...their Gift at it, afraid, angry. Lime-green light streamed from her hands like tamed lightning and streaked towards the creature. She shuddered as it hit, heard the creature's horrifying scream and saw the dust that drifted from the air.

 I killed it, she thought. I killed that…thing. She wanted to retch, to control the maelstrom of feelings that spun in her head and body, but she had to get away first. Anywhere, not here, not with these.

 "L-let me out," she ordered shakily. Pray Mithros, they didn't attack or she was finished. She didn't know if her Gift could…kill all of them. She didn't want to kill all of them, or even any of them.

 A snarl rose around the cavern. Hundreds of pairs of eyes radiant in every colour of the rainbow, then the mass of bodies split to leave a clean path, uncannily like the path that had swung to her from the executioner, what seemed like a thousand years ago.

 She didn't hesitate, but fair flew down it, ignoring the way the cuts on her feet reopened, ignoring the pain and behind, the awful, broken howling that echoed into the air, instead throwing back her head to greet the morning light.

 She was free, blessed gods, she was free.

 She laughed and hurled magick into the air, unaware that anyone might be watching the sky, unaware they might see the towering pillars of flame that rose into the sky, simply running into the woodland around her.

 But she knew where she was going now. She would find the boy. She knew where he was; in that brief moments when their Gifts had merged, she had known everything he knew.

 She laughed again and threw fire into the daylight. The light was here now, she was safe. And in the distance, she could see a small river winding through the wood. Finally, she could scrub some of this dirt off. But...there might be people. People who saw she was a monster cursed with the Gift.

 She shivered a little, but then remembered what she had seen in the boy's soul. That not everyone hated the Gift; that he was riding with two other Gifted, and that they would surely help her and protect her from the executioner. Because although Andrea's common sense told her he could not follow her, her heart told her that she had been foolish to try and escape, because there was no escape from your destiny.

 The river, she told herself. The river.

 And she spent a pleasant day alone in the woods, searching for food; though all she found a bare patch of berries and knew she would have to find something more substantial soon, for now she was content. And for the first time in her short life, as she curled into the scant shelter of a hollow tree...Andrea thought she might be...

Content.

~*~

 And far away, the mage in the red robe let the orange light fade from her palms. "To the East," she called to her companion. Her slanted black eyes were cool as she looked thoughtfully to where the Gifted girl had lain herself down. "Salmalin is days away. If we can capture the girl quickly, we will have time enough to lay an ambush." She smiled, but it was empty of humour. "Set a mage to catch a mage."

 "Good," the other said, claws clicking like knitting needles as it settled. Its tail flicked in idle motion, whipping dangerously close to the mage's feet. The black-haired woman turned and glared at her companion.

 "Careful. The last thing I need is a broken leg."

 "And if you dare to speak to me that way, it will be the first thing you get," the creature drawled in a voice slow and hot with anger, snarling, "Don't forget who I am."

 The mage swallowed hard and dipped her head courteously. "I have not forgotten, master."

~*~

 The setting sun found the travellers setting up camp in a clearing away from the road. Kel watched as Master Salmalin laid a magic circle around their camp, the air quivering with black fire flecked with silver. She was busy building a hearth while Bruna sat herself down primly, far away from Ryan, and contented herself with staring into the sky and ignoring everyone else.

 "How'd ye light the fire?" Ryan asked curiously, his eyes - back to their usual dark-grey now - following Kel's movements. "Ye've no tinder."

 "There are lots of ways," Kel told him. "I thought you'd know, living on the streets."

 The boy gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Aye, well, it ain't as backward as you people seem to think. Sometimes, it's even fair good." He watched as she began to search the surrounding ground for rocks. "What are ye doin', lass?"

 "Lass?" She looked at him and saw his face sparking with mischief. "I'm your age! And I'm looking for flint. Strike a knife on flint and you get sparks."

 "An' sparks start a fire," the boy finished, grinning. "So Kel, what's it like bein' the only lady squire? Ain't there people who don't like it? I've heard some in the city callin' you a witch an' a misfit."

 She pulled a face. He would have to tell her that. "Like that, really. There's always someone who'll try to make life difficult. But I try to ignore them and get on with my life." She heard a tiny snort from in Bruna's direction, but ignored the girl.

 Ryan yawned and stretched lazily. "I always hit anyone I heard say that. Reckon if Hana'd had a chance, she'd'a been good in the Riders. She's a fair shot with a crossbow an' you won't find any better with knives in the lower city. I hope you get your shield."

 Kel looked up from where she was scrabbling in the dirt, surprised. "Thanks." She was about to continue, when a large hand hauled her up gently from the dirt and she found herself staring into the long-nosed face of Numair Salmalin.

 "You don't need to do that," he told her mildly. "There are Gifted children here I need to train. Sit back and watch." His dark eyes were still as a lake on a windless day. "You might learn something." He beckoned Ryan and Bruna over. The noblewoman slunk over languidly, taking her time, while Ryan muttered something Kel was sure Bruna had to have heard, from the sullen curve to her mouth.

 The mage gestured to the pile of wood. "Light the fire," he said calmly. "Let's see how Gifted you are."

 "Well?" Numair Salmalin looked from Bruna to Ryan. Both the streetboy and the noblewoman had identical 'are you mad?' expressions on their faces. The mage sighed heavily and lifted his dark eyes to the sky. "Mithros guide me! Children, would one of you please light the fire?"

 "How?" Ryan demanded bluntly. Kel sat herself down on a rock and prepared to watch the entertainment. "I ain't never used my Gift to light fires."

 "Well, you managed to demolish the gates of the palace without much trouble," Master Salmalin said mildly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "A fire should be a cinch."

 "I was angry," the boy muttered, looking at his feet. "It...just happened."

 "While that may be an excuse now, it will hardly serve when you are standing at the centre of a mile-wide crater," the mage said drolly. "All you have to do is want the fire to be lit. If you want it enough, it will happen. Lady Bruna?"

 While the noblewoman stuttered and stammered an excuse Kel watched their surroundings. There was something about this place that was starting to make her feel vaguely uneasy. Though she could feel the hum of magic through her feet, protecting them, the utter silence made something inside her shriek in alarm.

 She moved to where Peachblossom was tied and drew out her sword, slinging an axe over her back for good measure. It made her feel better. If she had a weapon, she could fight.

 She watched the trees. Leaves rustled in the breeze, only the sounds of their whispering and the laughter of the river that ran through Corus nearby. And the slam of her heartbeat, unusually loud in her ears.

 [Leaves rustled in the breeze…] Something nagged at her, yet Kel couldn't place it. Ill at ease, but deciding it was her imagination, she turned her attention back to the trio of mages.

 "If you don't try," Master Salmalin was saying exasperatedly, "you will never learn to control your powers and I can tell you for free that you'll be dead within the space of five years."

 "Big change there," Ryan told him. "I mean, livin' on the streets ain't exactly a picnic."

 The mage glowered at him. Kel promptly decided she never wanted him annoyed with her; when he was vexed, his eyes seemed to glitter like jet caught in light and she swore she could see a spark leap from the finger he pointed at Ryan.

 "Did I ever tell you this would be a picnic?" he snapped. "Do you know what happens to mages who can't control their power? I had to clean up a case seven years ago because no one taught her just what being Gifted meant. The explosion tore her into shreds that were scattered for five miles; she didn't become history, young man, she became geography."

 Bruna put a hand to her forehead and her body swayed dangerously.

 Master Salmalin glared at her. "You faint, young lady, and I'll hang you upside down from the nearest tree until you wake up."

 The noblewoman had a miraculous recovery, her sultry brown eyes wide with mingled fear and respect. Kel hid a grin. The mage certainly knew how to deal with people like Bruna.

 "Now," he said more gently. "You do have to learn. Just try - if you can't light the fire, it doesn't matter. It's that you try; only practise will give you the restraint you need. Try thinking of something that makes you angry; the Gift tends to rise more easily when we are at the pinnacle of our emotions."

Behind her, there was a hiss. Kel drew up her sword and spun immediately, feeling the Yamani-calm she needed flood through her bones. But nothing; only the screen of foliage, and the crackle of wind tossing the leaves aside.

 "Squire Keladry?" she heard the mage say in his mild, husky voice.

 "Nothing," she answered, her hazel eyes scanning the area. Reluctantly, she turned and sat, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, slight chills walking through her body. Something was wrong; nothing would show itself. "I'm just hearing things."

 She heard Bruna's disdainful 'paranoid' and pretended she hadn't.

 "Lady Bruna, would you try and light the fire?" The mage sounded a trifle weary now. Kel watched as the noblewoman nodded graciously - as if it really was a request, not a subdued order - and gestured to the fire.

 Nothing. Sweat broke out on the noblewoman's forehead, soaking into her long, curly brown hair. She really was trying; probably, Kel thought uncharitably, the first piece of work she had ever done. Her hand trembled, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Kel saw Master Salmalin nudge Ryan and murmur something.

The street boy's eyes lit with devilment. "Get on wi' it, ye lazy-"

 There was a low roar, like wind in a tunnel, and orange-brown flames burst onto the stacked kindling, crackling merrily. Bruna looked like she wanted to kick the streetboy and only her breeding prevented her.

 "It did work," Ryan remarked to the mage, a smile curving his firm mouth. "Does this mean I get to insult her every time you want her t'do anythin' with her Gift?"

 "No," the mage said resolutely. "Not unless she is allowed to repay the favour."

 The boy pulled a face, his dove-grey eyes wistful. "Pity. My turn now?"

Waving a long-fingered hand, the mage nodded and the flames were snuffed out as if they had never been. "Indeed."

 Kel watched as Ryan's thin face was encased in sheer concentration. But it was his eyes she observed closely. Every time she had seen him use his Gift so far, they had turned that bright, blazing blue, like dragon scales caught in the sun.

 That whisper again, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. She turned her attention back to Ryan, to his narrow face, how lean he was compared to the rest of them, but how he seemed to have so much life. Master Salmalin was watching him too, arms folded and that mass of inky-black hair held back and...

 Black hair. Black hair that was utterly still.

 Not moving in the breeze because...

 There was no wind.

~*~

 "It's done," the mage said calmly. She doused the fire and dusted her hands off. "I've sent them. It should keep Salmalin away long enough for us to capture the girl and...persuade her."

 "It will not kill him? You disappoint me, mortal." The creature stretched and bones crackled in the silence. As it yawned, rows and rows of silvery teeth were revealed, each sharp and glinting. "I  thought you would not squirm from murder. After all, it is why you fled your homeland, is it not?"

 The Oriental woman stiffened, but was careful not to show any of her ire. "It is, master, but Salmalin is powerful. Ozorne himself could not destroy him. Hadensra fell to his sorcery. To kill him would be near impossible."

 "They once said things such as I were impossible," that papery, dry voice said. It was like hearing wildfire licking at desert plants. "I have often found that impossible is a word humans invented for when they cannot be bothered." The blinding orange of its eyes swung to the woman, deigning to notice her. "But I can smell your fear from here. You would not dare lie to me."

 "No," the woman said and shivered, sending ripples through the silky red robe she wore. "Never, master."

 The creature flicked its claws imperiously. "Go, seek the girl. Do not return until you have found her."

 "Master..." The woman swallowed hard. For all that her face was empty and hard, she was young still. Foolish, perhaps. "Could you aid me in seeking her? I am tired from having to fire-speak over so many leagues."

 Those lazy, fathomless eyes remained fixed on her. Time passed, when all she could hear was the beat of her heart and wondered if it would simply reach over and rip her into shreds, as she had seen it do so often before.

 A claw reached out...

 And curled around her arm, pulling her closer until she had to stare into the gaping maw of its mouth, feel the acrid hot breath. "You speak true. I will aid you, this once."

 "Th-thank you," she gasped, dropping her eyes from its inhuman stare. "You are most g-generous, master."

 "True," it said and laughed.

~*~

 Kel caught her breath, her hand clenching tight around her sword. Something was tracking them, she could feel it now and she wanted desperately to turn around and search the forests to find what moved the leaves so softly. But she had to be careful...not to let them know.

 She got up slowly and strolled over to her pack, pretending she was digging for rations. Buying time to think.

 "Concentrate, Ryan," she heard Master Salmalin say from a few feet away. He had his hands on his hips and was watching the streetboy with narrowed eyes. Ryan, for his part, looked more than a little grumpy.

 "Master Salmalin?" she said, hearing her voice come out calm and pleasant. Good. Good start.

 The mage glanced over. "Is it important, Squire Keladry?"

 "Very."

 He must have seen something in her face, because he ordered Ryan to keep trying and strode over. "What is it?"

 "Sir," she began. "We have a-"

 There was a high-pitched scream as a bolt of gold-tinged green fire seared from the trees and hit Bruna in the shoulder.

 "-problem," Kel finished weakly and slid into a fighting stance.

 More fire was slipping between the leaves now, flying at them from all directions. The mage swore furiously and shouted something. A dome of light leapt between them and their attackers; the magic circle, she guessed.

 "We're safe for now," the mage said tersely, running to Bruna, who was moaning faintly, tears shining fresh on her face. "As long as they don't have a counterspell..."

 An explosion rocked the ground and Kel was thrown to her knees. She got up quickly, to find the circle gone and spidrens dropping from the trees, grinning coldly. There had to be a dozen of them, long legs inching them forward, bringing their monstrous bodies closer.

 She saw Ryan's face; pure, unadulterated horror. Of course, living in the slums of Corus, he had never seen anything like this. One of the spidrens lifted its hands and screamed something; lightning jagged at the boy.

 "Ryan," Kel shouted. "Move!"

 The boy seemed frozen. She looked away...

 There was a dazzling burst of turquoise light, an explosion that made the earth roar and then silence. Hazy, peaceful silence. Her ears rang.

 Kel looked back to find the boy looking in awe at his hands. Where the mage spidren had been, there was a smoking black crater.

 The immortals charged.

 She ran forward, beside the boy and gave him the axe. He nodded once briefly, and she pretended not see to see the way his figners trembled; they had no time to talk, and then the wave of creatures hit them.

 Instinct took over and suddenly, her sword was flicking out like a viper's tongue, swift and fatal. She stabbed a spidren, whipped the sword out and left to slice through the leg of another. A sharp pain in her shoulder, and she whirled around to find one of the monsters with a long knife that danced back and forth.

 "Hello, little human," it purred, its dreadful grin almost splitting its face. "Want to play?"

 Metal clashed on metal as their blades met and Kel quickly realised it was far stronger than her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ryan fighting furiously, blood running from a cut above his eyebrow as he hacked off a spidren's head in several hard chops. His face was equal parts revulsion and fear, his movement ragged and desperate.

 Goddess defend me, Kel thought as their blades locked again and she was forced down under its weight, this thing's going to kill me.

 Think what they'll say about you, a voice in her head urged. Can't you just imagine Joren laughing? Rage surged into her bones and she threw the creature backwards with a fierce scream, leaping forward with a swift chop that it parried clumsily, whipping the sword up and round to flick one of its eyes out, ignoring the clumsy thrust that went straight past her and slamming the sword into its heart.

 Black lightning razed from Master Salmalin's hands to strike the creatures, flinging them backwards as if they were wads of paper. Kel's hazel eyes were hard as she pulled Ryan out of the way and took the moment to kick a spidren in the head. The pair of them found cover in the dubious shelter of the trees.

 "Thanks," Ryan said breathlessly, then doubled over to retch into a bush. Still he donned a shaky grin as he stood. "Reckon we annoyed 'em."

 "Well, you blowing their leader into tiny pieces might have something to do with that," Kel said and glanced over at the mage. The tall man was clearly enraged, his eyes snapping like jet set aflame, spells flying from him in balls of black tinged with silver.

 Her eyes focused as she saw a spidren drop from the oak trees behind him. She opened her mouth to yell, but before she could, Ryan glanced over and hurled the axe he was holding. It spun madly, blade-hilt-blade-hilt-blade-hilt and for a horrifying second, Kel was sure it would hit the mage.

 Her cry died on her lips as the axe thudded into the spidren with a satisfactorily solid thunk, pinning it to the oak.

 Then she had no time to watch as she heard Ryan swear and duck a tiny, spinning piece of metal that brushed Kel's ear. She felt stinging pain and hit the floor as more lashed through the air, adding bruises to her bleeding shoulder and almost certainly fractured arm.

 "What in the name of the gods are those?" she said, picking one up. It was shaped like a cross, with the tips made into pointed blades.

 "Mornin' star," came the answer. "Street weapon. Ain't meant to be used anymore, too dangerous. But I guess monsters don't care 'bout whether they hurt us or not."

 In the midst of the clearing, Kel could see the spidrens closing in. There were only six or so left, all bleeding, some missing legs. But still, the glint in their cold, empty eyes was cruel and she was sure Master Salmalin couldn't fight off half a dozen at once.

 "Ryan," she said, keeping an eye out for any more that might be hiding in the cover of the trees, "Can you...?"

 Those keen eyes met hers and she saw, startled, that the grey was flecked with the cerulean that was the same colour as his Gift. "I can try," he answered. "But I ain't got much control. I might...hurt someone."

 "Well, it's uncertain death by you or certain death by them," she said, face set. Ryan took one look at her tight jaw and white knuckles clenched on her sword and knew she wasn't going to back down.

 He took a deep breath and concentrated hard, reaching down to that well of vivid blue fire that lay simmering inside. A breath as he hesitated over whether he should or not - someone screamed - and he found himself with spidren claws cutting into his arms and no spell.

 "Let me go!" he yelled and hurled his power at the thing. There was a high wail, like a banshee, and he was thrown forwards, cutting his hands as he hit the ground. Ryan turned and saw Kel trying to stab the creature had hit her so hard. A gash ran from her wrist to her elbow. blood dribbling from it.

Now he knew what to do...but he couldn't hurt Kel.

 He narrowed his eyes and reached for his Gift again, but just a strand this time, the merest thread. He flicked a finger and the rope of blue light looped around the spidren's neck. It didn't seem to notice, a claw sinking deep into Kel's leg while the girl bit her lip and fought it.

 He closed his fist...the noose of light pulled tight and the spidren was jerked up into the air and hung there, dangling helplessly. His power tried to wrench from his grasp and he wrestled it desperately.

Kel gasped her thanks and waved for him to help the others.

 Master Salmalin was fighting off the spidrens. Fireballs flew through the air, dicing the creatures into pieces; but they were pressing in on the mage, and he had to protect Bruna's unconscious form too. Ryan let his Gift drift towards them. He could sense the silvery light of their lives, like coloured baubles spinning in his mind.

One by one, he caught them in the same way as the first, but each spidren made it harder to control the mass of magic he held. He sank onto the ground, nearly overwhelmed by the energy zigzagging through his body.

One more...just one left...

 As he grabbed it, hoisting it up, his power leapt from his grasp. No, no-

The backlash of magic slammed through his body, and he collapsed, aware of the dirt beneath his cheek, hearing explosions in his ears.

"Ryan!" Numair Salmalin was by him, and strange, it seemed to be snowing...

As the mage hoisted him up on legs as weak as water, Ryan blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the sunspots hovering over his vision.

 He looked up...and to his astonishment, saw the girl, the sweet-faced girl, crouched in the bushes but with her form faint as a ghost. She looked up and her golden eyes met his for a second and her lips framed two words that made him smile, before she rippled and was gone.

"You should be all right," the mage was saying, peering into his face with a faint frown. "We'll work on your control. But you certainly did an adequate job for a beginner."

"The spidrens?" he croaked from a throat that felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. "Are they...?"

The mage waved a hand at the pale flakes drifting thorugh the air. "What do you think this is?"

It wasn't snow after all, Ryan realised. It was ash. His magic had incinerated the spidrens.

"Oh, good," he said weakly, then slid onto the ground in a boneless heap. "I think I need to rest."

~*~

 Andrea stirred from her watching place. This was a dream, she knew that from the way the landscape seemed slightly warped, as if she saw it through a foggy window. That boy was there, hurling fire with a cool confidence about his every move, determination in his face. And that blood that dripped into his eyes, which he ignored steadfastly.

 They were looking for her, and they were being hurt for it. She shivered, and at that moment, his eyes met hers and she saw astonishment replace the hardness.

 "Thank you," she said, and felt herself dragged from that world.

 She woke with an ache in her spine, found herself curled in the heart of a tree that was full of soft gold and green light, a hollowed out cedar whose sweet smell and silenced had lulled her to sleep.

 I have to find food, she thought, and her stomach growled in agreement. She stretched and crawled out of the tree.

 "Ah, you're awake," a voice murmured.

 Andrea gasped and leapt. There was a woman standing there, a woman who seemed completely out of place in a rich silk robe that was tattered and torn along the bottom. With her black slanted eyes and her pallid skin, she looked lovely and exotic.

 "Who...who are you?" she said, hearing the tremble in her voice and hating herself for always being so afraid.
 
 A weary smile. And that pleasant voice again, low and level. "Let's just say...I've been looking for you. We've food for you, and shelter if you want it."

 Andrea hesitated. She was so hungry...but this woman's smile didn't reach her eyes. Like the people in the village, like those monstrous creatures. "No...I'm all right, thank you."

 "Come, come child. Don't lie. You've bruises all over you and if you're sleeping in a tree, you're hardly all right. We've been searching for you for a while now. Don't you even want to meet us?"

 Searching. Like the others had, like the boy was. But they were far away, so far away. Who was this women? "Well, you've found me," Andrea said shortly. "You can go now."

 "Ungrateful," the woman remarked and there was sudden ice in her voice. "Ungrateful little child. Don't say I didn't try to help you."

 Andrea backed away as fire flared between the woman's palms, rusty red fire. "What are you doing?" she said desperately. "Please...please, just leave me alone!"

 The last thing she saw was that fire streaking towards her.

 Andrea woke slowly.

 She forced herself to keep still as sounds and scents drifted towards her.

 "Master, are you sure it is the one?" It was the cold woman, the one who had knocked her out. "It looks so...fragile."

 She could smell smoke, she realised, and there was a prickling warmth along one side that meant she was close to a fire. Her other side was bitterly cold and she opened her eyes into a slit, cautiously. She could see her gilt hair trailing along the ground, like a trail of spilled gold, tangled with dirt and thin grass.

 And...

 Mithros save her, what on earth was that?

 It shone in the firelight with a soft pink iridescence, like the inside of a seashell. Scales pearled its lean, leggy body right up to the wedge-shaped head which swung back and forth warily, plum coloured eyes sparkling with cold intelligence. She might have said it was a dragon; during the Immortals War, she remembered looking up to see the beautiful creatures gliding over the sky, yet it had not two wings, but four curled against its back, and no back legs, just that pale shimmering pink tail flicking lazily as it lay sprawled on the earth.

 And worst of all, not two eyes; but three. The third red-purple eye was set in the centre of its head and rolled in mad spirals.

 Every sense she possessed screamed at her that she was looking at pure evil. Never mind its colour or its beauty or the way it glittered, it was evil.

 She froze still as the head turned to stare straight at her.

 "Fragile it may be," it drawled in a deep, cracked voice like the rustle of a thousand pages being turned. "But it is not stupid. Stop pretending, mortal. I can sense you are awake."

 Andrea stayed where she was, too afraid to move. Then the woman mage strode over and yanked her to her feet roughly, ignoring how she twisted Andrea's arm so she cried out.

 "It does look rather breakable, does it not?" The thing leered at her and Andrea gasped at the two rows of perfectly even, triangular teeth that were presented to her. Before she turned her head from the fetid blast of its breath, she saw red-brown smeared and encrusted along the tips and cracks of those fangs. "Have you a name, child?"

 She shuddered and stayed silent. She understood that to tell this monster anything was to give it a part of the key that might unlock her mind and soul. And strangely, she longed for the bright blue eyes of the boy who had saved her last time, the boy who made her world safe whenever the vision of him appeared.

 "Perhaps you did not hear." It paused and she heard the blast of its breath like bellows on a blacksmith's fire. "Your name. Now."

 She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

 The blow hit her to the floor.

 She shrieked and clutched her cheek with a shaking hand. Her head pounded, her knees had gone numb from the impact with the hard earth as its insipid tail lashed back and flicked up her cheek, leaving a cut that ran from ear to jaw.

 "Name." The mage pulled her to her feet again, her hands rough. But as Andrea looked into the Oriental woman's dark eyes, she could see something there that startled her. Fear. The woman was afraid of this beast. She called it master; did it rule her, then? "Name, child, or you will have no tongue to utter it with."

 "Andrea," she gasped in a voice that trembled like a leaf in a gale.

 "Pretty." The creature smiled again, its third eyes fixed on her in quivering impatience while the other two stared over her shoulder. "A pretty name for a pretty girl. Obey me, and you stay pretty. Disobey and you end up like her."

 One clawed foot lifted to point at the mage. Andrea heard the woman's quick indrawn breath.

 "Show her."

 The mage nodded quickly, her skin ashen. She pulled aside the red silken robe and underneath, Andrea could see she wore only hose and a cropped top of russet hide that left her belly bare. And along that bare expanse of skin were laid deep, violent slashed marks that were red at the edges and ran deep. They should have been fatal, the healer part of her whispered. Why isn't she dead?

 "She disobeyed me. She called me to her to do her bidding and found that immortals are not so easy to keep." It spat out the last word. "And now she is my slave to do with as I will."

 She swallowed and heard the sound of her own fear swishing in her ears. Inside, she screamed and screamed and wished only to be far away, but outwardly, she forced herself to stay calm. He couldn't die now. She couldn't.

 "What do you want from me?" she said, somehow keeping her voice calm. Maybe if she complied, it would let her go.

 "The boy." The creature's pale pink scales glistened as it rolled over languidly. Almost like a cat, but oh, far more dangerous. "Where is he?"

 She felt her eyes widen. No, anything but that! "I...don't know."

 Its tail slashed her feet from under her and she hit the ground, winded. As she lay there, blood on her face and pain in her back, that cruel head appeared above her, the elongated neck arching. "You lie. Where is he?"

 Andrea stared at it as all three eyes bored into her. She couldn't tell it that. She knew this creature meant no good; she could feel it, and she wouldn't, she wouldn't put the boy in danger. "I don't know."

 "You will tell me!" it roared and the very sound shook the ground. Claws dug into her shoulders as its full weight rested on her, pushing her flat until her vision began to black out. "Tell me or die!"

 Mercifully, she passed out.

~*~

"Goddess take us all," Numair Salmalin said weakly, wiping a hand across his brow. "That was far too close for comfort."

 He looked around, his enchantingly dark eyes flickering around the clearing. He winced as he saw the mess of spidren bodies and spidren parts left scattered around. There was blood trickling sluggishly from a cut in his shoulder; he healed it with a touch. Healing was not his strength, but with the recent wars, he had learned enough from the Lioness to cure simple wounds.

 "Squire Keladry?" The girl came staggering out of the forest, her face masked with blood - most of it, he noticed, the silvery fluid of immortals, grinning tiredly.

 "Fine, sir," she said staunchly. She was a true fighter, he had realised, in every sense of the word. It took depths of courage he wouldn't have expected in a teenager to withstand the opposition of becoming a female knight. Unlike Alanna, she wasn't touched by the gods, she had no magic, nothing but her own skill. And from what he had heard, there was plenty of that.

 "Ryan?" He looked at the streetboy. "You did well."

 In truth, he had never seen anything like it. Even fully-fledged battle mages would have found it difficult to stop such an onslaught so quickly...and the boy had simply stood there and done it. He had never even seen a spidren, never used any sort of spell and he had destroyed easily a dozen of the creatures. The tall mage shook his head in astonishment.

 "Ta, sir," the boy said with one his rare and brilliant smiles. "Take it we ain't stickin' round here tonight?"
 
 "I think not," he replied, turning to the unconscious noblewoman on the floor. "I'll heal Lady Bruna and we'll be going. I have no urge to rest in peace just yet."

 And while they rode, he could try and puzzle out what on earth he was supposed to teach this unusual mage.

~*~

 "Lioness?" Neal of Queenscove ducked into his knightmaster's room to find her practising swordwork. He watched as the sword flickered like lightning through increasingly complex moves with pure envy.

 "What is it, Neal?" The Champion put down her sword, smiling. He was still stunned at the idea that the King's Champion, the Lioness, a living legend would want him as her squire. "I was getting tired of all those exercises." She gestured for him to sit.

 "I...have a problem," Neal said weakly. A problem. That was what he had to call it. And his problem happened to be fourteen, with wistful hazel eyes and charms he had never noticed.

 The Lioness fixed him with that intense purple stare. "A problem. Well, I certainly know about those!" She grinned. "You have no idea what I got up to when I was a squire."

 "I think I might," Neal said carefully. "I've...done something I'm not sure I should have with one of my friends."

 "I assume you mean Keladry of Mindelan," said Alanna, arching a copper eyebrow.

 He gave her what his friends all called his evil eye. "No," he drawled sarcastically. "I've secretly been having a passionate affair with the Crown Prince."

 "I hope you haven't," the knight remarked, her mouth lifting into a smile. "That'll certainly spoil Jon's plans for the succession." She sighed at his exasperated look. "Neal, you aren't usually this irritable. What is it that's bothering you so much? From what palace gossip has told me, you kissed her in the stables."

 "Palace gossip?" he said in alarm. He knew Kel was frowned upon by the stuffier nobles. If word got around, both of them could be in serious trouble.

 She held up a hand. "I've put a stop to it. It won't go any further."

 "Well..." He exhaled and tried to think how best to tell it. "I didn't mean for anything to happen at all. It's...it's Kel. She's my closest friend. I didn't even notice anything had changed and now...it's never going to be the same again and I don't even know if...that's what I want from her."

 The Lioness looked thoughtful, her brow creasing in concentration. His knight mistress might be explosive with her famously flammable temper, but Neal had found she always tried to help however she could and admired her for it. He had read so much of the lady warriors of old and always thought of the Lioness like that, one of the fierce untouchable women. But she was disarmingly down to earth.

 "I don't know what to say to you," she told him. "I don't have any kind of miracle solution. The only thing I've ever learnt about relationships is that you have to take each moment as it comes. Personally, I've always detested relationships."

 As he looked confused, wondering what her husband thought of that, she hurriedly explained.

 "I don't mean I'm not happy with George." A faint softening of her mouth at the thought of her...unusual husband.

 Neal had been brought up with the new court, which his father had often told him was vastly different, and liked it immensely. So many of his family were of the old breed, who refused to acknowledge the Baron and Daine Sarrasri (and even the Lioness herself) because they didn't have the breeding or blood.

 "I just mean...relationships take time and patience." The Lioness rolled her eyes. "And gods help me, a sword and all the skill in the world can't make them easier. I think if I had to go through it all again now, I'd scream."

 Thank you, Neal thought, that's absolutely no help.

 "One thing I would say to you though, Neal," she said gently. "Keladry is young. Do you really want her to get tied up in a relationship you aren't even sure about at that age? Think it over. I think you have to decide what it is you want exactly. And if it isn't Kel...tell her soon. And if it is...are you prepared to wait?"

 He left her quarters thoughtful and collided with someone as he came round a corner. There was a crash as books hit the floor, and as Neal knelt to pick them up, he heard a stream of violent cursing.

 He looked up, astonished, and met a pair of sea-green eyes. Eyes framed with long, long eyelashes and wisps of brown hair that escaped from under an expensive silk scarf.

 "You idiot!" the noblewoman said vibrantly, among other, less printable things. Neal felt his mouth hanging open at her command of the language. "Do you know how old some of those books are?"

 He looked at the first book. A medical books, full of ailments and spells to cure them, one he knew well. "Three hundred and seventy six years, in the case of this one," Neal said calmly, flipping through to look at the delicately done images of hissing reptiles. He closed it and looked her straight in her smouldering eyes. "Hello. I'm a human being. What are you?"

 She snatched the book away, clutching it to her chest. "You should watch what you say." Her small, fine-boned face was angry.

 "When I have you to watch instead?" he said gallantly and watched as puzzlement crossed her face.

 "Did you just...compliment me?" she said curiously. She had a lovely, melodious voice. Shame about her temper.

 He shrugged. "I've found it works with angry women."

 "An unusual approach," she said mildly. "Now let's see your departure."

 Neal almost laughed, emerald eyes glittering. She was sharp as a Shang blade and every bit as deadly. "That's not very polite."

 "You crashed into me. If you wanted polite, you'd have to be a lot better looking." She took the rest of the books from him, her stare throwing him a blatant challenge. "And how does someone like you know about books? I would have thought the sort with pictures would be more in your league."

 By someone like you, Neal translated squire. "You haven't met someone called Vinson or Garvey, have you?" he said suspiciously.

 "If you mean those revolting oafs that tried to paw me in the corridors, yes." The girl's look of contempt deepened. "Friends of yours, I suppose."

 Neal snorted. "I've never liked them and I always will."

 She laughed and it transformed her; she was one of those rare people who were lit up by happiness and Neal blinked and stared before he could believe it. She was radiant in that moment and all thoughts of Kel went flying out of his head.

 "You really aren't like them are you?" she said merrily. "This is the first good argument I've had in ages!"

 "You...like arguing?" he asked, brow furrowing. Neal had never met anyone in the palace who thought anything like he did. At the university, it was different; he would spend hours arguing a point with his friends, but here, the only fighting was done with weapons. "And reading?"

 She gave him a cool look. "Please don't tell me you're another of those who think women should sit around and embroider all day."

 If only you knew! Neal thought. "My closest friend here is a girl who wants to be a knight," he said wryly, ignoring the odd flutter of his heart at that. "And I wouldn't dream of telling her to go and embroider anything. Unless I really wanted her to break my arm."

 The girl put the books on the floor and held out a callused hand. "Phillippa ha Minch. But my friends call me Pip."

 Pip? It wasn't a noblewoman's name, and this girl, in her rich silks and with that icy accent, was certainly pureblooded as they came. Then she winked, and said, "I'll tell you when you can call me that."

 Absence...makes the heart go yonder.

~*~

 They rode for hours. By the time they reached the village it was dark and Bruna was complaining loudly. Kel, who was aching all over, wished she would just shut up. She had been unconscious for the duration of the fight and come off with a mild bruise on her shoulder after Master Salmalin had healed her. Kel had refused any help, in case they met more immortals.

 The mage was bargaining for rooms to stay the night while they tied up the horses.

 Bruna was patting own her neat brown hair. "You! Streetboy!"

 Ryan looked round from where he was unsaddling his bay. "Are you a-talkin' to me?" he said in disbelief.

 "Take care of my mount," the girl ordered, her voice lofty and strode out.

 "Good job all nobles ain't that arrogant," Ryan remarked. "Only thing stoppin' me from hittin' her is..."

 "The fact she's a lady?" Kel murmured. Ryan had an odd sense of honour she was beginning to get used to. Despite the fact he was a thief, he still treated her with respect.

 The boy glanced over, grey eyes cool and amused. "Her? The famous good time that was had by all? She ain't no lady, Kel. I just don't hit people weaker 'n me."

 "Weaker?" She shook her head, grimacing as it made her bruises twinge. "I don't think so."

 "You look at her, you can see it," Ryan said quietly. There was something a little haunted in his face then, making him look startlingly vulnerable. Only my age, she thought but seems so much older, it's easy to forget. "You don't get to be that mean without somethin' happenin' to you. Reckon she ain't always had it easy. She just don't know how else to treat people. If someone's cruel to you, why should you be nice to anyone else?"

 "You aren't like that," she pointed out. She had seen the scar on his face, the way he dealt with weapons so coolly. She had heard a lot about life on the streets of Corus, and even if only half was true, it was a hard, cold existence.

 "I had Hana," he said quietly. "But if you's a noble, you only got people lookin' up to you. You ain't never got anyone to talk to. Seems to me she's lonely."

 "After all," Kel murmured, "Half the court hardly counts as company."

 A shrug as he groomed the horse, perspiration glistening on his skin. "I don't know. I'm just a streetrat. Maybe you're right. But I just don't think people are born that spiteful. It ain't right."

 They carried on in silence, leaving Kel with her thoughts. She was just musing over the fight, wondering how she could have done better, when a scream shredded the night in two.

 She looked at Ryan and they both ran outside...

And stopped dead in horror.

 "Mithros take me, shake me an' break me," Ryan breathed as he stared at the thing. His velvet grey eyes were wide and wondering. "What's that?"

 "Hold it still, lads!" There was a group of men ringing the creature, holding it down with ropes. It scream horribly again and reared up against the restraints. "Don't let the bugger go!"

 Kel shook her head. "I don't know. We never covered this in Immortals Class."

 "It's beautiful," the boy said, rough voice full of awe.

 Beautiful wasn't the word she would have used. It looked like a centaur, except above the human torso and human arms, its head was that of a horse, with a foot-long golden horn gleaming in the centre of its forehead and in place of its human hands, cat-like claws swiped the air futilely. One of the men jabbed it with a spear and it cried out pitifully, collapsing onto the ground.

 She blinked and noticed Ryan had moved. He was walking forward, towards where it hissed and slashed at anything that came near. It had hair like a human's, tumbling down in a black mass from its equine head. The men kicked and attacked it savagely, and she realised with a start she had her sword drawn.

 "Goddess!-an alicorn!" Master Salmalin had run out from the tavern they were staying at and to look at the creature with a mixture of delight and shock. "They're supposed to be extinct! Wonders never cease."

 "They soon will be if these folk have their way," Kel said grimly.  "Sir...Ryan?"

 The mage blinked his sloe-black eyes and followed her stare. He paled as the streetboy came within reach of those madly raking claws, ducking through the men holding it with ease. "Mithros, are all my students doomed to be insane?" He pushed up his sleeves, muttering a spell. Kel felt the air hum around her.

 The boy knelt down beside it, dodging easily as a golden claw scraped the air above his head. He put one callused, trail-grubby hand around its horn and leant close. The alicorn snarled, but then Ryan began to glow that eerie blue again and Kel could see his lips moving, as if he was whispering to the beast.

 It stilled, and lay there, looking up at him with its liquid faun eyes, hooves sprawled as the men tightened the ropes around it. "Kill it now," she heard one say.

 "No." Kel swallowed hard. She could see the beauty in it now it was still; its inky coat was clean and glossy, skin smooth and unblemished. "Don't hurt it," she said to one of the men near her. "Please don't."

 He turned to her, muscles bulging as he hauled on the rope. "You're a noble, lass. You don't understand. This creature's been eatin' our animals and hurtin' our children."

 "That weren't her." Ryan's voice cut across him sharply. He had looked up, one hand still curled around the alicorn's gilt horn. All the wounds on the immortal's body were healed, she realised, startled. "She ain't hurt anyone."

 "Aye? She fought hard enough," the man snapped brusquely. "We've five men down with scratches from that creature's claws."

 "You scared her." The boy reached out his other hand to touch on the ropes binding the creature. It rippled in a wave of blue fire and fell into ashes.

 "Oy!" The spears were suddenly levelled at Ryan. "You leave that, lad. You don't know what you're dealin' with."

 "Her name's Chantavol," the boy said quietly, facing the man with fearless eyes on his alluring face. "It means Song-winged. She came here from the north only today. She doesn't know what's been killin' your beasts, but alicorns are plant-eaters."

 "Them claws are just decoration, are they?" the man said sceptically, giving the streetboy a hard look. Ryan glared right back. "Damn mages. Sittin' around wi' your books in fancy castles..."

 Kel wanted to laugh. It was the most inaccurate description of Ryan she'd heard yet. In his rough, simple clothes and with that untidily tousled dark hair, there was no way he could pass for a noble. He had the face for it, she'd admit, with that straight slim nose and firm sculpted mouth, but the way he spoke and moved was all wrong; too predatory, too fluid. Too honest.

 "Actually," Master Salmalin's voice cut in, "they are just decoration." He gave the man a charming smile. "Alicorns are not considered to be true immortals, due to the fact they were created in the Mortal Realms some five centuries ago by a mage called Alissa Shandori. The claws are there purely for protection. They are very easily frightened...and correct me if I'm wrong, but if someone stuck a spear in me, I'd be rather upset."

 Kel noticed Ryan was magically dissolving the ropes while the mage talked. No one else realised until the alicorn stood up, shaking out her mane of inky black hair. It fell down to where her human torso joined her horse body; Kel was surprised to see she was wearing a rudimentary breastband over her body and that her hands were well-kept.

 "We shall take her," the mage was saying smoothly. "If you can show me any of the wounds your mysterious creature has made, I may be able to tell you what it is you should be looking for."

 The man agreed sullenly, still keeping an eye on the alicorn, who kept close to Ryan as if she thought he could protect her. Kel had to admit, he probably could.  

 "C'mon," Ryan murmuring, strolling over to Kel. "Best get into t'stables. She's somethin' she wants to tell us."

 "The alicorn?" she said in disbelief. The creature gave her a bland stare from startlingly intelligent eyes.

"You see anyone else here?" said the boy wryly.

~*~

 "Thank you."

 Kel's hazel eyes widened as the alicorn spoke. "Why didn't you say anything back there?"

 "I was afraid they might think I was lying or trying to bewitch them." Chantevol ducked her head shyly, hooves clicking on the stable floor. Despite her horse's head, the voice was utterly human, rich and slightly earthy. "It's been so long since I saw mortals. Thank you, youngling," she said to Ryan.

 "No problem." Ryan smiled sweetly. He was tending to Bruna's horse, albeit reluctantly. Mostly, Kel suspected, because he knew the noblewoman wouldn't do anything. She gave him a hand. "What did you want to tell us?"

 "Get out of here. You're entering the Deadlands, boy. No one of our blood is safe here."

 "Our blood?" His brow furrowed, obviously confused.

 Chantevol nudged him with her golden horn gently. "Magical. Something has gone wrong in these lands - all immortals keep far away from these villages now. If we go near, we are set upon." Her lips drew back to show square even teeth. It was not a smile. "My mate was killed a moon ago."

 "That can't be right," protested Kel. "The King sends patrols this way all the time."

 "Armed patrols?"

 "Of course," she replied, confused. She had often seen the clusters of horseman leave with their shining armour and bright banners.

 "Then they are safe. And I doubt many of them are...what is it you mortals say? Gifted?"

 "Aye," Ryan answered. He gave Bruna's horse an apple then settled himself comfortably on a fragrant heap of hay. "What do they do to Gifted round this way?"

 "Here? Nothing. Maybe they'll throw stones or make it clear you aren't welcome." The alicorn flicked her jet tail. "But within a day or two's ride of here, I've seen them hang people they think are Gifted."

 "They don't always get it right?" Kel shuddered at the thought of helpless bodies swinging and mouldering in the breeze. "But surely someone would stop them..."

 Chantevol gave a neighing laugh. "Who knows? They certainly don't say they were hung because they were Gifted! When they took my mate, I followed them to see if I could save him. They were hanging a mortal then too, a small one of you."

 "A kid," Ryan translated. His face was shuttered and Kel couldn't tell what he was thinking at all.

 "They tortured my mate for two days." Her voice trembled and Kel felt a stab of pity for this strange creature. "After they killed him, one of your patrols came along. Men on my hoof-sisters with weapons. The village people told him that the boy was a thief and that my mate had killed one of their children."

 A shiver danced up Kel's back. The story was uncomfortably close to what the village people had said about this alicorn. She wondered what would have happened if they hadn't been here.

 "Are we safe here?" said Ryan grimly. His voice was unusually gentle, sympathy in his face.

 "For tonight," the alicorn told him. "But I fear the Deadlands spread further every day. There is something controlling them, a dark magic. I felt it when we travelled from the north and it was close by when my mate died."

 "Why do you call them Deadlands?" Kel made a mental to check her weapons to make sure they were all in perfect working order. She did not want to be caught unarmed against these Gift-hating people.

 Her answer was startling.

 "All magic is gone from them now. The Wild Magic has fled; the Stormwings have found other eyries, the animals have fallen silent and no Gifted mortals survive any more. Even the gods have been forsaken. Those mortals worship something else now, something evil and rotting."

 The alicorn tossed her head. "I did not think I would live to see true evil rise again. In five hundred years, I have known nothing to match this." Her keen eyes swung from Ryan to Kel. "Do not go there. They will sense you are Gifted - and even if you are not, girl, they will kill you because you travel with three mages whose power I felt half a league away."

 "We have to." Ryan had taken out a knife and was honing it skilfully. "Ain't got no choice. We're lookin' for a girl. Don't s'pose ye've seen her?"

 "What colour is her Gift?"

 It seemed an odd question. Kel frowned and the alicorn must have seen it because she smiled smoothly.

 "To immortals, mortal magic is a colour on our senses. If you know what colour your girl's Gift is, I may have seen her."

 "Gold," Ryan said.

 "Ah!" Chantevol breathed in deeply. "So you are the one who caused such tumult in the magical planes the other night. I wondered, when you healed me. You are touched by the gods, youngling."

 "The Goddess actually, an' I think she's the touched one. In the head."

 Kel smothered a grin. It was not done to insult the gods; they had a tendency to throw lightning.

 "Then you should be doubly careful. You are bound to that girl-"

 "Everyone keeps tellin' me that," the boy said exasperatedly, "but I ain't got no idea why."

 "Your blood," the alicorn said gently. "That's the answer."

 "That ain't no answer!" Ryan snapped. "Can ye stop bein' so cryptic?"

 "If the Goddess hasn't told you, she doesn't want you to know. I have no wish to anger her." Chatevol gave a little shrug. "I am sorry, youngling. I can't help you with that...but I can help you in another way, if you wish. As a parting gift, for you did not hesitate to help me, even though I might have hurt you."

 He looked at her, grey eyes shrewd. "All right. Long as it ain't goin' to hurt."

 "It won't," she promised. "Come here."

 She laid the golden horn against his face, tracing it down the scar that ran from his ear to his jaw. Silvery sparks trailed from her horn and where it passed, the scar simply vanished. Then she touched her horn to his palm, and a tiny glass vial appeared in a cloud of sparkling mist. "If ever you need my help," she said, "break this."

 "Do you know where you're going?" Kel asked quietly.

 The alicorn turned to her and to Kel's surprise, touched her horn to the cuts and bruises covering Kel. The alicorn's magic wasn't like Neal's - it left an icy tingle in its wake. "No, little mortal. Why?"

 "If you go to Tortall," she said, looking up into the kind face, "I'm sure they'll welcome you there."

 The alicorn gave another of her rare, brilliant smiles. "Thank you. I shall tell others of my kind that not all mortals are cruel and cold."

 She was gone soon after, and the four of them; Kel, Numair, Bruna and Ryan, passed a quiet evening in the tavern under the watchful and wary eyes of the village people. They told Master Salmalin what Chantevol had told them, though Kel noticed Ryan omitted her gift. Still, it was his business.

 Bruna spent most of the evening complaining about the quality of the food, until Ryan unceremoniously told her where she could put it if she didn't like it, and Kel tried to hide her laughter in an unconvincing coughing fit.

 Before she fell asleep that night, she wondered how Neal was, and how all her friends in the palace were getting on. Eventually, she drifted into pleasant, mindless dreams.

~*~

 "No, no, no!" Phillippa ha Minch declared loudly, flinging a book aside. "Atheism is belief in the gods..."

 Neal glared at her in mock-anger from where he had Faleron in a headlock. "What? That's rubbish!"

 She stood up, her expensive pastel green skirts swishing about her. Neal watched in amusement as some of his friends' attention promptly left their work and flew to the noblewoman whose sea-green eyes danced so wickedly. "Atheism is a state of total denunciation of all gods. Agreed?"

 "Agreed."

 "Therefore," her finger stabbed the air, "in order to denounce the gods in all completeness, one must first believe in them. If there is no belief, there can be no doubt of that belief."

 "That's not true!" Neal protested. "That's like saying I'm an atheist in tables because I don't believe in them. But they still exist, I just don't happen to pray to them every day-"

 "No," Phillippa interrupted coolly, looking round. Seaver's dark eyes dropped and Neal was amused to see Prince Roald flush slightly. "If you don't believe in the gods in the first place, you aren't denying anything. It would be like me denying the existence of..." She paused and waved a hand, "oh...say, a spherical world. Everyone knows the world is flat, therefore there is no point to me denying the existence of-"

 "Um..." said Faleron pitifully. "My head is hurting."

 "I know it's difficult to understand..." Phillippa began.

 "It's not that," he said. "Neal, can you let go of this headlock before you finish arguing?"

 Ever since Neal had introduced Phillippa to his friends an hour or two ago, they had been enchanted by her extremely unladylike habit of interrupting, speaking loudly and putting a swift elbow into the ribs of anyone who annoyed her.

 "Can you teach me how to do that?" she said abruptly. Her lively face was intent.

 "What?" asked Neal, turning to examine his mathematics homework, which was mostly crossed-out.

 "That headlock." She came to stand in front of him so he couldn't ignore her. "Neal of Queenscove, don't you know it's polite to pay attention to a lady when she's talking?"

 "You never shut up," he pointed out. "I wouldn't get anything done."

 He thought he heard Seaver mutter, "and how is that bad?" but chose to disregard it.

 "And no, I'm not going to give you another way to make me regret disagreeing with you," he finished, scrawling down the answer to an algebra question.

 She grabbed his arm and twisted it.

 "Yeeeouch!" Pain shot up his arm as he struggled to get it free and finally, scowled at her. "Where did an almost-nice girl like you learn that?"

 "Roald taught me earlier, while you were writing that etiquette essay." Neal shot a furious glare at the Prince who shrugged. "And that answer's wrong. It's three a plus seven b, not five. Now teach me, or I'll break your fingers."

 "If you can do that, why do you want to learn how to headlock someone?" he demanded exasperatedly, resolving to have words with Roald later. Harsh words, he amended as she twisted his arm round another few degrees.

 "I like making men cry."

 "Well, you'll have another one on your hands if you don't let go," winced Neal. He could hear people sniggering in the background and resolved to make the lot of them sorry on the practise courts very soon.

 She did.

 "Why don't you show her some Shang moves?" Merric recommended. The redhead seemed to find this hysterical. "I bet Phillippa would love to make grown men fly as well." His eyes sparkled.

 Phillippa tore off her headscarf and secured her masses of curling brown hair. "That sounds good. Neal?"

 "Look, if you're serious-"

 "You know I am."

"-then you're going to have to get some more suitable clothes." He looked at her intricately embroidered clothes. "You cannot fight in those."

 She kicked him in the shin. "I seem to be doing all right."

 Neal's eyes narrowed in emerald slices. Then he moved forward fast, ducked the punch she threw at him and flipped her. She didn't scream, which he was impressed with, but promptly tried to grab his ankles and trip him, which he was not impressed with. After ten seconds of unscrupulous fighting, Neal ended up with her kneeling, both her arms locked behind her back.

 "All right," she conceded. "I'll go change."

 "Thank Mithros," Neal muttered.

 She gave him a blinding smile and disappeared. Neal settled back down to his algebra.

 After about twenty minutes, Seaver tapped Neal on the shoulder. "Shouldn't that firecracker you've picked up be back by now? She's only a few corridors down."

 He was right. Frowning, Neal put his books away and walked down to the corridor. He heard a voice shouting words no lady and certainly no noblewoman should know and then the sound of a harsh slap.

 Neal ran...and when he got to the source of the commotion, found Phillippa twisting violently in the grip of Vinson of Genlith.

 Who was holding a knife to her throat.