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  Marshalling his wits for a moment, he sprang from the bluffs into the darkness, hoping to plummet to death on the rocks below, but Malagon would not permit it. Reaching out, the dark prince caught Arenthorn in a vice-like spell and threw him back violently into the side of his carriage where the admiral finally lay still, whimpering beneath his breath.

  ‘Come, everyone,’ the dark prince commanded. ‘Let us return. We have a nation to run.’

  The heat inside the tavern was stifling and the smell overwhelming: a fug of unwashed bodies and pipesmoke, that heady mixture of Falkan tobacco and fennaroot that was so popular. Brexan longed for a breath of fresh air. She had been sitting for nearly two avens and moisture was running down the small of her back. It was at times like this she missed the chilly evenings of northern Malakasia. Rona was a swamp compared to her homeland and she had no idea how anyone managed to survive in this climate for any length of time. Fighting to keep her mind sharp while she nursed a sixth beer, she laughed along with the jokes and innuendoes as the local lads battled to win her affection. The reprehensible – if handsome – assassin she had followed sat alone, drinking wine and ignoring the other patrons.

  She had tracked the killer north from Estrad Village all day, riding with other travellers along the Merchants’ Highway when she could so he didn’t notice her. He had made several forays into the forest along the river, but invariably returned to the road; she guessed he was tracking someone as well.

  As they neared the turn-off for Randel she had joined a group and ridden ahead of him; no one elicited more than a passing glance from the man. It was getting late, so she stabled her horse at the town’s largest inn and waited for him to arrive. Unless he planned to sleep alongside the Highway – a potentially dangerous decision for anyone – he would secure lodgings here in Randel and continue his journey the following morning.

  Randel was a prosperous town surrounded by family farms that produced much of the beef, pork, milk and cheese, and vegetables, especially green root and pepper weed for Estrad Village and the southern coastal region. Judging from the clientèle, Brexan could see the establishment catered for a wide variety of patrons. Farmhands downed copious quantities of beer alongside landowners sipping fine wines; merchants bargained with farmers while travellers passing through took advantage of the fresh produce to vary otherwise monotonous diets.

  Lieutenant Bronfio’s killer came into the tavern a while later and took a seat at the end of the bar. He ordered a small meal from the kitchen and a flagon of Falkan wine. Brexan had eaten alone, but soon attracted a group of locals, who were eager to buy her drinks and shower her with compliments. She told them she was travelling north through the Blackstones with her brother, who had been taken ill earlier in the day and was now asleep in their room upstairs.

  Although persistent, the boys were harmless; Brexan was glad she didn’t have to fend off less-polite suitors. These boys, however awkward, had obviously been raised well and were mindful of their manners, even six or seven drinks into their clumsy seduction. Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed the attention, but this evening she would have been happy to add several rolls of unsightly flab and sprout a crop of ugly moles on her face so the local pack of sex-crazed youngsters would take their enthusiasm elsewhere.

  At last her diligence paid off. A tall man who had been drinking in the corner near the fireplace stood and moved across the bar. He wore a hat pulled low over his eyes; she couldn’t make out his features with any clarity through the smoke and bodies. She sat transfixed as the man approached the Malakasian spy. Brexan watched their lips with a faint hope of lip-reading their conversation – but they didn’t exchange a single word. Instead, the man reached inside his coat, removed a small piece of parchment and placed it on the bar under his empty tankard. Without a glance in the merchant’s direction, he turned and left the tavern.

  The barman moved to collect the empty stein and as he did, the spy lashed out with snakelike quickness, gripping the man’s wrist. Brexan could not hear what was said, but saw the innkeeper wrench his arm free and motion angrily towards the door. The assassin raised his palms in a gesture of supplication, dropped a handful of coins on the bar and discreetly gathered up the parchment as the tavern owner collected his payment. With a quick look around the tavern, he stood and strode purposefully from the room.

  Brexan knew she had to act quickly or risk losing her quarry in the night. She walked up to the bar with her empty trencher and asked the barman casually, ‘Do you know him? That man who just left? He looks very familiar to me, but I can’t place him.’

  Trying not to stare too pointedly at the moisture gathering above her breasts, he said, ‘Sure. He’s in here from time to time. Says his name is Lafrent, but I’ve heard others call him Jacrys Marsel, Marseth— something like that.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He moves about a lot. Does a good bit of trade here in Rona … fancy fabrics and textiles.’ He cleared several empty goblets from the bar.

  ‘I think my brother must know him from somewhere … that must be why he looks familiar.’ To the chagrin of her suitors, Brexan waved airily at them and excused herself, claiming she needed to check on her sick sibling. Hurrying upstairs, she moved along the second-floor hall to a window that overlooked the innkeeper’s stables. She peered back down the hall to be certain she hadn’t been followed, then pushed open the window and leaped out onto a pile of firewood stacked neatly against the wall.

  THE ESTRAD RIVER

  The cove was a perfect campsite, a small clearing in a grove of evergreen trees, the riverbank almost semi-circular at that spot. Steven felt as though he were back along the Big Thompson in Colorado’s highlands. He was still getting used to the way night fell so quickly in Eldarn – he was glad he had given his watch to Garec, as knowing what time it was at home would only confuse his circadian rhythms further. He amused himself by calculating the maths: if a day here was twenty hours long, then the equivalent of one calendar year would have more than four hundred and thirty Eldarn days and seven full Twinmoons. Gilmour had said the massacre at Sandcliff Palace took place nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons ago. According to Steven’s figures, that would have been about the same time that William Higgins was depositing the far portal and Lessek’s Key in his brand-new safety deposit box at the fledgling Bank of Idaho Springs, late in the year 1870.

  Steven’s thoughts turned again to the old man. He liked Gilmour, but he still found it difficult to believe the man was more than two hundred and sixty years old. If Gilmour had lived more than nineteen hundred Twinmoons, he would be the oldest man in the world – by a century and a half.

  ‘Oldest man in the world,’ he whispered to no one. ‘He’d be the oldest man on Earth, at least. I guess I can’t say whether he’s very old by Eldarni standards.’ He dismissed the thought as irrelevant right now, but he was a little distressed at the number of thoughts he had been forced to dismiss over the past three days. Nothing made sense anymore. He was afraid that if he endeavoured to deal with everything that had been frustrating, confusing, or terrifying since his arrival in Rona, he would have a complete emotional breakdown. No, if he wanted to keep his head level, he would have to ignore the numerous inexplicable aspects of the life and times of Eldarn.

  He strode to the river’s edge and peered down at the water. Cupping his hands over his eyes, Steven narrowed his vision so all he could see was the river rushing by, in perfect perpetual rhythm, towards the ocean south of Estrad Village. He took deep, relaxing breaths and imagined himself standing on the banks of Clear Creek as it careened riotously through Idaho Springs. Feeling better, he knelt down and splashed icy water on his face and then rubbed two handfuls on the back of his neck. The cold felt good against his skin and once again he felt his hopes rise, an upswing on the emotional roller-coaster he had ridden since his fateful decision to breach his bank’s code of ethics and open William Higgins’ deposit box. If there was enough familiarity in Eldarn
for him to have a few refreshing moments near a stream, perhaps it was all right to hope he and Mark might find their way home.

  Mark joined him on the riverbank. Without speaking, he stripped to his underwear and strode boldly into the water. Steven smiled: that was Mark; finds himself in a foreign world filled with magic, war, demon creatures and no discernable way back home and instead of worrying, strips to boxers and enjoys an evening swim. Looking back over his shoulder, Steven could see the Ronans taking an interest in Mark’s antics as well.

  Brynne looked at him questioningly, but all Steven could do was to shrug and shake his head.

  ‘Hey,’ Mark called, ‘c’mon in. It’s only cold for a second.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Steven replied, still smiling. ‘How can you just go swimming like that? Like you’re at a community pool in the suburbs?’

  Mark shook the water from his face and answered, ‘Well, I figure either way we have to go into Welstar Palace, and from what everyone says, entering Welstar is just about the most dangerous and life-threatening decision we can make while we’re here in Eldarn.’ He started backstroking towards the centre of the river.

  ‘What does that have to do with swimming?’

  Mark stopped again and trod water. ‘I’m swimming because I can,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘It helps me to distance myself from this growing certainty that we’re never getting out of this place alive.’

  Steven contemplated Mark’s words for a moment then quickly peeled off his own clothes and jumped into the icy water, shouting as the cold struck his skin with the force of a hard slap. He dived beneath the surface and saw the brown, pebbled river bottom was dotted here and there with larger smooth stones.

  The mundane normality of the riverbed, like his first sight of the little cove, brought him a measure of comfort. He was glad Mark had talked him into this pre-dinner swim. He was right: they had to actively control whatever they could, because there were so many things about Eldarn that seemed to flail about wildly out of reach, things they had no control over whatsoever.

  Breaking the surface, he gasped for breath, then grinned at his roommate as if to say thank you, but Mark was already moving towards the riverbank. ‘Where are you going?’ Steven called.

  ‘I’ve been sweating for three days in this heat. I’m going to wash my clothes.’ Mark stepped from the water and collected up his bundle, but just as he was about to throw everything in, he stopped short.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Steven climbed up the bank to pick up his own pile of clothing; he tossed it into the shallows along the river’s edge.

  ‘I just remembered grabbing a book of matches at Owen’s the other night. I don’t want them to get wet. Who knows when we might need ’em.’ He poked through his pockets until he discovered the matchbook, folded up with several crumpled pieces of parchment.

  ‘Oh, this is the paper I found back at Riverend as well. I’m glad I checked. We might need that too.’ He dropped the matches and parchment on the ground before dropping his clothes into the river. The two men sat companionably in the knee-deep shallows, scrubbing their clothing clean, before clambering out to squeeze as much water as possible from each piece and hanging the lot from sundry tree branches around the camp.

  When Garec called them for dinner, Mark, still wearing only his damp boxers, moved towards the fire-pit, chivvying up his friend. ‘C’mon Steven, there’s rabbit to be eaten over here.’

  ‘Grand,’ Steven answered sarcastically. ‘Let’s eat the Easter Bunny, shall we?’

  ‘Hey, don’t laugh. It smells pretty tasty.’ Mark dragged a fallen log to the edge of the fire and dropped down on it as if he were falling into a comfortable sofa.

  ‘You’re right. At this point I’m so hungry I could eat a fried dog,’ he said and sat next to Mark.

  ‘I’ll check with the chef: I do believe Eldani Fried Dog is on the menu for tomorrow.’ They both laughed, but Garec was disgusted that anyone would ever think of eating pets.

  ‘It’s really okay, it’s just a joke about one of our – er, eating establishments back home … you know, 20,000 flies can’t be wrong,’ Mark tried to explain. It wasn’t long before the incredulous group were giggling at the thought of breakfast cereal that could be used to spell words, beer that came in metal cans and whole cooked chickens served in colourful paper buckets.

  After dinner, Mika cleaned their pots in the river and Versen gathered more firewood to see them through the night. Sallax sipped thoughtfully from a goblet of Garec’s family wine and Brynne unrolled her blankets on an area of smooth ground near the fire. Mark felt a tense knot in his stomach loosen when he saw how close to him Brynne had decided to sleep, but he couldn’t catch her eye.

  He and Steven had borrowed some of Garec’s clothes while theirs dried in the warm night air. Gilmour poked at the fire with a branch, then abandoned his apparent fascination with the flames to fill his pipe from a leather pouch tucked inside his riding cloak. There was tension in the air, but no one seemed willing to break the mood by prompting Gilmour to elaborate on his startling morning revelation. Finally, Gilmour himself broke the wary mood as he poured himself a goblet of wine and invited everyone to join him around the fire.

  ‘Come my friends, we have much to discuss,’ he said, patting an empty log beside him.

  Brynne sat next to Steven. Leaning over to him she whispered, ‘This is difficult for all of us. It must be especially maddening for you two.’

  Steven ran his palms back and forth along the coarse homespun fabric of his borrowed leggings. ‘I’m just glad we met people we could trust. I really am sorry for the way we treated you at Riverend Palace.’

  She reached over and took his hand. It was the same gesture Hannah had used when reaching for him over fajitas that afternoon in Denver. Steven smiled inwardly at the memory; that had been a good day.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Brynne said. ‘You believed it was your only way out at the time.’

  ‘At least then it felt like we had a way out.’ He tried not to allow his anxiety to show in the tone of his voice.

  ‘It will be all right, Steven, I’m confident things will work out in the end.’ She patted his hand again, comforting him with her touch.

  Versen and Mika joined them around the fire; Sallax stood nearby, keeping watch for potential assailants approaching through the forest.

  Gilmour looked at each of them in turn before beginning, ‘My friends, I want you to understand from the start that whatever you hear tonight, whatever you may learn, I am still Gilmour, still your friend and your compatriot. You may think I have withheld a great deal from you in the many Twinmoons we have known one another, but do not blame me for that. You are like my children to me, and the greatest joy I have felt in the last fifty Twinmoons has come from knowing each of you.’ He looked at Garec as if the young man held a special place in his heart, then turned to Mark and Steven. ‘And you two represent the culmination of more than nine hundred Twinmoons’ anticipation for someone who has—’ he grinned at Steven ‘—or at least has knowledge of Lessek’s Key.’

  He waved his pipe around. ‘This is the most excited I have been in half my life. I – we – may finally have an opportunity to defeat Nerak, to close the Fold for ever and to ensure the clouds of hatred, mistrust, violence and oppression that have been destroying Eldarn for six generations will at last be lifted.

  ‘It’s not going to be easy, though. Nerak is the most powerful being in this world, and his mission is to gather enough information to safely release his master. With evil’s origin free from its prison inside the Fold, nothing will ever be as it was. No one will survive except perhaps as slaves – and I for one would far rather die in the initial explosion of power and hatred than live to serve such a master.’

  Steven interrupted him. ‘How can all evil be in one place?’ he asked.

  ‘It can’t. As I tried to explain earlier, small pieces, the tiniest spores, have broken free from the essence and slipped int
o our world over thousands of generations. The evil around us is a reality, it is one of the things we learn shortly after birth. There are terrifying and destructive things, hideous, black and frightening things in the world we all avoid, but they are always there.

  ‘The evil we seek to defeat came to Eldarn through the Fold when Nerak attempted to control the magic of Lessek’s spell table. Much of it scattered, in myriad directions: angry words, frightening thoughts and violent tendencies. But the minion Nerak freed was larger and more powerful than those tiny spores that have slipped across the Fold throughout time. The spores that make up this minion, perhaps driven by an edict from within the Fold, stayed together rather than scattering: a focused power that claimed Nerak, devoured his soul and gained what knowledge he had of Eldarn. It consumed the members of Eldarn’s royal family, hid Lessek’s Key and the more powerful portal in your bank, Steven, and then returned across the Fold to begin its reign of terror.’

  He tossed a small log on the fire then added, ‘It kills for the sheer joy of feeling the fear in its victims’ hearts. It knows no reason. It will destroy all that is good and decent around it while it takes as long as necessary to study the magic of Lessek’s legacy, the Larion spell table.’

  ‘Wait one moment, Gilmour,’ Mark stopped him. ‘How did it get back from Idaho Springs if the far portal was closed and locked in Steven’s bank? I thought the portal had to be open for it to travel across the Fold.’

  ‘An excellent question,’ the old man answered. ‘For thousands of Twinmoons, the Larion Senate used far portals to conduct research and exploration in your world, and yes, we ensured both portals were always open. It was the only way we knew we could return home. The portal in your living room will pinpoint a position as long as it remains open. The portal in Malagon’s palace will find your world, but unless both portals are open, it will not pinpoint a destination.’