Page 9

For the first time they took the position that was to become so natural, back to back with daggers drawn. And with the click of a key turning in a lock they were freed and joined, soul-bound into a fighting force that would one day surpass any on the borderlands. Soon enough the tinker boys were running off with Ian at their heels.

"Take care of Jemmy!" he called, then vanished down the path.

Alistair remembered well enough what had happened after that. He'd sliced through Jemmy's bonds and taken the boy to the stream. Jemmy had been cut quite badly, once across the brow and once across the hand. Alistair had washed the blood away and clumsily bound up the injuries with strips torn from his tunic. Then he'd sent Ian's brother home again.

But that wasn't what happened in the dream. All at once, as Ian ran off, Alistair wasn't watching anymore. He was inside the dream, a man now, and a terrible foreboding gripped him.

"Ian, wait!" he shouted. "Don't go, it's a trap! Darnley's waiting for you!"

He ran down the path after Ian, calling for him to stop, to wait for him, just as he had done on that terrible morning when Ian rode off to his death. His lungs were bursting and the muscles of his legs felt as though they were on fire. Small branches slapped his face as he went on, from time to time glimpsing Ian just ahead.

The forest grew darker, the undergrowth more twisted, but he forced his way through with a strength born of desperation. Then the forest was behind him and he was looking over a dark plain toward a tower rising black against a bloodred sky.

A thrill of terror raced through Alistair's body. The tower was a dark and brooding place not made for mortal man. Yet he knew he had to go inside.

Then he was inside, a corridor stretching endlessly before him, blank smooth walls on either side. He walked down its length, his footsteps echoing in murky gloom, tapping out a doleful rhythm. Lost, it said. Lost for good and ever. You'll never get out again.

Shadows dove and gibbered, and when Alistair turned a corner twisted gargoyles on the walls bared their fangs and hissed. He walked through the passageway, on and on, a place with no end and no beginning.

"Ian?" he called, his voice muffled in the darkness.

A shrieking howl was his only answer and he ducked, instinctively raising one arm to shield himself as invisible wings brushed his face. Ian wasn't here. He couldn't be. Please God, let Ian not be here in this desolate place.

But if Ian was not here, Alistair feared that he himself would never find his way out again.

Deirdre leaned closer to the pool, hardly daring to breathe, as a waiting stillness descended on the clearing. It was about to happen, she could feel it...the entire world seemed to stop in hushed expectancy.

And there was nothing. The surface of the pond was blank. Tears started to her eyes and she clenched her fists, summoning every bit of energy she had.

"Show me," she cried aloud, half-plea and half-command. "Show me my true love."

There—a faint glimmer of light at the end of the passageway. Alistair made for it, stumbling with weariness, driven on by the certainty that it would vanish any moment. As he drew closer he perceived the dim outline of a doorway. The door was closing, closing—he flung himself outside. Cool wind fanned his face and he gulped in air fragrant with damp earth, the scent of life itself. He did not see the two shadows that slipped from the passageway as the door slammed shut behind him.

As his breathing steadied he looked about. Moonlight streamed through twisted branches to light a path ahead. With a little shrug he followed it, expecting to come out at the waterfall. Instead he stepped into a small bright clearing.

A woman sat on the edge of a dark pool. She was sobbing, hands covering her face, midnight hair streaming like a shining cloak across her shoulders.

"Why do ye weep, lady?" Alistair asked.

She lifted her head and he drew a sharp breath, staring dumbly into the sapphire depths of her eyes, bright with tears and framed by thick dark lashes. Ah, but she was radiant, too beautiful for any mortal. Surely she was a faerie sent to guide him.

"What—" she began, and then stopped, her eyes wide. "How did you come here?"

"I hardly know. There was a waterfall—and a passageway—I couldna find my way. I thought ye must have called me forth," he finished in confusion. "Are ye no' one of the Sidhe?"

She laughed softly and the sound was tinged with bitterness. "No, I am but a mortal woman."

Her voice was low and musical, carrying the lilt of Ireland, its rhythm falling softly on his ear. He would have been content to listen to her talk forever.

He sat down beside her and looked into the pool, where her reflection shone dimly in the moonlit depths. But though Alistair leaned close to the water, he could not see his own image. Of course, he thought with a ripple of amusement, my body is back behind the waterfall. And this is nothing but a dream.

Deirdre glanced at the man beside her, wondering that she felt no fear. The moment he walked out of the darkness of the forest her heart had leaped in joyful welcome, though she was certain they had never met before. This was a man she could never have forgotten.

He was powerfully built, with the arms and shoulders of a warrior, and yet for all his size, he moved with a dancer's silent grace. Though the clearing was dim, she could see him quite clearly, down to the twisted pattern of the brooch at one broad shoulder and the small green gems winking in the dagger at his belt. A lock of fine fair hair fell over his brow as he stared into the pool. When he turned to her his smile was bright as quicksilver and hot as living flame. She looked away, dazzled and a little frightened by the strength of her response.

"Why were you crying?" he asked again.

She weighed her instinct for concealment against the impulse to confide in him. Why should she trust him with her secrets? But then, why had she trusted him at all? Why had she not run screaming at the first sight of him?