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  Qeteb’s laughter floated across the chasm. “You know as well as I that I cannot broach the enchantments that protect this—what do you call it?—ah yes, this Sanctuary.”

  DragonStar allowed a wave of relief to wash over him.

  “But do not rejoice too soon,” Qeteb continued, “for I surely see that all I need is a key, and I have all the time in creation in which to find it. Wait for me, DragonStar, and I will join you.”

  Again he laughed, a sound of genuine amusement rather than forced maliciousness, and DragonStar tore his gaze away from the hypnotic figure of Qeteb and looked at Niah.

  Again he had the strongest feeling that there was something so infinitely dangerous about her that, of all those in the group across the chasm, including Qeteb, she would prove the most formidable foe.

  But then one of the black beasts shifted and snorted, and the spell was broken. DragonStar gave Qeteb one last stare, then turned his back and walked as slowly and as nonchalantly as he could into Sanctuary.

  “Well?” said Sheol.

  “He is still weak,” Qeteb said, “and we must not give him the time to grow more powerful.”

  “How?” said Barzula.

  Qeteb let his eyes roam over the enchantments that protected Sanctuary.

  “They have been made, and they can be unmade,” he said. “And all I need do is find the key.”

  Neither the Demons nor DragonStar realised that there was another observer.

  Isfrael, hidden within a small stand of trees just before the entrance to Sanctuary. His eyesight and hearing were as keen as those of all Avar, and he’d witnessed and heard the entire exchange.

  He stood and watched thoughtfully as the Demons swung their black mounts about and returned into Spiredore.

  They were evil, Isfrael knew, and he loathed them before anything else in his life, but Isfrael had a burning ambition and that was to regain his rightful place at the head of the Avar.

  The Demons were vile, worse than vile, but maybe they could be used.

  They could help him into what Isfrael coveted more than anything else: the Sacred Groves. In the Sacred Groves Isfrael could regain his standing. Faraday would be nothing if Isfrael controlled the Sacred Groves.

  The Avar would come back to him then.

  But if he wanted the Demons to aid him, then Isfrael would need something. Information, perhaps, to exchange. And information good enough to enable Isfrael to navigate safely the hazards of demonic negotiations.

  What? What would the Demons want?

  Souls. They wanted souls. It is what gave them power.

  So what might deliver more souls into the hands of the Demons? Isfrael grinned to himself. Sanctuary would. The Demons needed the key to Sanctuary.

  Now all he needed to do was find it himself.

  Isfrael turned and walked into Sanctuary, turning thoughts over and over in his mind. The Demons could be used—but it would be more than dangerous. And was he ready to risk everyone in Sanctuary?

  Yes! Yes! But only if he could manage to get the Avar out before the Demons gobbled up everyone else within this pastel prison.

  Isfrael’s steps slowed as he contemplated the Avar safe forever within the Sacred Groves: no axes, no damned Icarii arrogance, and no Faraday to destroy his power.

  Chapter 11

  StarLaughter

  StarLaughter was far too insane to be intimidated by Qeteb’s threat.

  She stood as Qeteb stepped into the tower, the door closing behind him, and then she slowly turned and stared across the bleak wasteland to the east.

  A cold and heartless, soulless, loveless desert. A frigid wind blew dust balls red with sparks and flames over the crazily-cracked surface of the ground. No vegetation survived, save for the occasional malodorous and cancerous versions of small shrubs and isolated grain stalks: weeping, fleshy lumps grew down their stalks and stems. Creatures—of both animal and humanoid origins—crept about its surface, whispering and wailing, digging claws in themselves and in whoever approached, copulating with rocks, and eating dust.

  But the violent, twisting landscape of StarLaughter’s mind was far more desolate than this nightmare which stretched before her.

  She stood, and she stared, and even the occasional crazed creature that paused to nibble at her ankles did not distract her.

  StarLaughter was alone. That thought dominated her mind.

  She was alone. The Demons had abandoned her. The Hawkchilds had abandoned her.

  Even, if Qeteb was to be believed, her son had abandoned her.

  No! No! She must not let herself think that!

  StarLaughter shuddered, and she moaned, a small rope of dribble escaping her lips.

  The Demons had stolen her son, and there was no-one left who could help her.

  How many thousands of years had she quested, believing the Demons’ lies when they said they would help her gain revenge for her and her son’s deaths? How much power, aid and advice had she given the Demons, thinking they would help her? Thinking they believed her? Thinking that they had loved her?

  “And all they did was betray me,” she whispered.

  And all the while laughing at her behind her back?

  StarLaughter screamed, her body jerking in a fit of madness.

  “They stole my son!” she finally managed to wail. “They stole my son!”

  She collapsed onto the ground again, writhing and moaning in misery amid the dirt. She was so alone; no-one to help her, no-one to understand the depth of betrayal she had suffered, no-one who would understand the depth of maternal grief she felt, no-one who could help her rescue her son from Qeteb’s metalled madnesses.

  That her son still somehow existed within Qeteb StarLaughter had no doubts.

  All she had to do was rescue him…somehow.

  But there was no-one to help her! No-one who could understand—

  Suddenly StarLaughter stilled, her eyes crazed with hope, and her dribbling mouth opened in a circle of amazement that she hadn’t thought of this before.

  Yes…yes, there was one who could understand her, wasn’t there! There was one who would help her!

  StarLaughter giggled, the pure joy of hope (mad, mad hope) suffusing her being, and she clambered to her feet again.

  WolfStar!

  Gone from her mind were the thousands of years lusting for revenge against him.

  Gone was her hatred of him.

  Gone was any sane thought that WolfStar was highly unlikely to want to have anything to do with her.

  Instead, StarLaughter’s mind embraced memories warped by her madness into untruths.

  WolfStar, years older than her, tenderly playing with her when she’d been a toddler.

  WolfStar, desperately in love with her (although, sweet fool, he would never admit it to her), teaching her to fly when her wings had first emerged.

  WolfStar, unable to keep his raging desire under control any longer, seducing her when she’d been but eleven.

  StarLaughter trembled, and laughed softly. He’d never been able to deny his love for her!

  He’d been so powerful, so commanding, and StarLaughter knew the entire Icarii race had envied her when she’d married him.

  How lucky WolfStar had been! StarLaughter knew she’d been the perfect wife for him, her beauty and power complementing WolfStar’s own attractions and abilities.

  And how she had helped him! WolfStar’s lust for the throne had been more than matched by StarLaughter’s own desire for power. She had been the one to suggest the murder of WolfStar’s father, StarKnight.

  She had been the one to fire the arrow that sent StarKnight tumbling out of the sky.

  And for the throne that she helped him take, WolfStar had loved her.

  He’d adored her!

  StarLaughter knew that even now adoration could not be very far beneath the surface of WolfStar’s sneers and outward contempt.

  No, WolfStar still loved her, and WolfStar would aid her in the rescue of their son.


  After all, wasn’t it his son who’d been stolen as well?

  And hadn’t he adored his son, and adored her for conceiving him?

  StarLaughter’s face softened into something resembling love as she stared blank-eyed into the wasted landscape. How wrong she’d been to seek revenge on WolfStar. She’d always adored him, she could understand that now, and it would take but a little effort on her part to make WolfStar understand that he still adored her.

  “We are SunSoar lovers, you and I,” she whispered, one hand clutching at the tattered blue robe above her breasts. “One being, one soul. Nothing can keep us apart. Nothing.”

  And on these twisted thoughts, StarLaughter built hope.

  “I have to get away from Qeteb,” StarLaughter said, at what seemed like hours later. “And then find WolfStar. Oh, how happy he will be to see me!”

  She jerked her eyes around the land, seeking answers. Where could she go? Where would be safe from Qeteb?

  “I know the nooks and crannies of this land better than any Demon,” she whispered, and then she nodded slightly. Yes, she knew a place to hide. A place that felt right. A place that called her.

  But it would take her a while to get there…unless…

  She turned her head and regarded Spiredore thoughtfully.

  Chapter 12

  The Key to Sanctuary

  Faraday and Gwendylyr were wandering through an orchard of green apples and cotton trees laden with pale pink and blue flowers. With them walked Azhure and two of the Star Gods, Pors and Silton. They were chatting about DragonStar, and what had happened in something called the crystal dome, but the man who observed them did not care to listen as closely as he could have.

  Isfrael had other things to think about, and other deeds to be done. He stood unobserved and watched the walkers for a short while, then he slipped silently away amid the thickness of the heavily-laden boughs of the cotton trees.

  Their beauty and scent left him unmoved.

  Isfrael had no qualms about what he was going to do. He did not think of it so much as a betrayal or a treachery, but as an inevitability. Sanctuary was bound to crumple before the power of the Demons at some stage or the other, and whether or not Isfrael speeded up the process was immaterial.

  What was important was regaining his position at the head of the Avar, managing to exclude Faraday (didn’t the Avar realise that the time of their precious Tree Friend was well and truly over?) once and for all, and managing to save the Avar from the inevitable destruction of Sanctuary.

  Isfrael wanted the forests, he wanted his position as Mage-King back, and he wanted the Avar to be safe forever from the axes and arrogance of the other two humanoid races. There was only one place left in this existence where he could accomplish this.

  The Sacred Groves.

  There the Mother still dwelt, there the trees grew thick and magical, there the Horned Ones still walked in power.

  There, Isfrael could regain his place.

  And perhaps…perhaps Shra’s soul had found its way there when she’d died.

  “Hello,” a gentle voice said behind him. “I often come here to think as well. It is a place of great beauty and contentment, is it not?”

  Isfrael whipped about, only barely managing to suppress a snarl of irritation.

  Leagh stood there, her distended belly making her virginal white linen gown look ridiculous, and her brown hair tumbling down about her shoulders and back as if she was trying to pretend to be a Bane (how dare she!). Her eyes, the only part of her that demonstrated some sense, revealed her trepidation.

  She actually seemed to be waiting for a response, so Isfrael glanced about him. They were standing in a small glade, a waterfall and rock pool to one side, and wildflowers spreading in drifts through the short grasses of the open space.

  “It’s lovely,” he said, and forced a smile.

  Leagh relaxed a little, and she indicated a small pile of smooth-backed rocks beside the pool. “Will you sit with me a while? I have not had a chance to talk to you before.”

  That is because you are a plains dweller and have not been welcomed in my forests, thought Isfrael, but he sat anyway.

  Leagh began to chat about innocuous pleasantries, and Isfrael replied in monosyllables whenever she paused for an answer. By the Horned Ones, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself in this pastelised version of the real, vibrant world! Isfrael would have got up and left—this woman was more than annoying—but some part of him wondered if she might have some information that could help him achieve his ends.

  After all, wasn’t she close to DragonStar? Might she not know something that had been kept hidden from everyone else?

  Once he’d thought of that, Isfrael paid more attention to Leagh herself. He began to reply more pleasantly, leading the conversation himself, making the woman laugh with some of his tales of life in Minstrelsea.

  And Isfrael reaped rewards for his pains. After a short while Isfrael realised that there was something profoundly unusual about Leagh. She was not just a “plains dweller”; she was far more. In fact, the way she moved, her smile, and the shift of her eyes made Isfrael realise that an intriguing power played beneath the surface of her outwardly pleasant demeanour.

  Leagh was as powerful, if not more so, than any of the Avar Banes had been!

  But how could this be so? The Acharites had no access to power, had they?

  Very gradually, and as carefully as he could, Isfrael started to redirect the conversation. He cloaked himself in an aura of innocuousness—

  Aren’t the horns growing from my forehead cute? See the cloth of twigs that cloak my loins: isn’t that the most naively rural thing you ever saw? See my discomfort regarding my mother, Faraday: doesn’t that make you want to hug me and make it all better?

  —and harvested the prize, for Leagh lost whatever initial caution she’d had, and talked and laughed freely with him.

  Yes, she had power now. Woken by DragonStar, although every Acharite had the potential for such power within them.

  “What do you mean?” said Isfrael, furrowing his brow in muddled puzzlement.

  “Well,” said Leagh, and she told him of the original Enchantress, Urbeth—

  “Urbeth!” Isfrael said, truly shocked. “Urbeth?”

  “Yes! Isn’t it amazing? Well…” Leagh told him of Urbeth’s three sons. One had founded the Icarii race.

  “And fathered by a sparrow, Isfrael!” Leagh said, laughing. “Can you imagine the affront to the proud Icarii?”

  Another son had founded the Charonite race.

  “And the third?”

  “Urbeth sent the eldest son from her home, because he denied his own magic and his own potential. This son was fathered by the man she loved the most. Isfrael, you will never guess who it was!”

  Isfrael wondered if this agonising process would proceed faster if he twisted his hands about her throat and physically forced the words out.

  But he smiled congenially, and forced a pleasant bewilderment across his face. “No, I cannot. Tell me.”

  “Noah did!”

  “Noah?”

  So then Leagh told Isfrael about the Enemy, and their battle many millennia ago against the Demons. Having trapped and dismembered Qeteb, they then sent his life parts across the universe in a fleet of craft. When the four craft crashed on Tencendor, creating the four Sacred Lakes, only one of the Enemy survived: Noah.

  “And he met Urbeth, and fathered the eldest son. But this son denied his magic, and when he founded the Acharite race, they not only suppressed their magic, they relentlessly hunted down all other wielders of magic.”

  Isfrael kept his face bland, although internally he seethed with fury. The Acharites and their axes had hounded and slaughtered his people for over a thousand years.

  “And so all Acharites can use their power?”

  And as he said that, Isfrael suddenly realised why this information was so vitally important. Sanctuary was a construction of the Enemy, or of
their remnant power within the land…and the magic of the Acharites was the magic of the Enemy. By the Sacred Groves…was this what he’d been seeking?

  As he thought that, Leagh gave him the final element.

  “No. Acharites cannot use their magic unless they can return through death.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve all suppressed our power so assiduously that only death can free it. Faraday, myself, Gwendylyr, Goldman, and even DareWing, who has ancient Acharite blood in him, can use the power because we have been through death, and have been recreated.”

  Isfrael nodded, and said a few more polite words, but he was not ungrateful when Leagh sighed and said she’d return to her apartment for a nap. “And to see Zared, who mopes about unbearably in this place.”

  Leagh smiled apologetically. “He is a man who thrives on the doing, not on the waiting.”

  Isfrael nodded, and let the woman walk away.

  Was this the information he could trade for his freedom to get to the Sacred Groves? Almost…almost…but how could the Demons use it?

  And then Isfrael remembered the soulless automat that the Demons had with them, and he laughed triumphantly.

  He had the key!

  Now all he had to do was get out of Sanctuary.

  Chapter 13

  Hidden Conversations

  Sometimes the most insanely unhinged of people manage to assume the demeanour of the coldly logical, and so it was with StarLaughter. She had her purpose—as madly illogical as it might seem to anyone else—and purpose gave her the appearance of sanity.

  She stared thoughtfully towards Spiredore, her now composed face wiped free of any remaining spittle. Then, making up her mind, StarLaughter walked confidently back to Spiredore, its white-walled towers still gleaming incongruously in the devastated landscape.

  “Pray to every star in existence I have the time to do what I must,” she muttered, and then tossed her head at a low-flying mind-maddened egret. She smiled at it; one could not be sure these days, among this horde of demented livestock, of which reported directly to the Demons and which just eddied about in chaotic dementia, and StarLaughter knew she had to be careful.