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fists. I shall soon know, and I’ll be more of a druid than any who are still alive. Then the boy, finally, began to cry.  
    The door opened, and Paardrac stepped in. “Shut it, and give me a moment,” the druid said to Craenstardt, the warrior who opened the door. The burly man hesitated, afraid to leave the druid alone with the deva-possessed boy.  
    “Are you a stronger druid than I? Or do you doubt my powers? Leave us!”
    When the door closed, Paardrac turned to Barryn. “You must do exactly as I say,” he said in a low voice.
    Barryn stood straight and tried to call back his tears. They raced down his cheeks and splashed in little drips on his coarse woolen tunic. “I did not call up the deva,” he said. “She came to me. Why?”
    “Why?” Paardrac hissed. “There is no ‘why.’ Only ‘what’ and ‘how’ exist for you. Now listen carefully. Refuse the hangman’s offer to strangle you before you meet the flames, but fear not. There will be a commotion when my brethren druids touch flame to the pyre. I’ll have bound you loosely to the stake. When you can, scramble from the ropes and run like a deer to the pool where I taught you how to fish. You’ll find a pack, your bow and a quiver of arrows. From there, sneak into Brynn Province and do the best you can for yourself in exile. Do you understand?”
    Barryn nodded dumbly, understanding but not accepting the implications of Paardrac’s scheme. “The clan will suspect you of treachery and hunt you down!”
    “As is only proper for loyal warriors of Clan Riverstar, for I will be the clan’s most heinous traitor,” Paardrac said, binding Barryn’s wrists. “And a merry chase I’ll give them. Come. It is time.”
    Barryn looked over his shoulder to the druid, who was now holding his bonds and gently pushing him toward the door. “Paardrac, who is Deva Ashara? Will she enslave me in the Howling Darkness when I die?”
    Paardrac stopped briefly and leaned in close lest the guard outside hear him. “She was a great holy warrior of old, a servant of the sun god Mahurin. She found and smote evil wherever it appeared in the world. But she went too far in her zeal and was exiled beyond our realm of existence. She is not evil, but will be a harsh mistress for you to serve. She will follow you away from us and let us be as long as you stay in exile. And I fear she will unleash her fury on us if we harm you.”
    “But that is heresy,” Barryn said. And then he understood. Other boys his age would ask why Paardrac, a druid and thus trusted above all others, could not just tell his kinsmen and call off the execution. He could even leave, without dishonor or mark of stain, and wander the face of the world carrying his spiritual burden. So others would argue. But Paardrac’s words were the antithesis of all the young man had learned through his years of druid training. To hint that the devas could be anything but dangerous fiends was unthinkable, and only the equally unthinkable circumstances and Barryn’s trust   in Paardrac allowed him to countenance the notion.  
    “You will learn more about her than anyone studying the Forbidden Lore, for I suspect she will tell you herself in her good time,” Paardrac said, anticipating the boy’s question. He led his captive to the door and gave three stern raps. “Now we shall see if you are truly under Ashara’s protection.”
    Craenstardt opened the door and allowed Paardrac to lead Barryn out of the defiled house. The warrior gave them a wide berth. Fearsome shield-bearer that he was, Craenstardt was just as loathe to go near the possessed child as the rest of the laity of the village. The front door opened into the village green, which was ringed with the other squat, thatched-roofed houses of the village aristocracy—druids, the chieftain, merchants—and stalls of the open-air market. Dominating the green was a 20-foot stake, cut hastily from the trunk of a fir tree. It rose from a rough platform