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shall explain tomorrow,’ he replied.

Three
‘Forge it well. Clean and true must be the making, else it fails you in the vital hour.’
    The Books of Kharwhan
    They sat beside a rancid sulphur spring in the wastelands sound of the Three Cities. Argor was bent on a raid upon the tiny port of Zantar, and not even Spellbinder’s softly persuasive tongue could dissuade the outlaw from his violent purpose. So they made the best of their time.
    On Raven’s part, it was mostly taken up with questions, for she felt as though a veil had been lifted from her mind, unshadowing the past as a mummer’s curtain might be lifted to reveal the pantomime secrets of the nether-stage. Yet Spellbinder answered them with the calm of a Lyandian tutor versing an innocent in the arts of the fylar harp.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I put a spell on you. It was necessary to achieve the ultimate purpose. Therefore, you had to learn all that Argor might teach you. He tells me you have learned well, but that we can ascertain tomorrow; in Zantar. Why did you accept it? No spell is powerful enough to override the will of an unwilling subject.’
    ‘I know not.’ Thoughts burst in upon her mind even as she said it, each one conflicting with its mate, so that she shook her head and wondered why she spoke as she did. ‘It seemed right.’
    ‘So it goes,’ murmured Spellbinder.
    He looked away, towards where the black bird strutted over the sand, its heavy bill channeling tasty grubs from the arid soil. The creature looked up as he clacked his tongue, turning knowing eyes upon them both.
    Spellbinder smiled, as though he had agreed something with the bird, and spoke.
    ‘To each is vouchsafed a little knowledge; to some the opportunity to change it. What do you know of the geography of this world of ours?’
    Raven shook her head: ‘Very little.’
    ‘We live,’ said Spellbinder, ‘around a great central sea. Within that sea are two islands: Kharwhan and Kragg. At the moment, neither need concern you unduly. Around that sea are many lands, though few are mapped, and fewer known. We rest in the Southern Wastelands, beyond the Three Cities of Lyand, Sara, and Vartha’an. East of the sea are Karhsaam, the Altan’s empire, and Tirwand, the City of steel. To the west are Ishkar, Sly, and Xandrone. To the north, forgotten Quwhon, the ice-country.
    ‘There are places between, but they are of no concern: ports and villages too small to sway the balance of the world.
    ‘The Three Cities, Sara, Lyand, and Vartha’an, are ambitious merchant empires, hungry to spread their tentacles of commerce across the face of the world. They struggle amongst themselves, and with any other city that attempts to usurp their power. Their aim is a commercial order.
    ‘The western lands, we can forget. Your own homeland of Ishkar is no more than an outpost, divided between the farmers and the Beastmen. Sly is ruled by the Black Ones, and they want nothing more than to be left alone. The Cattlekings of Xandrone are content to ride their steppelands unhindered by civilization. Together, they amount to nothing.
    ‘Quwhon, I might admit, is unknown, but the Ice Sea separates whatever—or whoever—lives amongst the glaciers from the rest of the world.
    ‘And what else is there? Tirwand, Zantar, Quell? All are minor pawns in the greater game. The balance of the world—the one we know—rests between the Three Cities, Karhsaam, and Kragg.’
    ‘You say nothing,’ ventured Raven, ‘of Kharwhan. Yet rumour has it the sorcerer-priests keep their hands to the pivot of the world. Rumour has it, too, that you are of Kharwhan birth; or how else the bird, your powers?’
    Spellbinder shrugged, smiling.
    ‘Perhaps. But so things go. Were it so, would you forsake me?’
    Raven shook her head. ‘No.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I know not. You helped me; I trust you.’
    ‘You trust Argor.’
    ‘Yes, but that seems different. Argor is a sword-companion. You are…something