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hands free from those of Jennifer and the Dwarf.
    Kimberly Ford screamed.
    And in mat moment the room began to dissolve on them. Kevin, frozen, disbelieving, saw Kim reach out then, wildly, to clutch Dave’s arm and take Jen’s free hand even as he heard the cry torn from her throat.
    Then the cold of the crossing and the darkness of the space between worlds came down and Kevin saw nothing more. In his mind, though, whether for an instant or an age, he thought he heard the sound of mocking laughter. There was a taste in his mouth, like ashes of grief.
Dave,
he thought,
oh, Martyniuk, what have you done?

PART II—Rachel’s Song

Chapter 4
    It was night when they came through, in a small, dimly lit room somewhere high up. There were two chairs, benches and an unlit fire. An intricately patterned carpet on the stone floor. Along one wall stretched a tapestry, but the room was too darkly shadowed, despite flickering wall torches, for them to make it out. The windows were open.
    “So, Silvercloak, you’ve come back,” a reedy voice from the doorway said, without warmth. Kevin looked over quickly to see a bearded man leaning casually on a spear.
    Loren ignored him. “Matt?” he said sharply. “Are you all right?” The Dwarf, visibly shaken by the crossing, managed a terse nod. He had slumped into one of the heavy chairs and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. Kevin turned to check the others. All seemed to be fine, a little dazed, but fine, except—
    Except that Dave Martyniuk wasn’t there.
    “Oh, God!” he began, “Loren—”
    And was stopped in mid-sentence by a beseeching look from the mage. Paul Schafer, standing beside Kevin, caught it as well, and Kevin saw him walk quietly over to the two women. Schafer spoke softly to them, and then nodded once, to Loren.
    At which point the mage finally turned to the guard, who was still leaning indolently on his weapon. “Is it the evening before?” Loren asked.
    “Why, yes,” the man replied. “But shouldn’t a great mage know that without the asking?”
    Kevin saw Loren’s eyes flicker in the torchlight. “Go,” he said. “Go tell the King I have returned.” “It’s late. He’ll be sleeping.” “He will want to know this. Go now.” The guard moved with deliberate, insolent slowness. As he turned, though, there was a sudden
thunk,
and a thrown knife quivered in the panelling of the doorway, inches from his head.
    “I know you, Vart,” a deep voice said, as the man whipped around, pale even by torchlight. “I have marked you. You will do what you have been told, and quickly, and you will speak to rank with deference—or my next dagger will not rest in wood.” Matt Sören was on his feet again, and danger bristled through him like a presence.
    There was a tense silence. Then: “I am sorry, my lord mage. The lateness of the hour . . . my fatigue. Welcome home, my lord, I go to do your will.” The guard raised his spear in a formal salute, then spun again, sharply this time, and left the room. Matt walked forward to retrieve his dagger. He remained in the doorway, watching. “Now,” said Kevin Laine. “Where is he?” Loren had dropped into the chair the Dwarf had vacated. “I am not sure,” he said. “Forgive me, but I truly don’t know.”
    “But you have to know!” Jennifer exclaimed. “He pulled away just as I was closing the circle. I was too far under the power—I couldn’t come out to see his path. I do not even know if he came with us.”
    “I do,” said Kim Ford simply. “He came. I had him all the way. I was holding him.”
    Loren rose abruptly. “You did? Brightly woven! This means he has crossed—he is in Fionavar, somewhere. And if that is so, he will be found. Our friends will begin to search immediately.”
    “Your friends?” Kevin asked. “Not that creep in the doorway, I hope?”
    Loren shook his head. “Not him, no. He is Gorlaes’s tool—and here I must ask of you another thing.” He hesitated.