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held up her tea-bowl. ‘This will do,’ she said. ‘It’s near enough water as it is.’
    The power came quickly, but all the tiny bowl showed was snowflakes the size of goose feathers swirling in the air. Teia squinted to see the landscape beyond them, but with no moonlight she couldn’t make out more than ghostly grey shapes.
    Show me Baer.
    The viewing in the bowl turned to black and Neve recoiled. ‘Macha’s mercy!’
    ‘It’s all right,’ Teia reassured her. ‘I think he’s under cover somewhere, and it’s just too dark to see.’
    Neve began to lean towards the bowl again then stopped, suddenly dubious. ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘Sure as I can be,’ Teia said, with more cheer than she actually felt. It was the absolute truth, but it tasted like the worst lie in the world. She was as sure as she could be on the basis of no more evidence than a feeling in her gut. ‘If Baer was . . . well, if something had happened to him, I don’t think the water would show me anything at all.’
    Looking up, she met Neve’s gaze. A little bewildered, a little haunted, but strangely resolute. Teia released her power and let the viewing fade. ‘That didn’t help much, did it? I’m sorry, Neve. Maybe if I try again in the morning, when it’s light?’
    ‘No.’ The older woman sat back, rewrapping her shawl again. ‘Thank you, Banfaíth, but I reckon I’ve seen enough for now.’
    She pushed herself to her feet and Teia wished she hadn’t made the offer to scry. It hadn’t eased Neve’s mind at all.
    ‘Thank you for your help with this.’ She gestured at her newly mended trews. ‘And the tea.’
    ‘It was no trouble. Banfaíth,’ Neve added by way of excusing herself and left.
    Teia watched the blanket fall closed after her, despair chilling her as much as the gust of cold air. Oh, Neve, I’m so sorry.
    She should never have let Baer go. She was a fool to be so concerned about others when she had Lost Ones of her own to care for. They should be her first duty, always.
    Teia swiped a hand across her eyes. The longer Tir Malroth’s shadow lay over them, the more her strength dwindled, but they’d come too far to turn back now. The journey to the Broken Land would surely be longer than the distance that still lay ahead. It had to be. If she let herself believe otherwise . . .
    No. She had to believe that the worst was behind them, not ahead. If she allowed herself even to think that was not so, she would lose what little hope she had left. She looked at the tea-bowl in her hand, still steaming faintly, and swallowed the drink down.

4
TO THE LION GATE

    The sun was setting when the wide cargo doors at the far end of the warehouse were opened. The sudden noise startled most of the nuns onto their feet, and Gair had his hand ready on the hilt of the qatan even before he’d turned to see what was happening. Silhouetted against the orange light from outside was a barouk -clad figure; he shaded his eyes and squinted, trying to see who it was as he walked up to the door.
    ‘Tierce?’ he asked.
    ‘It’s time,’ she said, signalling to someone behind her. A high-sided wagon drawn by a six-mule hitch clattered into the yard from the street. As soon as it was inside, the driver, a nondescript fellow in workman’s clothes, leapt down from the seat and with a nod for Tierce disappeared back out through the arched entry, pulling the gates shut behind him.
    Some of the nuns had drifted up to the door after Gair, the Superior amongst them. ‘This is our way out of the city?’ she asked.
    ‘I assume so.’ He fell silent as Tierce turned to face the group.
    ‘The city is no longer safe for ammanai ,’ she said, without preamble. Her words were inflectionless and she kept her sand-veil firmly across her face, so only her eyes were visible. ‘There is water on the wagon and adequate provisions to see you as far as Zhiman-dar, although it will not be a comfortable journey. After that I suggest you leave Gimrael and