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for the first time, the true nature of how he had been cursed. She should have known, it had been there to see. For the children and for love .
    “I don’t know,” she said, with difficulty.
    “They always are,” he said, “because I had the babies killed.”
    There was no answer to make, and she didn’t trust her voice in any case. Instead she took him by the hand, and holding high the Baelrath once again with the last strength she had, she crossed with Arthur Pendragon, the Warrior Condemned, to Fionavar and war.
     
    PART II—Owein
     
    Chapter 4
     
    Ruana essayed the thin chant, having only Iraima to aid him. He had scant hope it would carry as far as it had to go, but there was nothing else he could think of to do. So he lay in the dark, listening to the others dying around him, and he chanted the warnsong and the savesong over and over again. Iraima helped when she could, but she was very weak.
    In the morning their captors found that Taieri had died, and he was taken out and devoured. After, the ones outside burned his bones for warmth against the bitter cold. Ruana choked on the smoke that drifted from the pyre. It had been placed in front of the cave, to make breathing harder for them. He heard Iraima coughing. They would not be killed directly, he knew, for fear of the bloodcurse, but they had been without food in the caves a long time now, and breathing the smoke of their brothers and sisters. Ruana wondered, abstractly, what it would be like to feel hate or rage. Closing his eyes, he chanted the kanior once for Taieri, knowing it was not being done in proper accordance with the rites, and asking forgiveness for this. Then he began the other two again in cycle, the warnsong and the savesong, over and over. Iraima joined in with him awhile, and Ikatere as well, but mostly Ruana sang alone.
     
    They climbed up to Atronel over the green grass, and the high ones of all three Marks were there before Ra-Tenniel.
    Only Brendel was away south, in Paras Derval, so Heilyn represented the Kestrel. Galen and Lydan, the twins, stood forth for the Brein Mark, and fairest Leyse for the Swan, and she was clad in white as the Swan Mark always were, for memory of Lauriel. Enroth, who was eldest since Laien Spearchild had gone to his song, was there as well—Mark-less and of all Marks, as were the Eldest and the King alone.
    Ra-Tenniel made the throne glow brightly blue, and fierce Galen smiled, though it could be seen that her brother frowned.
    Leyse offered a flower to the King. “From by Celyn,” she murmured. “There is a fair grove there, of silver and red sylvain.”
    “I would go with you to see them,” Ra-Tenniel replied.
    Leyse smiled, elusive. “Are we to open the sky tonight, Brightest Lord?”
    He accepted the deflection. This time Lydan smiled.
    “We are,” said Ra-Tenniel. “Na-Enroth?”
    “It is woven,” the Eldest affirmed. “We will try to draw him forth from Starkadh.”
    “And if we do?” Lydan asked.
    “Then we go to war,” Ra-Tenniel replied. “But if we wait, or if the Dark One waits as he seems purposed to do, then our allies may be dead of this winter before Maugrim comes after us.”
    Heilyn spoke for the first time. “He has made the winter then? This is known?”
    “It is known,” Enroth replied. “And another thing is known. The Baelrath blazed two nights ago. Not in Fionavar, but it was on fire.”
    They stirred at that. “The Seer?” Lyse ventured. “In her world?”
    “So it would seem,” Enroth said. “Something new is threading across the Loom.”
    “Or something very old,” Ra-Tenniel amended, and the Eldest bowed his head.
    “Then why do we wait?” Galen cried. Her rich singer’s voice carried to the others on the slopes of Atronel. A murmur like a note of music came to the six of them by the throne.
    ”We do not, once we are agreed,” Ra-Tenniel replied. “Is it not bitterest irony that we who are named for Light should have been forced to cloak our