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did she get cold? Why did her hands and feet get scratched? How could these men see her? That twenty gods-touched men would have flocked together in the barren backcountry defied belief, because the temples prized any man or woman gifted with the spirit sight, even the ones who were cracked in the head like the old man Mokass. It was almost as if she had been a ghost then, and no longer was. How could that happen?
    They lost sight of their pursuers. The mare shifted balance for a ponderous turn. Marit’s legs ached as she clung to saddle and post. To be harnessed under an eagle was a very different sensation from sitting astride a horse; the view was worse from the horse, for one, with those wings getting in the way of her sight. The rise and fall of the wings distracted her until a light glinted ahead, halfway up a black cliff face rising out of a wooded hill. As the horse flew straight for the rock wall, Marit realized that she had no reins and could not control its flight. They galloped through the air straight at the escarpment, and the shadows opened to reveal a cleft and a wide ledge. The mare sailed in. Its hooves struck stone. Marit hissed between gritted teeth as the horse stamped to a halt.
    She dismounted, staggered, and dropped to her knees. The mare folded its wings and ambled to the back of the cleft where a fountain burbled from a deep fissure in thecliff. It lowered its head to drink. Across the broad ledge a pattern glittered, whether in sunlight or the growing edge of shadow. It was like a crystalline labyrinth grown into the stone, a twisting pattern whose like she had seen before.
    Gods preserve her. The mare had brought her to a Guardian’s altar.
    Aui! What did it matter now?
    She rose. No one and nothing stirred. She set a foot on the entrance to the labyrinth, then the other. The pavement pulsed as if she were feeling the heartbeat of the Earth Mother. She paced its measure. With each change of angle in the path’s direction, the world shifted. She saw far beyond the isolated ledge into distant landscapes: surging ocean; a fallen stone tower above a tumble of rocks lapped by soft waves; rain pattering in tangled oak forest; a vast gleam of water—not the sea—bordered by dunes; a high peak slipping in and out of streaming cloud; a homely village of six cottages beside a gushing river; a pinnacle overlooking a wide basin of land surrounded by rugged hills; a dusty hilltop rimmed by boulders where a presence tugged at her . . . and she faltered.
    â€œHere you are,” said a man’s voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    She did not move, sure that to take one step back or one forward would break this inexplicable link. She saw no face, only a suggestion of gold light, but she felt him as strongly as if he were standing behind her. She hid her own face by pulling up the hood of her cloak.
    â€œYou must be confused,” he said. “I can help you. What is your name?”
    Cursed if she was going to say that out loud to a stranger! She recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it. A sour-sweet smell drifted within the lines, making her want to sneeze.
    â€œI’m hesitant to say,” she said, measuring her words.“Who are you? How can I know I can trust you? Where are you, and how is it you can speak to me? I have many questions.”
    â€œAll shall be answered as you gain your strength. You’re just awakening. Here, now, let me introduce myself. I am Radas.”
    The name pierced her like a dagger to the heart. She was cold, then hot, breaking into a sweat.
    But another man might be named Radas. It wasn’t an uncommon name. “Where are you from, Radas?”
    â€œI am lord of Iliyat. I have the resources to help you. Only stay where you are, and I will come to fetch you.”
    The hells he would!
    Lord Radas of Iliyat had ordered her death. He was responsible for the murder of her eagle. He was a killer, and she smelled