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these. And if Daylan Hammer sees some advantage in betraying us …
    “I’d send a warrior again, or Connor or Drewish, but you have a chance to succeed where they would fail. If Daylan catches you, you can tell him that you were out hunting for a lost dog. That is, after all, your lot in life, and it would sound feasible that you would go out and hunt for an animal that you love.”
    “I think …” Alun said, “that Daylan Hammer is a good man.”
    “Good to who?” Madoc asked. “Is he loyal to this kingdom? Of course not. He was born before it was, and it will fade and die long before he does. We are like dreams to him that come vividly in the night and just as soon vanish. I make plans for my lands. My serfs know that we will plant barley in the field for three years, and let it lie fallow for two. But think how Daylan Hammer must scheme. What does he plan for these lands in a hundred years, or a thousand, or in ten thousand?
    “More to the point, what will he do to bring those plans to bear? Will you and I suffer for it?”
    Alun grunted thoughtfully, stroked Wanderlust on the back. Most likely, he would find that Daylan was guilty of nothing, and by humoring Warlord Madoc, Alun would earn his gratitude. But if Alun discovered anything of import… he’d be well rewarded.
    “I’ll do it, milord,” Alun said.
    As Warlord Madoc and his sons strode across the greens well out of earshot, Drewish asked his father, “You wouldn’t really grant Alun clan rights, would you? Mother thinks he should be gelded. He’s more of a cur than any of the dogs that he sleeps with.”
    “I’ll keep my end of the bargain,” Madoc said. “I must prove to my people that my word is good. Let him marry a warrior’s daughter, if he can find one who will sleep with him. We’ll send him and his offspring to the head of every battle.”
    “What if Daylan discovers what we’re up to?” Drewish asked. “He is a persuasive man. Alun would gladly follow him, I think, right into a kezziard’s maw, if the old man asked it of him.”
    “We can trust Alun,” Warlord Madoc said. “Daylan Hammer has no coin to buy the lad, and we’re offering him… more than he could ever dream. He’ll betray Daylan Hammer.”
    “How can you be sure?” Drewish asked.
    “His dogs,” Madoc replied. “Every day, Alun sends them to their deaths, betraying those that love him best. He’s grown adept at betrayal.”

    3    
     
A WARM RECEPTION
    In my dreams, it was always the same. I stood in the Underworld, and a great wheel of fire was emblazoned before my eyes, the Seal of the Inferno.
    There were other Seals, the Seal of Heaven, the Seal of Earth
—
but those were already mended, or at least, were far along the path.
    I stared into the rune. To a commoner it would have looked only like a bowl of fire, tongues of flame in greens and reds and blues, sputtering aimlessly. But to my eyes, I read purpose and meaning in those flames. They whispered to me, telling me their secrets. And I watched how they subsided and reappeared in patterns that could not have been random, and I began to understand. The pain of the world, its despair and torment, was written in those flames. They were bent and tainted, cruel and deformed. I knew that with only thesmallest changes, the slightest of twists, I could fix them. And in mending them, I would mend the world.
    —
from the journal of Fallion Orden
    Fallion strode purposefully down the rutted road toward the gates of Castle Coorm.
    The sun was rising now, a brilliant gold rim of light on the horizon and not a cloud in the sky. Behind him, the others followed.
    Each of them bore a torch, though Fallion made sure that his burned the brightest.
    “Torch-bearer.” That was Fallion’s name among the flameweavers. Somehow, as he bore the torch toward the castle, he wondered if it was only descriptive, or if it was prophetic.
    The castle gate was closed, the drawbridge had been raised again. Fallion