Ontogeny

"She was such a beautiful kestrel."

The Brigadier followed the King's gaze down into the courtyard, where a handmaiden was running a brush through the Princess' long, golden hair. His eyes narrowed as he saw how the change was already beginning to manifest. A radiance around the girl. Still faint, barely noticeable in the lantern light but enough to light up the handmaiden's face as if she were standing in a shaft of silver moonlight.

He and his men had arrived back in the great city of Marboll just a few hours before, having travelled the last few miles in tremendous haste in response to the summons delivered by the King's messenger. So great had been the urgency of the summons that he had gone straight to the palace, not even stopping at his estate to clean himself up and change clothes, so that he was still wearing his travel stained uniform and carrying the distinct aroma of horse and stale sweat. The King hadn't cared, though, and had ushered him into his private quarters, the wing of the palace where the royal family enjoyed their private moments, away from affairs of state. The Brigadier had gathered that something had happened to the Princess and had feared the worse, but the truth was an even greater shock than anything he could have imagined.

The first clues had come the day before, while still miles from the city. Every town they'd passed through had been hushed and downcast, with hardly anyone out in the streets despite the bright spring sunshine. The owner of the inn at which the Brigadier and his small group of rangers had stayed for the night had said he had no idea what the trouble was, but that a sense of desperate disquiet had been issuing from the capital city for weeks now, and that it had affected every town and village within fifty miles. People would go to the city happy and cheerful, the innkeeper had said, but when they returned they had been troubled and silent, as if they had been infected by some darkness of the soul, some malaise of the spirit that had spread to afflict everyone else they'd come in contact with. No-one could say what the trouble was, but something terrible had clearly struck in the Palace, the very heart of the Kingdom. When the messenger arrived at dawn the next day, therefore, the Brigadier had already decided to make all speed for the city, but when he heard that it concerned the Princess he and his men had driven their horses almost to death in their haste to get there as soon as humanly possible.

They had arrived at the city to find crowds of people lining the streets, staring at them in desperate hope as they galloped past as if only they could drive away the darkness. Here, where they knew more of what had happened, the air was full of conversation as the people talked to each other and cried out to the rangers themselves. "Save her!" they cried. "Say you can save her!" The Brigadier had not paused to reply, though, had not even looked at them as they galloped past, their horses lathered and gasping, and they had arrived at the palace to find the King himself waiting at the gate for them, an unprecedented and utterly unthinkable breach of protocol. Leaving Sergeant Blane to see to the horses and take the rest of the men back to the barracks, therefore, he had followed the King inside almost as a run, as if just a few saved minutes might make the difference between salvation and damnation.

"I remember the moment we first saw her," the King continued whimsically, his eyes unfocused as the memory drifted back. "She belonged to the Count of Amberley, one of his finest birds. We'd stopped at his castle on our way back from a state visit to Vennerol and the Count was putting on a display of falconry for us. Just showing off, I know, but entertaining just the same. We watched for a time, watching him put them through their paces, and then he unhooded a kestrel. The moment we saw her... The glossy feathers, the bright eyes... The Queen and I looked at each other, both of us knowing the same thing. We'd found our daughter."

The Brigadier nodded. He'd heard the story before, of course, and in much greater detail. He remembered his first sight of the royal heir, how excited and overjoyed the parents had been. Every time he'd been in the city, the King had insisted that he come visit, so he could see for himself how the transformation was progressing, and the Brigadier had attended with stoic patience as his King and long time friend pointed out the latest human characteristics the kestrel was displaying. He remembered how delighted and excited the King had been when his daughter spoke her first recognisable words and, a few years later, the celebrations all across the Kingdom when the palace ontomancer had finally declared her fully human. "How did it happen?" he asked.

The King shook his head. "There are so many people opposed to the truce with Carrow. So many people who would profit from war. Somehow an agent got Into the palace, through all our defences. We were so confident she was safe. So naive..."

"But surely there are wards in place to defeat any curse..."

"But that's just it, don't you see? Technically it's not a curse, it's a blessing. She's being transformed into a Radiant, a higher being."

"But without Radiant parents to raise her..."

The King nodded. "The transformation will be unguided, random. She'll become..."

"There's must be a way to stop it. Some cure..."

The King gave a bitter, sardonic laugh. "If it were a curse... The wizards know how to deal with curses. If the effects aren't too bad the victim can be raised back up. A blessing, though. Who would even think of using a blessing as a weapon? We simply have no experience with such a thing!"

The Brigadier nodded. The King looked old, he thought. He had never looked young, despite the fact that he'd been human less than thirty years. The worries and strain of ruling a mighty kingdom had long since taken its toll, but there were lines around his eyes now and a tired look that had never been there before. That, more than anything else, worried the Brigadier and made him rack his brains for any solution, no matter how hopeless or desperate. "There are any number of ontomancers in the Kingdom," he said. "Maybe a curse will reverse the blessing. I know the idea of..."

"We approached Boll." The Brigadier shot him a glance and the King nodded ruefully. "Yes, we had the same idea. A curse to reverse the blessing. All the court ontomancers tried, when we finally managed to convince them we weren't testing their loyalty. When they failed, we approached outsiders. The finest licensed wizards we could find. They cast curse upon curse on her, while the Queen and I just stood and watched. All to no avail. In the end, we turned to the most powerful wizard in the Kingdom, licensed or not. Lawful or villainous. We sent for Boll."

The Brigadier stared back down at the Princess, trying to imagine the young woman sharing a room with possibly the most evil wizard in the human world. Trying to imagine her parents bringing the two of them together, on purpose. "The number of times I've tried to find that man," he muttered to himself. "He was like a ghost. Always one step ahead of us. All we ever found were his victims and, occasionally, the scum of the earth ambitious or desperate enough to hire his services."

The King nodded. "That's how desperate we were. We had him here, right in the castle, under a flag of truce and an offer of amnesty. We hired him to cast the most powerful curse he possibly could, a curse more powerful than any other human could possibly perform. A curse that, if cast on a normal, healthy person, would have knocked them not just one rung down, but two or even three. We paid him to do it. All for nothing. She still looks human, but the transformation has already progressed too far. She's immune to all curses and ailments."

"So we think of something else. We still have time, do we not?"

"It took her five years to change from Kestrel to human, It'll take at least that long to fully change to Radiant. It is my hope that, somewhere in the world, there is someone with greater knowledge of such things than anyone we've ever heard of, someone who can help her. "He turned to face the Brigadier. "That's why I sent for you, old friend. Your experience out there, in the wild places of the world. I thought you might have heard of someone..."

The Brigadier shook his head thoughtfully. He was tired from many days riding. It had been a long, hard mission, he'd lost several men, suffered minor injuries himself, and he'd been looking forward to some time relaxing and recuperating in his family estate. He was beginning to suspect he would be leaving the city again without even glimpsing the walls of his family home. "Everywhere you go there are myths and legends," he said. "Tales of lost cities of the Hetin folk, of sages and wise men hoarding secret knowledge, but whenever we go in search of them they turn out to be just that. Myths. We spent six months once searching for a man rumoured to possess the secret of immortality. We found no trace of him, nor any sign that he had ever existed." He paused, staring ahead at nothing. "There was one man I heard of. He may be nothing but another legend, but I knew a man who claimed to have actually met him. A man whose word I'd come to trust, not prone to flights of fancy. Even if he did exist, though, he might now be dead. And if he does exist and is still alive, the stories say he lives in Mekrol. In the foothills of the Uttermost Range."

The King stared at him, his eyes pleading. "You have done many things for me over the years. Saved my life time and again, saved my Kingdom more than once... I have no right to ask anything more from you..."

"You don't have to ask, my friend." He looked over the balcony again, where the Princess was now strumming at a lyre, the music drifting up to where the two men were staring down at her in gut wrenching concern. She was scared too, he saw. She knew what was happening to her and was terrified, but somehow she was finding the courage and strength to remain calm and composed. To remain a princess. He returned his gaze to the King. "His name is Parcellius, and I will find him. No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do, I will find him."

☆☆☆

"He looks very handsome," said the handmaid, plucking a couple of strands of silky blonde hair from the brush before returning it for another long stroke. Even the hair was starting to shine, she saw, and for a moment she wondered whether she could find a way to hide the stray hairs about her person to sell as mementos. There were people out there who would pay handsomely for them, she knew. Not just souvenir hunters but witches and warlocks who would use them in their spells and potions. Hair from someone half transformed into a Radiant was rare and precious, because the creatures usually took their adopted humans back to their cities, and if they were ever seen again it wasn't until the transformation had been fully completed. This hair was twice as precious because it came from a princess. It was never more than a whimsical fancy, though. Partly because she loved the Princess so much and would never abuse her trust for financial gain, but mainly because if she were caught she would be instantly executed.

"I suppose," replied Princess Ardria, finding she had no heart for music at the moment and putting the lyre aside. She knew what the Brigadier looked like, her father the King insisted that he join them for a banquet in the palace every time he was in the city. She would stare at him across the table as they ate, remembering the stories she'd heard about his adventures, adventures that he himself refused to discuss except to dismiss them as nothing more than routine missions and exaggerations. Somehow, though, his very refusal to talk about his exploits only added to the mystique of the man, made him even more mysterious and exciting, and as everyone else talked about him his actions and victories grew with each retelling.

"Funny how handsome he looks, even though he never smiles," said the handmaid, still brushing the Princess' hair. "Do you think he's handsome, your Highness?"

"I suppose." Then she grimaced as something moved inside her. Something twisting, shifting into a new position. The transformation was affecting her insides as well as her external appearance. Most of the time she could try to ignore it, turn her mind to other things, but then something that had been slowly growing inside her for days before would move abruptly, finding a more comfortable position for itself, and the feel of it would bring her predicament back to the forefront of her mind and bring the sick feeling of terror back to full force.

"As you all right, your Highness?" asked the Handmaid, seeing her expression faltering for a moment.

"Fine," replied the Princess, forcing a smile back to her face. She looked up to see that her father and the Brigadier had gone. Cooking up some desperate, pointless plan to save her, no doubt. She knew full well that was happening to her, though. All the ontomancers, laying their cold hands on her bare skin while they cast their curses on her, had left her in absolutely no doubt. She knew there was no stopping it, and she knew what her father would do when he also finally accepted that there was no hope. She refused to allow any of this to appear on her face, though. She was a Princess. She had a duty to her people. A duty to be strong and thereby be a source of strength for everyone else.

"Bring me my harp, please, Teena." She said. "Maybe that will ease my mind."

"At once, Highness!" replied the Handmaid, and rose gracefully to her feet before trotting off to obey.

"You should not be alone." The Princess turned to see Matron Darniss emerging from one of the doorways that ringed the courtyard. "Those Above only know what you're going through right now."

Princess Ardria rose to her feet with a smile of pleasure and smoothed down her dress. "Soonia! You're back! How is your mother? Is she better?"

"She has gone back to the earth," said the Matron, and the Princess ran forward to take her hands. "Oh Soonia! I'm so sorry!"

"It comes to us all, unless the Radiants take us. She is at peace now, and may he human again one day. My thoughts are with you now in these trying times. How are you, my sweetness?"

"Very much the same. The change is slow, and the Brigadier is here. He will find an answer. My father trusts him completely."

"Yea, I heard. The whole city is talking of his arrival. It must be so good to have hope again. Have your parents been to see you today?"

"Father was just here. They come as often as they can, and stay as long as they can." She looked at her hand, at the silvery radiance of her skin. "I can hurt them now, just by being close to them. You too, or anyone. No-one dares be in my presence for too long."

"I am too old to be worried about such things." Matron Darniss took her hand and squeezed it. "Besides, the Brigadier will find a cure, and then you can be with your parents all day if you want to. You just have to be patient. It may take months."

"But who knows how much of me will be left when he gets back." Her self control buckled under the emotional turmoil and her body began shaking. The Matron took her in her arms and held her tight, saying nothing, but thoughts were racing through her head. The Brigadier, yes. Something will have to be done about him...

☆☆☆

The morose atmosphere of anger and fear still permeated the whole palace. The chatter and gossip that had filled the marble corridors during every one of the Brigadier's previous visits was absent, and the silence with which servants and courtiers went about their duties hung over everything like a shroud. It was as if the Princess had already died. The King had no doubt tried to keep his daughter's condition secret for as long as possible, not just from the general population but from most of the palace staff as well, but someone must have spoken. Maybe just a whispered comment between two of the girl's personal attendants that had been accidentally overheard. Even if that had not happened, though, the truth would have gotten out sooner or later as her public appearances ceased. As her condition progressed, even a glimpse of her from a distance would have revealed the truth. The King would eventually have had to make a public statement to put a stop to gossip and speculation.

Snatches of half heard conversation did occasionally come to the two men as they made their way back to the main building, but it was never anything cheerful. People offered words of condolence to each other in sniffly voices, vain attempts to ease each other's grief. It was in their eyes as the King and the Brigadier walked past, and only the universal protocol of never speaking to royalty unless spoken to first kept them from saying the same things to him.

The Brigadier sensed the King growing more tense and angry as they made their way along the gold and white corridor, past the house plants on their pedestals and the beautifully painted landscapes that hung on the walls. The need to maintain appearances prevented the sovereign from saying what he was thinking, the thoughts that made his hands clench to fists by his sides and set his face in an expressionless mask, but when they passed a chambermaid who was actually in tears the Brigadier decided to say what the King could not. "The princess is not dead," he told her sternly. "She has an illness from which she will recover. Your grief is premature, and is an insult to those searching for a cure for her condition."

"Yes, yes, of course," the woman said, her eyes darting fearfully to the King. "She has the prayers of everyone in the palace."

"Make sure you tell everyone you meet," the Brigadier continued. "The Princess will make a full recovery. I will personally see to it. Now go about your business." The woman bobbed her head to the two men and scurried off down the corridor.

"Thank you," said the King. "Sometimes my duties feel like an iron collar about my neck. People think a King can do things they cannot, but more often it is the other way around."

The Brigadier nodded back. "It is only that they love you so much," he said. "You and the whole royal family. The whole kingdom recognises your devotion to them and knows there is no other land in the world so fortunate in their leadership. How fares the Queen, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"She seems to age a year for every day that passes. She spends every moment the healers allow by her side, and then longer besides. She has to be torn from her side. She would be there now if I hadn't ordered her go take some rest..."

As if being mentioned had summoned her, the Queen suddenly appeared from around a corner, dressed in a nightgown and pursued by a handmaid wringing her hands at her failure to keep her in her bed. The Brigadier's eyes widened with alarm at the lines that had appeared around her eyes and the grey hairs on her head as she hurried towards them, and she grasped the Brigadier's arms tightly as she stared pleadingly up into his eyes. "Is it true?" she said. "You can save our daughter?"

"I'm sorry, your Majesty!" said the handmaid in terror. "She heard people talking in the corridor!"

"It's alright, Brigitte," said the King. "You can go." The Handmaid glanced between the Queen and the Brigadier, and her face shone with relief and gratitude. Then she turned and hurried back towards the Queen's private chambers.

"Yes, It's true," the King then said. "The Brigadier says there is hope."

"I do not wish to give you false hope, though," said the Brigadier. "Hope is all it is. There is a chance, though, and I will pursue it the length and breadth of the world if necessary. There is no length to which I will not go to save Her Highness."

"I know you will," she said, her cold hands clutching tightly as his. "You have no idea how my heart leapt with joy and relief just knowing you are here. You will save my daughter, I know you will. Thank Those Above for you!" She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, then hurried off down the corridor. Not back to her chambers, as the King would have preferred, but to the courtyard to see the Princess and look upon her for the first time in weeks with something other than despair.

☆☆☆

"We're leaving again? So soon?" Malone stared up at the Brigadier's face as he trotted beside him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "The men are tired. They were looking forward to spending some time with their families."

"Can't be helped," replied the Brigadier. He hurriedly explained the situation, and the younger man cursed softly. The Princess was loved by the entire kingdom. "Yes, of course," he said, a set look of determination appearing on his face. "The Princess... I saw her once, you know, at her declaration parade. I was just a few feet away from her as her carriage went past. I didn't really have colour vision yet, but I could still see how beautiful she was. I can't imagine someone wanting to hurt her."

"Politics," said the Brigadier gruffly, and there was a whole conversation in that one word. He was a simple man really, Malone thought, allowing himself to fall back a step or two behind his superior officer. The world he lived in was an uncomplicated one. There were his superiors, whom he obeyed and to whom he gave his unconditional loyalty, there were the men under his command, from whom he expected the same, there were criminals and the enemies of the kingdom, whom he hunted ruthlessly and tirelessly, and there was everyone else, whom he mainly ignored. That was his whole world. There was no room in it for complexities like politics, or even friendship. Malone himself was, he suspected, the closest thing the Brigadier had to an actual friend. Even family relationships seemed alien to him.

"Have you ever thought about having a child?" he asked.

The Brigadier gave no sign of having heard, staring thoughtfully ahead along the crowded street and glaring at the occasional passers-by who jostled them with their elbows. His mind was already out in the wild, thinking ahead to all the challenges that faced them. This was a mission that might well take years of his life, and good preparation was essential. Malone repeated the question, this time louder, and the taller man looked down at him. "Hmm? Not really. Raising a child properly takes two people. I mean, look at you. I've done my best by you, but in the five years since your parents died you're barely more human now than you were then."

"I'm not sure I want to be fully human. I'd miss my sense of smell too much. Right now, for instance, I can tell that a herd of garbage pigs passed this way just a couple of hours ago, and that one of them was still half rat. Has anyone ever adopted a pig, do you think?"

"I dare say someone has, sometime. Possibly a pig farmer who spent too long in close proximity with them until they began to show human traits. The law says you can't eat them then, so his options would have been rather limited." A small man with a grimy face and tousled hair bumped into him and the Brigadier grabbed his wrist before he could escape Into the crowd. He retrieved his pouch from the pickpocket and sent him on his way with a clout to the head. "Bloody cities. I'll be glad to be out of here."

Malone checked his own pockets and was relieved to find everything where it was supposed to be. "Once, I would have smelled a crook a mile off. My nose isn't what it once was, you must be having some effect on me. I remember once I could put my nose in the air and find a bell flower in a field of turnips from a mile away. I miss that."

"If you want to keep what's left of it you'll have to avoid prolonged contact with any single human. Especially me, since I became parent bonded to you. You'd have to keep moving around, avoid spending too long with any single person in case you form a new parent bond. It would mean retiring from the army. You could become a merchant perhaps. Moving from town to town."

Malone laughed. "Tempting though that is, I think I'll pass. You need me too much. No, I'll accept the loss of my nose. I get colour vision anyway, as compensation. I still find myself staring up into a cloudless blue sky, trying to remember what it was like before I could see blue. And fire! All those yellows and reds! That's about all I do remember, though. Most of my life from before I was adopted is just gone, like it never happened." Then he frowned. "There is one thing I remember. A chain, around my neck. I was chained to something. I think I'm glad I don't remember more than that."

"It's the same for everyone. Animals don't have the same range of cognitive capacity as humans. They don't have autobiographical memory, certainly."

"I've heard apes do, to an extent. That's one of the reason people hardly ever adopt them. It's too traumatic, the clash of memories from before and after. Imagine being able to remember not being a person. Remembering not just being treated as an animal but actually being an animal." He looked up, where a pair of Radiants were drifting slowly across the sky like small luminous clouds. "Do you think they remember being human?" he mused. "They can't, or they'd surely feel an attachment to the family they once belonged to, go back and visit and so forth. So does that mean that being taken by the Radiants is like dying? Everything you once were, all your accomplishments and experiences, wiped out as if you never were?"

"They don't think so," replied the Brigadier, looking at a rooftop where people had climbed up and we're now waving at the Radiants, trying to get their attention. The creatures ignored them, through, and changed direction, heading for the noble district. They wanted healthy humans, strong and well fed, not half starved wretches bent and crippled by a lifetime of manual labour. The Brigadier spent a moment wondering what he would do if one of them tried to take Malone. Would he let him go, glad that he would soon be a higher being, free of all the petty concerns of humanity? Or would he try to fight them off? The Radiants always backed off if their chosen adoptee, or a group of friends and relatives, put up too much of a fight. There were too many others all too glad for the honour.

A thought struck him. Could they be persuaded to take the princess? With Radiant parents to guide her development she wouldn't have to fear aberrancy. She would develop normally, become a normal Radiant. He shook his head ruefully. Not only would the Radiants almost certainly not take her, seeing her as already damaged goods, but the King would never let her go and enough musket fire would kill even a Radiant eventually. And, of course, there was the matter of the arranged marriage. Helberion needed a royal heir to marry to Prince George of Carrow, to put an end to almost a century of distrust, confrontation and occasional outright warfare, and the rest of the royal children were still much too young, years away from being declared human.

No, the Radiants were not the answer, he thought. They had to find another, and they had to hope that Parcellius had one. If he didn't...

"Here we are, Sir," said Malone, and the Brigadier was jerked out of his thoughts to find himself standing outside the guardhouse, where his men had been making preparations for their two week leave of absence. Sounds of merriment came from within, and the Brigadier paused a moment outside the heavy gates before entering to break the bad news to them.

Normally, when soldiers returned to their base of operations, whether it was a remote outpost on the edge of civilisation or, as in this case, the very heart of the Kingdom, they would spend the rest of the day, and the next day as well if they returned late in the evening, drinking, celebrating and indulging in general horseplay as they wound down from the rigours and exertions of their time in hostile territory. There was none of that for the men of the Brigadier's patrol, though.

They sat around in silence and barely contained anger as they absorbed what they'd heard from the people of the city and their brothers in arms. Some had tankards of ale in their hands just from force of habit as they sat upright in the chairs of the common room, still wearing their travel stained uniforms, but barely a sip had been taken and the beer was well on the way to going flat. A fly that had landed in one of them drowned unnoticed, and the soldier currently serving behind the bar went to sit in one of the comfortable chairs beside the window, sure that his services wouldn't be needed any more that day.

"Bastard!" said Private Smith, twisting his cap in his hands. "What a bastard thing to do! Who did It? What kind of bastard would do a thing like that?"

"Whoever it was better not come near here!" added Cowley. "Not if they know what's good for them."

"For all we know, he's already here," said Spooner. "Someone detailed to the palace guard..."

"Don't say that!" growled Cowley. "No soldier of the city would do It! I'd stake my pension on It!"

"It had to have been someone allowed into the presence of the Princess," said Smith. "That's the palace guard, her maids and handmaidens, foreign dignitaries on state visits..."

"She goes about the city plenty of times," pointed out Cowley. "In that carriage of hers. Could be anyone in the crowd."

They all looked at Quill, who shook his head. "Curses aren't that specific," he said. "If someone in the crowd cast a curse, everyone for yards in all directions would have been affected. Not just the Princess herself. For her to be the only one affected, the culprit would have had to be alone with her, even if just for a moment or two. It would have to have been someone in the palace."

Smith's eyes widened in alarm. "The King has to be warned..."

"He knows, you idiot," said Spooner. "They've had weeks to work all this out. Everyone in the palace, anyone who's been in the palace at any time in the last six months, will have been checked and checked again, a dozen times. Had to have been."

"Someone trusted," growled Sergeant Blane. "Someone the King trusted with the safety of his daughter. I saw the King angry once, back in sixty one. When he found that the Sellites had murdered his peace envoys." He shook his head. "When he finds out who it was..."

"The King will have to stand in line!" said Smith, and half a dozen people nodded their agreement, sitting more upright in their seats. Eyes burned with anger and hands clenched into fists.

"Enough of that!" warned Blane, giving them sharp looks. "The King will have his justice. We may have a hand in bringing the traitor to justice, if we're lucky, but justice will be carried out by the King himself. None other. Be sure you remember that." They nodded again, accepting his correction, but Blane suspected that bad things might happen to the traitor if any of his men should lay hands on him. Accidents happened, after all. People died trying to escape, broke their necks falling down stairs... Who knew what kind of regrettable accident might befall the traitor before he could be turned over to the king?

"Why did the King want to see the Brigadier?" wondered Cowley. "Does he think the Brigadier can help identify the traitor?"

"He's coming!" cried Smith, turning to face what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye through the window. "The Brigadier! And Malone! They're coming here!"

"Now we'll learn something!" said Spooner, and the members of his patrol dashed out of the room to meet him outside the door.

The Brigadier quickly repeated everything the King had told him, that they had a new mission. "We leave a dawn tomorrow," he said. "I'm sorry you haven't had time to see your families, get some rest, but..."

"You don't have to apologise, Sir!" interrupted Cowley. "We're with you! One hundred percent..."

"Cowley!" snapped Blane. "Keep your mouth shut while the Brigadier's speaking!"

"That's alright, Sergeant," said the Brigadier, though. "We're all upset by what's happened. I'm prepared to allow some leeway under the circumstances. I suggest you spend the rest of the day getting what rest you can. We leave at sunrise." He then turned and marched away, and the men gathered around Malone to see what extra information they could get from him.

☆☆☆

The next morning the men were awake well before dawn and were already dressed and ready when the bugle call blew across the barracks. "About bloody time!" said Cowley as they trotted out to the stables. "Never knew a night as long as this one!"

"There's no need to hurry," said Malone. "The Brigadier says it might take weeks to get to where we're going, and it'll be years before the Princesses condition..." His voice trailed off, leaving him looking uncomfortable and unhappy.

"It's not just that," said Sergeant Blane. "I'm as anxious to save the Princess as you are, but it's the politics that's more urgent. Carrow won't wait months. Sooner or later word of what's happened will reach Prince George and all hope of an alliance will be gone."

"It was probably the Carrowmen who cursed her in the first place!" said Harper, struggling to do up the top button of his tunic. "They're looking for an excuse to declare war."

"Right!" agreed Spencer. "Prince George couldn't refuse the offer of marriage without giving away his intentions. They've been itching for an excuse to invade us for years!"

"We don't know that," said Blane. "That kind of idle speculation doesn't do anyone any good and may distract attention from the real culprit. The King will get to the bottom of it, you mark my words. I'd be surprised if the spy agency is doing anything else at the moment."

The rest of the garrison had turned out to see them off, and the stables were surrounded by a sea of grey uniforms. "Good luck!" cried a man. "Wish I were going with you!"

"There'll probably be other missions," called back Smith. "I doubt the King'll be putting all his hopes in one mission."

The suggestion cheered the onlookers, and wishes for luck and success followed them in through the stable gates, to where the Brigadier and the horses were waiting for them. He looked magnificent in his clean, pressed uniform with its peaked cap bearing a plume of horse hair. His beard and moustache were neatly trimmed, and his greying temples gave him a look of authority that he would have had even in civilian clothes. There was, as ever, no expression on his face. He looked his men over as they presented themselves before him, and there was nothing in his eyes to tell them whether he was pleased by what he saw or profoundly disappointed. Perhaps only Sergeant Blane, who'd served with him the longest, and Private Malone, who'd been in his company more than anyone else in the last couple of years, could read anything in his expression, but even they could only guess most of the time.

"We are on a mission to the edge of the known world," he told them, and he was heard not only by the men of his own patrol but by the dozens of others who were gathering around to see them off. "The stakes have never been higher. To save Princess Ardria, beloved of the whole kingdom, from a terrible fate and to save the peace that the King and his ministers have laboured for so long to achieve..."

"We cannot give her to Prince George!" someone shouted out. "Rather war than that!"

"Silence!" shouted Sergeant Blane. "The Princess herself has agreed to this. Also, we are loyal to the King. He has decreed that this marriage will take place, and as loyal subjects we are duty bound to support It!"

Angry muttering rose from the men, but nothing more was spoken out loud. "The marriage is an affair of state and our consent is not required," continued the Brigadier. "Our concern is simply to restore the Princess to health. That is the purpose of the mission we are about to undertake. It will be perilous. We may not all survive, but if we find the cure and return it to the palace before her condition has progressed too far, we will have done a service to the Kingdom that will be remembered for generations to come. We are going to Mekrol, in the foothills of the Uttermost Range, a place of which we have more legends than certain knowledge. So saddle up and let's go."

Thirteen of the best horses had been picked out for them. They gave them a quick looking over, just for their own peace of mind, Quill muttering under his breath as he did so. When he was satisfied the wizard nodded to the others and they led them out into the courtyard. "Good luck!" someone shouted as they climbed into the saddles. "May Those Above go with you!"

"And may Those Above look after the Princess during our absence," replied the Brigadier. He looked around to make sure they were all ready, then pointed forward, through the gates and along the road that led out of the barracks and out of the city. "Let's go!" he said.

The people of the city were again lining the streets as they rode their horses along the South Road, and they called out good wishes and farewells as the rangers passed by. Malone found himself growing uncomfortably self conscious at all the attention, and stared thankfully as the gatekeepers opened the gates of the city ahead of them. Outside, a column of merchants and travellers waiting to enter the city drew aside to let them pass, and he frowned doubtfully when he saw that some of them were Carrowmen, wearing the distinctive striped robes and turbans that were the traditional garb of that country. The people of Helberion were keeping a distance from them, and the rangers could feel an almost palpable hostility between them as news of what had happened to the Princess spread. "I think the guards are going to be busy over the next few weeks," Malone whispered to Cowley, riding beside him. "There's going to be trouble."

"Until the Carrowmen learn to stay away from the city," agreed the other man, stroking his beard and eyeing the foreigners suspiciously.

Outside, fields of wheat blazed like gold in the light of the sun and waved in the light breeze like an ocean of water. The fragrance of dry grass that rose from all around blew in to replace the stinks of the city, and Malone breathed in deeply, savouring it with relief. Crows stared at them from their perches on railings and tree branches, cawing indignantly at this intrusion into their territory and leaping into the sky to circle overhead like black buzzards. They saw more travellers on the road, and these people stared at them curiously as they passed them by. The Brigadier was known across the whole kingdom and in many lands around, but news of the crisis that had afflicted the city had evidently not yet reached all the way to the more distant towns and villages.

They made good time through the friendly Helberion countryside, stopping at inns and boarding houses for the night, exchanging greetings with the other travellers they passed on the road. They rode in silence for the most part. They had gotten to know each other so well over the past few years that words were not necessary. One of the men would see a group of good looking women working a field and would give a grunt to attract the attentions of his fellows, followed by a nod of his head towards the objects of interests, bringing smiles and chuckles of appreciation, or one of them would scowl at a fly buzzing around his head, waving at it with his hand, causing the others to exchange amused glances. The Brigadier himself rode at the head of their little column, eyes fixed straight ahead, thinking thoughts that he kept to himself, and Malone rode beside him on his much smaller horse, silently cursing legs that still had not quite adapted themselves to a bipedal gait and that were sore from being spread wide on the saddle for hours at a time.

It took them a couple of weeks to reach the end of the civilised, well populated lands that surrounded the great city of Marboll, after which they found themselves passing through the much emptier, less friendly lands that covered the greater part of the world they lived in. There were still towns and villages to be found here, but they were a full days travel apart and suspicious of strangers, heavily defended against the wild tribes and bands of outlaws that preyed upon the weak and unprepared. Soon they found themselves passing beneath the dense canopy of the Great Southern Forest and felt the air growing heavy about them, humid and filled with clouds of biting insects. Every man kept himself wary and at full alert as they passed along the narrow road, knowing that unfriendly eyes could be upon them at any time, searching for signs that they would be easy prey. They kept swords, pistols and crossbows in plain sight, therefore, a warning and a deterrence in case the uniforms and armour of the Helberion Ranger Corps were not enough.

They spent their first night after entering the forest in an abandoned woodcutter's cottage. They left the horses in the conveniently empty woodyard whose surrounding fence had been hastily repaired some time in the recent past, indicating that other travellers came this way on occasion, probably passing to and from the nearby market town of Thellow. The Brigadier detailed two of his men to keep watch in case they had visitors, then returned to where Malone was cooking a stew.

"Found some wild carrots growing out front," the batman explained as the Brigadier bent over the cook pot. "Probably used to be a vegetable garden. Adds some much needed bulk to the mutton."

"As do the globs, I see," the Brigadier muttered to himself without enthusiasm.

"Nothing wrong with globs, Sir. My parents used to practically live on them. My dad said they're ubi... ubi... What was the word? Ubiquitous. That means they're good for you."

"Your father had a rather larger vocabulary than you, didn't he?" chuckled Crane, grinning at the others to share the joke. Malone shot him a savage look. "Back home, we had a big metal tank full of globs that we dropped all the food waste in. Potato peelings, carrot leaves, all the animal bits we didn't eat. The globs ate it all and multiplied like rabbits. They split in half when they get too big, you know. Then, anytime one of us fancied a snack we just scooped out a few with a big ladle, washed them, boiled them up and ate them like berries, just popped them into our mouths one at a time. We never went hungry in our family. I was thinking of carrying a few here, with us. A small sack or something..."

"Please don't," said Crane, looking around at the others and winking.

Malone ignored him and spooned one of the small, gelatinous creatures out of the stew with the ladle. It's original transparency was turning a milky white. Another few minutes should do it, he mused, dropping it back in.

"It had wings!" one of the men exclaimed with horror. "Little fly wings! I ain't eating that! And that one's got legs!"

"Makes it crunchy, Harper," the batman replied curtly, taking a sip from his canteen.

'Globs that are starting to turn taste funny. I ate one that had turned half into a snail. Tasted of goat turds!"

"I'm not going to ask how you know what goat turds taste like."

"You got to throw away the ones that've started to turn! They're no good for anything. Probably just die anyway."

"It's the ones that haven't started to turn you should throw away," put in another of the men, chewing the end of his pencil. "They might get adopted by something." He bent back over his diary.

"Only one glob in thousands get adopted, you know that."

"Yeah, but that one might be a human one day." He began singing a childhood rhyme. "The glob gets adopted by the spi-der. The spider gets adopted by the field mouse. The mouse gets adopted by the puss cat. The cat gets adopted by the hound dog..."

"Dogs can't adopt cats," pointed out Harper. "They're on the same rung,"

"It's just a stupid rhyme..."

The Brigadier got to his feet and went outside, leaving the men to their banter. It was almost dark, and an almost full moon was rising above the treetops to the east. He passed a word with the two men guarding the horses, then went to stand by the ruined gates leading out into the countryside. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders against the chill and stood there for a while, listening to the starlight chorus of the night creatures. After a while Sergeant Blane came out to join him. He stood there in silence for a few moments, until the Brigadier turned to look at him. "Something on your mind, Blane?"

"Just thinking of the road ahead. The silk road takes us pretty close to Radiant territory. You remember Elleron? Back in our army days?"

"The Wiltsman. Not many foreigners join the Helberion army. Small guy. Tiny little eyes, always darting all over the place. Always had trouble making out what he was saying, that strange accent of his."

"That's the guy. Wasn't sure you'd remember him."

"I remember them all. All the ones who died under my command. What about him?"

"He came from Forthold. Close to the Overmoors. That's Radiant territory, as you probably know. He was always talking about it, telling us all the stories they told about that place. People stayed well away from it. Those who got too close said they saw things. Lights in the sky. Not Radiants, other kinds of lights. And they said they heard voices. Human voices, but strange. Ellison always looked scared when he talked about it. The place genuinely spooked him. He said he joined the army just to get away from it."

"Never took you for a superstitious man, Sergeant."

"I'm not, but I've heard similar things from other people, we all have." The Brigadier nodded. "I was thinking we could turn west, go through the Maybells. Just to be on the safe side."

"That would put weeks on our journey. Princess Ardria may not have those weeks."

"Better to get there late than not at all."

"The Radiant lands aren't any more dangerous than any other lands. I've been through a Radiant zone myself, during the Bailey incident. I actually came within sight of a Radiant city, and I know of others who've done the same thing. Merchants do it too, to get away from raiders and outlaws. People avoid the area for superstitious reasons."

"There has to be something behind the stories. Something real..."

"Possibly, but we can't let our course be determined by such things. As it happens, I wasn't thinking of taking the silk road." Blane nodded in relief. "I was thinking of turning south."

Blane stared at him. "Through Radiant territory?"

"Other people have done it. I've done it, as I just said."

"And other people have disappeared without trace. Probably adopted by the Radiants, or killed for trespassing." The Brigadier made no comment, and Blane sighed. "If you lead us there, we will follow. You know that. But are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It'll save us six weeks. That could make all the difference."

"As you say, Sir. I'll tell the men." The Brigadier nodded, and Blane left him to his thoughts.

Matron Darniss hated to drag Queen Lacurnia away from her daughter. She knew that the other members of the palace staff felt nothing but sympathy for both of them as she took the Queen gently by the arm and urged her to leave the side of the afflicted Princess before the close and prolonged physical proximity caused the parent bond to go into reverse. She also knew that they would have felt completely differently about her if they'd known the real reason for her reluctance.

If the parent bond went into reverse, the daughter would begin to raise the mother up the ladder of life, instead of the other way round. The blessing that had afflicted the Princess would be passed on to the Queen, and she would also start glowing in the dark. Give it a few months, and there would be two demons in the palace.

Darniss never tried as hard as she might to drag the two apart, therefore. She allowed the Queen to talk her into being allowed to stay by her daughter's side for a few minutes longer, then a few minutes more, only finally exerting herself when she sensed that the Queen's handmaid was growing distressed. Great though the temptation was, it was important that no suspicion fall upon herself. If, by some unlikely miracle, the Brigadier did find a cure for the girl, it would be up to her to find a way to sabotage it. She was one of only two agents that the Callowmen had managed to place in the palace, and she could not do anything that threatened her position there.

Today, the Princess seemed to be glowing more brightly than she ever had before, although that might be nothing more than her imagination, a subconscious expression of wish fulfilment. "You must come away now, your Highness!" she insisted. "It has been too long!"

"She is right, mother!" agreed Princess Ardria, pushing her away with her tiny, white hands. "Please go now! I could not bear the guilt if you..."

"If I were afflicted, you would not have to suffer alone!" replied the Queen, tears in her eyes. "You would..."

'No!" cried Ardria in horror, breaking free of her mother's embrace and running across the room. 'Don't even think that! To see you afflicted like this would destroy me!"

"To see you suffering like this is destroying me!" The Queen reached out to her, and the girl backed away into the very corner of the room, her hands outstretched in a warding off gesture. "If my joining you under this curse would lessen your torment, even by the smallest amount..."

"It would not! It would make it a thousand times worse! Please, you must go now! Please!"

"She is right, your Highness," said Darniss, moving to stand between mother and daughter. "Bogarde says that five hours a day is the absolute maximium! You've been here nearly seven hours! You must leave now!"

Tearfully, the Queen allowed herself to be dragged away from her daughter. "I'll be back tomorrow!" she promised, as she always did. "There'll always be someone with you! You'll never be alone!" She looked back to the door, where Teena, from the kitchens, was waiting to take her place. She beckoned her forward and the girl crept nervously into the room, as if it contained a nest of venomous snakes. "Look, here's Teena, come to keep you company." She turned to the maid. "Talk to her. You must talk to her, you understand? Tell her all the gossip from the kitchens. Don't let her get lonely."

"I won't, your Highness." The maid glanced nervously over at the Princess, as if wondering whether there was a safe distance she should keep. It was the first time she'd been called upon for this duty. Bogarde, the King's wizard, was worried that the other maids were getting too much exposure and had recommended that the duty be shared out among more people. Teena had been horrified when she'd found out. She loved the Princess as much as anyone else in the kingdom, but she had parents and a half raised brother to support and couldn't allow herself to become afflicted. A command from the Queen could not be refused, though, and so here she was, in the lion's den, her life being put at risk by a mother who didn't understand that the one thing her daughter probably wanted more than anything else was to just be left alone for a while.

The Queen watched as the maid introduced herself to the Princess, then finally allowed herself to be led out of the room. "Now could they do this to an innocent girl?" she asked for what must have been the hundredth time. "What did my precious Ardria ever do to deserve this?"

"They say there are historical grievances," replied Darniss, thinking of her grandparents who had been aristocrats when this land had been under Callow rule, fifty years before. She remembered having to remove a portrait from the Green Gallery when she'd accepted her first post as a serving maid here, thirty years before. The portrait of Duchess Thelmia, a renowned historical character from before the Helberion conquest, whose resemblance to Matron Darniss might well have attracted unwelcome comment. The disappearance of that portrait remained an unsolved mystery to this very day.

"I don't care about history! I care about my daughter! You understand that, don't you? You have a daughter of your own!"

"Yes, I do, your Highness." And I want more for her than to serve the descendants of conquerors and murderers. The blood of my ancestors cries out for vengeance.

"They will be made to pay for this! My daughter will never marry Prince George! Never! It was probably the Prince who ordered this crime! Him or his black hearted father!"

Matron Darniss knew that to be true. It occurred to her that even if the Princess were to be cured, the wave of hatred towards Callow might serve their purposes just as well. If Helberion withdrew the offer of a royal marriage, Callow could use the insult as an excuse to goad Helberion in other ways. If they could irritate Helberion into declaring war, if even one Helberion soldier set foot on Carrow soil, Carrow could claim to be the injured party and launch a full scale invasion without having to worry about interference from the Kelvon Empire, and the position of her family would be restored, as promised.

"The Brigadier will be successful, won't he?" said the Queen. "He will find a cure, won't he?"

"If anyone can, he can. I've heard the stories that are told about him. If you will excuse me now, your Highness, I have duties."

"Yes, of course. I will be in my chambers."

Matron Darniss bowed, then turned and made her way to the servants quarters, to consult with Fenby the staff manager, her direct superior in the palace. So long as she was masquerading as a loyal servant to the King, the daily business of running the palace had to continue smoothly. She had to receive her orders and pass them on to the staff below her. It was dull, demeaning work, but she consoled herself with the thought that better days would come, soon, in which she would have a palace of her own, and she would be the one giving the orders.

Before she could get there, though, she was met in the corridor by Thurley, one of the palace guards. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, looking around to see if they were being observed. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "If you're seen, away from your post..."

"I'll say I heard something and went to investigate. Listen, we've got a problem. Pettiwell's been arrested."

Darniss gave a start of alarm and spun around to check the corridor behind her, as if expecting to see the guards coming for her too. The corridor was still empty, though, and she turned back to confront Thurley. "What happened?" she demanded, grabbing him by the elbow and pushing him into an empty storeroom. She went back to the door, glanced both ways up and down the corridor to make sure it was still empty, then closed the door. "What happened?" she repeated.

"The Besswell house was broken into last week..."

"So what? That was nothing to do with us."

"One of the servants saw the burglar and gave a description to the city guard. The description matched Pettiwell, who'd been seen throwing money around in all the taverns and gambling houses..."

Darniss swore. "The idiot! Has he said anything?"

"All I know is what I hear on the streets. Last I heard, the guards are 'questioning' him. How long he holds out..."

"How much does he know? He doesn't know about either of us, does he?"

"He knows my face. I'm always in civilian clothes when I see him, but he knows my face." He frowned, searching his memories. "It's possible, from conversations we've had in the past, that he's guessed I'm in the palace guard. Depends on how smart he is."

"The man who recommended him says that, while he's not the cleverest man in the world, he does have a certain low cunning. What about me? What does he know about me?"

"He knows things. Times, places. Things that could lead to you, if a clever detective puts it all together."

"And with their dear Princess all poorly, they'll have their very best on the case." She swore again. "You'll have to get him out. Either that or kill him."

"How? I'm a member of the palace guard, not the city guard. He'll be in the Lime street cells, I have absolutely no legitimate reason for going anywhere near the place."

"Find a reason, unless you prefer to face the hangman's noose."

"It just can't be done! We have to get out of the country before he talks! It's the only way!"

"No." If she ran, all hope of getting her family's nobility restored would be lost forever. King Nilon would see it as weakness, making her unworthy of a place in his country's aristocracy. Or worse, he might see it as a betrayal. They had to fix this, but how?

An idea came to her. "If we could get him transferred to the palace cells, you'd have access to him."

"How do we do that?"

"They'll bring him here for interrogation by the King's own men if they think he's responsible for what happened to the Princess. You could spread some rumours..."

"He'll panic! He'll tell everything he knows, try to make a deal with them..."

"Not if he's smart. Not if he guesses what we're up to. He has to know we'll try to get him out..." Or kill him, she thought but didn't say. "He'll keep his mouth shut so long as he still has hope." She paced up and down the room as she turned things over in her head. "Yes, yes. That's what we'll do. Go back to your guard friends and tell them you heard rumours on the streets that Pettiwell's responsible for the Princess. If they move him here, tell me immediately."

"They'll know I'm a traitor! The moment we break him out they'll remember that he was brought here because of me! I'd be committing suicide!"

Darniss paused for a moment in thought, tapping a finger against her lips. "Yes, you won't be able to stay here," she said. "If suspicion falls upon you and you're caught, you might name me to save yourself."

"I would never..."

"Shut up. I'll deal with Pettiwell. The moment he's been transferred to the palace cells, you must leave the city. Return to Carrow and inform Lord Krell what has happened. I expect he'll want to reward you for your years of service. Give you a pension, a new life under a new identity. That sort of thing."

Thurley eyes widened with relief. "Very well," he said eagerly. "I'll see to it. I'd like to say that it's been a pleasure working with you..."

"Shut up, you idiot. Just do It."

Thurley nodded gratefully, opened the door and marched out into the corridor. Matron Darniss waited a couple of minutes, in case there was someone out there who shouldn't see the two of them leaving together, and while she waited she thought. Thurley's departure would leave her alone in the palace, without allies. Krell would try to place another agent in the palace, of course, but that kind of thing took years. In the meantime, she would have no-one to help her if she found herself in difficulty. No-one she could call on to help her. All alone, among enemies... She felt a thrill of fear shooting up her spine but suppressed it with a surge if anger at herself. Nothing worthwhile was accomplished without risk, and the restoration of her family's name, position and holdings was worth a little risk. Hopefully, once Pettiwell was dealt with, there would be no further difficulties. She could play the part of loyal palace retainer until Carrow had defeated this upstart little country and she reaped the rewards she had earned.

She had waited long enough. She opened the door and stepped confidently out into the corridor, and then she continued on her way to the servants' quarters with all the stately dignity of the Duchess she was.

☆☆☆

The great south road led the Brigadier's patrol towards the Grantens, a ridge of tall, rocky hills that some people called mountains and that marked the southern edge of Helberion territory. As they entered the lower foothills they left the last towns and villages behind and entered lands that were occupied only by the occasional goat farmer. Great pine forests covered the horizon, but the lands through which the road ran, rising steadily out of the lowlands In which the bulk of the Kingdom sat, were bare and scruffy, the soil thin and stony, just barely covering the bedrock below. The wind blew strong and cold as the bare hilltops rose around them, sucking away the heat of their bodies, and they buttoned up their jackets right up to the neck in an attempt to stay warm.

"From here on, we're foreign soldiers travelling through someone else's country," said Sergeant Blane, his eyes scanning the horizon. "We have to be constantly on our guard."

"We have diplomatic papers, signed by the King," replied the Brigadier. "Apologies to the King of Wilterland for the intrusion, promises of compensation etc."

"Fine, if the patrol that spots us has someone who can read. What if they tell us to go back the way we came? What if they try to arrest us?"

"Then we will have to hope that they are amenable to reason."

"And if they're not?"

"We'll face that problem when and if it arises. We won't be going through the most densely populated parts of their country. If we're lucky, we might pass right through their lands without being spotted by anyone in authority."

"Here's to luck, then," said the Sergeant, taking his water bottle from his belt and taking a long drink from it.

"We've got company," called out Cowley, and the others followed his pointing finger to where a man was scrambling down the slope that lined the road, loose stones and bits of gravel sliding out from under his feet as he did so. The men watched with interest as he descended in a cloud of dust, wondering whether he would lose his footing before reaching the bottom and slip the rest of the way on his backside. "Five crowns says he falls," said Harper with a grin.

"You're on," replied Spencer.

"Gambling is a violaton of the military code, mister Harper," warned the Brigadier, eyeing him sharply.

"Yes, sir," replied Harper. "Just kidding, sir." He glanced across at Spencer, though, and the two men winked at each other. The Brigadier pretended not to see.

The man reached the road safely, and the Brigadier made a hand gesture for the patrol to halt while he came running up to them. "Is one of you a wizard?" said the man, looking at each of them in turn as if a wizard would look different, in some way, to a normal man. "Army patrols always include a wizard, isn't that right? That's what they say, anyway." He went to stand before the Brigadier. "Please, I need a wizard!"

The Brigadier looked over at Quill and beckoned him over with his eyes. Quill sighed in resignation and guided his horse forward. "An ontomancer, to use the correct term," he said. "How may I be of service?"

"My horse," the man replied. "We were snowed in over the winter, the pass was blocked for months. A tree fell in a gale, destroying our house. My wife and I were forced to spend most of the winter in the stable..."

"In close proximity to the horse," said Quill, nodding to himself. He looked at the Brigadier, saw the warning look in his eyes, and took the hint. "I'm afraid we're in something of a hurry, we don't have time for detours."

"My home is just up there." He pointed up the slope from which he had just descended. "There's a track half a mile ahead, a road horses can follow. It's getting late, you'll be wanting to find a place to spend the night and I've rebuilt my home. There's room for you all. A roof over your heads and a warm fire. You can look at my horse while you're there. Please!"

The wizard looked hopefully at the Brigadier, who looked ahead, along the valley. The past few nights had been spent in tents, with wind blowing through every gap to suck away every scrap of warmth. "A warm bed for the night would be very welcome," said Malone. "If we can help him while he helps us..."

The Brigadier nodded, therefore. "Very well, lead on." The man bobbed his head gratefully and trotted ahead of them, the patrolman following on their horses.

They saw goats in twos and threes on all sides of them as they rode, chewing contentedly as they eyed them warily with their suspicious, wide pupilled eyes. Some came running forward, recognising their owner and hoping for a handout of stale bread or honeycorn, but the man ignored them. "Name's Flordan," he said. "My family's been herding goats here for five generations. I was a goat myself, not so long ago. All my family come from goats. Bit of a family tradition, you might say."

"Tradition's important," said Quill absently, not really paying attention.

"Right!" agreed Flordan. "Just me and my wife now, though. My parents went back into the ground just a couple of years back. First my dad, back in the autumn. Just slipped away three days before his declaration day. Only been human less than ten years, and I were declared less than three years ago. I barely knew him! Then my mother went just a few weeks after him. Couldn't live without him, I reckon." He came closer to Quill's horse so be could speak in a lower voice and still be heard. "She started to revert while she were still alive! I heard o' such things but I thought it were just stories."

"No, it can happen," replied the wizard. "As you say, it can be caused by the loss of the will to live. Also by certain diseases..."

"She had no disease. Anyway, just me and my wife now. We were thinking of starting a family, but that's a big commitment. We picked out a goat, the biggest, healthiest one, and Marly, that's the wife. Marly. Anyway, she keeps saying that we should bring it in the house to sleep with us, but there's so much work needs doing around the place! You know how it is!" Quinn grunted, just loudly enough to be heard. Casual conversation was something he'd never really gotten the hang of.

"So, how do you get to be a wizard?" Are there schools you can go to?" He had to repeat the question twice more before Quill finally looked at him and paid him enough attention to hear what he was saying.

"Some people just are wizards," he replied. "They just turn out that way. We have the ability to form an instant parent bond with another person or animal, and we can use that bond to either raise or lower the subject through the rungs of life."

"And it has an instant effect?" asked the goat herder. "It normally takes years to raise a child."

"We can accelerate the raising of a subject to the next rung up, so that It takes weeks instead of years," replied the wizard. "It's risky, though. It runs the risk of the subject growing wild, becoming deformed. Thee more skilled the wizard, the less likely this is, but a blessing is never without risk."

"What about dropping an animal back down a rung?" asked Flordan. "That's much faster. Right?"

"Yes, all animals seem to 'remember' their previous form, I can't really describe it any better than that, but cursing is not something we do lightly. Not reputable wizards, anyway. Also, there's a chance that the creature it ends up becoming is not quite the same as the creature it was raised from. Ontogeny is a very hit and miss affair, we try to use it as little as possible."

"So how does it work?"

"How does what work?"

"The parent bond. How does it work?"

"No-one knows." Quill tried to think of a way to end the conversation. Perhaps if he just stared off into the distance and answered every question in monosyllables...

"A fox eats rabbits," continued the goat herder, though. "Suddenly, though, for no reason anyone can work out, it takes a rabbit back to its burrow without harming it and keeps it there for a few days. After that the rabbit doesn't want to escape any more and stays of its own free will."

"The parent bond," said the wizard. Maybe a simple answer would be enough to satisfy him. "It affects the animal's brain first. Both parent and child. The parent is driven to adopt a creature it would normally eat, and after a couple of days the prey animal loses its fear of the parent. It then changes, physically, until it resembles the parent."

"Yes, everyone knows that, but how? How does it happen?"

"No-one knows," said Quill. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a better answer than that. No-one today knows. Maybe the Hetin people knew, It's said that their science surpassed ours by a great degree, but if they did know, the knowledge had long since been lost."

"Maybe there are theories.."

"No!" snapped the wizard angrily. "There are no theories! No-one knows! Now please stop asking!" He geed up his horse and rose ahead to the front of the column while the rest of the men sniggered to themselves in amusement. Flordan stared after him in confusion. "I only asked!" he muttered to himself.

The goat herder's home turned out to be little more than four dry stone walls with a ceiling of grassy turfs laid over a framework of wooden planks salvaged from the remains of his original home. That had been a much more impressive building made of fired bricks, glass windows and with a tiled roof, but it had been thoroughly demolished by the massive pine tree that still lay across it. The stable stood nearby, also made of bricks and tiles and just big enough for one horse and a cart, which now stood outside, it's metal fixings rusting from neglect. The man's wife was waiting there, a dumpy creature wearing shabby clothes in badly faded colours. "Who are these people, Flor?" she asked, shuffling forward nervously.

"They've come to fix Nag," said Flordan, taking her reassuringly by the elbows. "One of them's a wizard!"

"Good day to you," said the Brigadier, dismounting and coming forward. Behind him, the rest of the men dismounted as well, then stood beside their horses. He offered her his hand, which she stared at uncertainty for a few moments before taking. He gave her hand a firm shake. "My apologies for Intruding into your lives. We were asked to come here by your husband. My name is Brigadier Weyland James and these are my men."

"It's a honour, sir," she said fearfully. She stared at her husband for support, not knowing what to say or do, and he came forward to take the brunt of the Brigadier's attention. "It's so good of you to help us out like this! A real life wizard, just passing by! It's a dream come true!"

"I've just come to look," said Quill. "I didn't promise anything!"

"Right, right. It's in here. Dorry, why don't you show our guests to the house and sort out some places for them to spend the night." The woman stared fearfully at the soldiers, but then led the way to the sorry looking building while Flordan showed the wizard into the stable, where the beast was waiting.

It was dark inside, and Flordan lit an oil lamp hanging beside the door. The horse was tethered to an iron ring near the rear wall and looked up, whinnying unhappily as the goat herder approached. It was already showing clear human traits. It's head was shorter than was normal for a horse. Its eyes close together on the front of its face, and all four hooves had begun to divide into stubby fingers and toes. It's hide was beginning to lose its hair in patches, revealing light brown, human skin beneath. It was clearly rather uncomfortable being on four legs, and kept trying unsuccessfully to rise onto its hind legs. As Quill approached, a frown on his face,, it uttered a series of sounds that were only half neighing and that contained the beginnings of human speech. It stared nervously at the wizard and staggered away from them to the limit of its rope tether, tottering on its cloven hooves. Flordan hurried over to it and put a comforting hand on its neck, patting it and crooning into its ear.

"Easy, boy, easy," he said, patting its head as Quill studied it, running his hands over its body. "Is there anything you can do?"

Quill's face had fallen at his first glimpse of the creature, though. "I'm afraid not," he said. "The transformation has progressed too far. Legally, it's already human. Congratulations, you've got a son."

"But I don't want a son, I want a horse! How am I going to take goats to market without a horse to pull the wagon? You're a wizard, you can turn him back, make him all horse again! Cast a curse..."

"It would be murder," replied Quill. "The law is quite clear on this subject. That's why we change mounts at the start of each new day, to prevent us from becoming parent bonded to our horses. Everyone knows this..."

"We had no choice! Our house was destroyed, we had to sleep next to the creature! Of course we knew what would happen, but I thought a wizard could turn him back!"

"I'm sorry. As I said, the process has gone too far. There 's nothing I can do."

"You have to..."

"You heard him," said the Brigadier, who'd entered the stable behind them with the Sergeant. "See this as a blessing. I'm sure he'll be a fine man one day." He then beckoned for the wizard to follow him back outside. "There isn't room in that house for all of us," he said. "Some of us will bed down in the stable overnight. One night with the horses won't hurt. I want you in the house, though. With me, away from that poor beast. Otherwise the father will keep on pestering you about it."

"Thank you, Sir. Appreciate it."

"Blane, we'll all accept our host's hospitality in their house for supper, but I want you to select five men to sleep with you in the stable. Make yourselves as comfortable as you can." The Sergeant acknowledged the order and returned to the men, while Harper and Spencer led their mounts into the stable. Flordan was still with his son, staring in hurt betrayal as the half raised horse continued to nuzzle up against him, stamping his feet at his inability to understand his father's unhappiness.

"Bad business," said Malone a little later as he prepared the Brigadier's sleeping area in the house, a little way apart from the other men. "Sometimes there's no way to avoid close contact with animals. I heard that snow trackers sleep cuddled up to their dogs to avoid freezing to death."

"They have half a dozen dogs, at least, and snow trackers never go around in pairs," replied the Brigadier. "The number of animals helps prevent pair bonding with any of them. He should have had more than one horse. It was obvious what might happen if he had only one."

"Even so, you can see the dilemma he's in..."

"Not our problem. Go talk with him, see if he'd be willing to sell one of his goats. I'm sure the men would welcome some fresh meat further along the trail."