“Where is he?” Belkynn Kallon asked the young tribesman assigned to help her.

“He is in council with the elders,” the youth replied.

“How long has he been there?” She had awakened to another dream of her father. Her urgency was too great for long patience. Restlessness gave way to resolve.

“Since daybreak,” the boy replied. The sun told Belkynn that noon had passed two hours ago.

“Wait here,” she ordered. “Have Veeadra watch my child.”

She made her way toward the elder’s lodge. It was thirty paces outside the main village. Pungent smoke rolled out of chimneys at either end. She caught the scent of shaman-weed and tobacco, sage and fissil bark. On impulse, she strode silently to the entry and stood beside it noiselessly, listening to the voices within.

“She need not go,” Damar’s voice was tense, as though he were striving in vain to keep his calm.

“You know our counsel in this matter.” Belkynn recognized the voice of the village war chief, Kalto. He was the voice of the council, but normally only an authority in matters of war and hunts.

“What was foreseen was muddled,” Damar said stridently. “This threat is great. Yes. I concede that. But the girl is not to go!”

“She is key to Dreydillon’s future in this matter.” This was Dahto’s voice. Dahto Wanderer was legendary for his sorcery; it was said he could travel through time itself and that he wandered throughout the heavens to the many worlds among the stars.

“No,” Damar’s voice was strained. “Dahto, you know my fondness for you—my respect for your powers and talents. Your courage and wisdom are far greater than mine.

“But I’m not going to be your puppet this time! I’m sick to death of your leash—you’re playing with people’s lives as though they were nothing but bones in the dirt . . .”

“Ignore me, Unsummoned,” Dahto’s voice was dark, threatening, “and all within Dreydillon will be bones in the dust.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Damar’s whisper was so vehement Belkynn’s hair stood on end. It seemed the very air felt the promise of power in his oath.

“You have the power to stop it,” Dahto said, calm now. “If you take Belkynn Kallon into the Mists with you. This I have foreseen. This must be our course of action.”

“Tell her the danger,” Damar said adamantly.

“We may not.” Another elder.

“She will not come with me unless she is told the whole truth of it,” Damar’s tone brooked no argument.

“It is not your choice, Damar Unsummoned,” Dahto said, his voice tinged with pity but still insistent.

“It is,” Damar growled. “She has skill. Best ranger I’ve seen. Better than me, maybe. But she’s got a kid not yet weaned and I’m not leaving an infant motherless! I’ll face this myself.”

“Veeadra is wetnurse to the child,” Kalto said, tone even. “She shall foster the child until she is old enough, and trained enough, to be returned to her people.”

“No,” Damar’s voice was desperate now. “Can’t you understand? I cannot make this sacrifice! Damn Dreydillon and all its people! If you’re willing to send her to slaughter, then I’m not willing to do what it takes to save you! Die! All of you!

“I go alone.”

Damar swept out of the lodge. Belkynn Kallon swung herself flat against the side of the lodge to avoid a collision. He strode past without noticing, eyes blinded by the sunlight as he stepped out of the shadowed, smoky lodge.

She thought for a moment to step into the lodge and question the men there, but instead raced back to her own lodging to check on her daughter, Shaalla Kallon.

Veeadra was there, feeding the infant. Belkynn Kallon glared at her hard for a moment, a kind of jealousy bordering on madness sweeping over her. She stepped forward purposely and took the infant from the wetnurse, lowered her own top, and let Shaalla eat to her content. Something about the ritual felt final, felt like goodbye.

She was still rocking the infant girl and patting belches from her when Dahto and Kalto entered her lodge. Kalto carried a long bundle of some strange hide. From its length and shape, Belkynn guessed it to contain some kind of spear or staff. Kalto motioned with his head, and Veeadra left.

“Long and long have we awaited you, daughter of prophecy,” Kalto intoned. “It surprised us greatly that you came to us heavy with child. And yet Dahto, our great seer, tells us that this is as it should be.”

“Honored as I am, Master Kalto,” Belkynn kept her voice friendly with great effort, and that only for her daughter’s sake. “I would hear it straight out. I have no patience for any but direct speech.”

“So be it,” Dahto stepped forward. “We bring you these ancient artifacts that you may depart at first light.”

“First light?” she asked, taken aback.

“Damar left an hour ago,” he nodded. “You must overtake him before he gets to the western foothills. It is vital that you fulfill your destiny, Belkynn Kallon.”

“And what is that?” She asked coldly.

“You must aid Damar against those within the Ether—the Mists,” Dahto said. “It has been foreseen that only you may win to us the allies from within the Mists, and only Damar may defeat those who even now plan invasion.”

“Why did he leave without me?”

“It is immaterial,” Dahto said.

“Nevertheless.” She smiled in a way more threatening than endearing. “You will tell me or I will flee to Helion to live out my days with my daughter.”

“He fears for your safety,” Dahto shrugged.

“Why?”

“Because he has seen too much death,” Dahto replied.

“There’s more to it,” she pushed.

“Damar believes that you are fated to . . .” Dahto squinted as though looking into the distance. “He is convinced that you shall not return to Temlacaer in the flesh.”

“And?”

“He is selfish and arrogant,” Kalto interjected. “He wishes to save you because he has so long denied himself companionship.”

“So?”

“So he has lost many friends and wishes to save you,” Dahto said patiently.

“He loves me?” Belkynn stared intently into Dahto’s eyes.

“His compassion covers all the peoples . . . all sentient beings, Belkynn Kallon.” Dahto sighed deeply. “To answer your question: he is loyal to you in the way you call love, yes.”

“Then why would he usurp my destiny?” she challenged.

“Because we have withheld from you . . .” Dahto trailed off.

“Dahto has foreseen your death, Belkynn Kallon,” Kalto said stonily.

“Death?” She stared at them each for a long moment before gesturing toward their package and asking about its contents.

“These were brought from the city of the dead gods,” Kalto explained, unwrapping a pair of ornate double spears. “One for each of you.”

“We have our own weapons,” Belkynn mumbled, pointing to her travel pack. The short bow Damar had crafted for her of mulegoat horn braced one side, along with a skulkrist quiver holding two dozen ash arrows. Beside the pack was the pair of climbing picks he had altered for her. Already on her belt, she wore two long knives that were as much as she needed in a battle with only men.

“You must wield the god-spears against the hordes beyond the Western Worldteeth. No other weapon will suffice,” Kalto pronounced.