"Remind me," said Tarke as she sat down on a boulder and shrugged her shoulders out from the straps of her pack, "why have we just spent the past month travelling to 'some unknown place north-east of Dakesht'?"

Nemeth grinned at her. "Because Jevann and Sherath, between them, felt compelled to do so?" he answered.

Sherath walked back to join them. – I don't take any of Jevann's 'compulsions' lightly, he said with a smile. Particularly not this one.

– We've shared dreams on this one, said Jevann, catching up and dumping his pack down next to Tarke's. There is a need to be here, and it has something to do with the dreams. Don't ask me what, he added, sitting down.

Louka settled herself between Jevann's feet, using him as a backrest. "I picked up echoes from a dream of yours, last night," she said, squinting sideways up at Jevann. "It woke me, so I just listened in. You were right about 'sharing' the dreams with Sherath. You were both dreaming exactly the same thing."

– You were eavesdropping on my dreams? asked Jevann, ruffling her hair.

­"Yup," she answered, grinning.

"And mine, Jevann," Sherath added. "Are no-one's dreams their own these days?"

"Not when they wake me up like they did last night," retorted Louka. "It sent the hairs up right along my back."

– We need to set up camp before we can talk this one through, said Sherath quietly, assessing the smaller Children's state of sleepiness.

Tarke looked around. ­– You've been pushing us all a bit harder than usual, for you, she said. Do we have a deadline?

– We don't know, said Jevann.

– But we might have, added Sherath.

***

Thunder rumbled in the distance; smoke still rose from what had been a village. From the edge of the woodland Nemeth scanned the valley. There was no sign of life other than the wildlife. There was no sign of life in the village either – the place reeked of death and pain. Amongst the smouldering remains of the roundhouses lay blackened lumps. Lumps with twig-like arms curled. Nemeth looked back along the badger-trail he had been following, catching Sherath's eye where they had halted the smaller Children.

– Keep them back there, Sherath, said Nemeth quietly. I'm going to go down to check this out.

– With care, Nemeth, said Sherath. Though their noses have already told them what's down there.

Nemeth grinned – a wry grin. – And am I not always careful?

– No, not unfailingly so. Sherath's amusement sang along the mind-link. Whoever did this may not yet have gone far, he added. Remember we need you.

Nemeth grinned back. – I've no intention of getting myself killed. He cast Awareness throughout the valley, sensing only the fleeting touch of the smallest creatures, the slow Presence of the trees, a brief awareness of himself from a deer hind on the farther side and from rabbits who paused briefly in their grazing as his mind touched theirs. In the sky a falcon, to the west a vixen with cubs.... but no Men.

– They've gone. May Dominn curse them for this.

He moved out from the shadow of the trees, swiftly crossing the open space before the village.

He stood before the largest roundhouse, laying a hand on what remained of the burned thatching, listening, feeling for echoes.

His lips tightened into a thin line and his eyes narrowed as he left the shrine. Children had been put to the sword; grain stores burned. He walked around the farthest house.

Before him stood the remains of standing stakes with piles of ash around their bases – five of them. To each stake had been bound what had once been the oldest of the Children.

He walked back to the woodland, head down and fury burning in his soul.

Sherath met him by the beech tree.

"The same?" he asked quietly.

"The same. We can't leave this place like this."

"No. A decent burial and some recognition is needed, at least," agreed Sherath.

"Let me have Tarke, Louka and Jevann," said Nemeth. "We can get ready for that – but we're going to need some protection here, which only you are likely to be able to provide."

Sherath glanced across at him. – Hmmm, he said.

– I'm not blind, you know, said Nemeth, grinning.

***

Sherath leaned against the oak, using the Presence of the tree to bring calm to his thoughts, and to focus all his Awareness into reaching for Power.

– Are you okay? asked Tarke quietly.

– Yes, I'm okay. But don't creep up on me like that! Sherath added, opening his eyes and smiling down at her. You almost made me jump out of my skin.

– What rot! You knew I was there all along.

– Yeh, okay. I knew you were there. I'll be as quick as I can – but I don't know how long this will take. Sherath laid one hand briefly on Tarke's shoulder, and turned back along the trail through the woodland. A hundred paces out, and he paused, head lowered and eyes shut.

He pictured the illusion he needed in his mind – the track must go past the remains of the village, not to it; must lead any wanderer – chance or otherwise – away.

He felt the Detour set around him, and turned away westwards to the next passable trail.

It took him perhaps two hours to circle the village, working his way through the woods that surrounded it, turning all paths away. By the end of that time he was bone-weary; the distance was nothing, it was the sustained use of Power which was exhausting.

He walked slowly down to the village. Nemeth, Tarke, Louka and Jevann waited close to the newly-built fire. The earth floor of the roofless roundhouse nearby was freshly turned where the remains of the Children of the village had been buried, and extra earth – and the charred remains of roof timbers and thatch – were being barrowed to it by the younger members of the group.

"We found barrows and tools," said Sienne as she passed by, sombrely.

"We're as ready as we'll ever be," said Nemeth.

"We shouldn't be having to do this," Sienne said.

"No," Sherath agreed grimly. He walked over to the grave house, and sprinkled a few drops of water from the smallest waterskin into its doorway.

The Children put down tools and barrows, and ringed the graved house, hands linked.

"Rekyem etern donn eys, Dominn; e luchis perpetu luchat eys....." they chanted softly....everlasting light shine on them; Dominn who forgives our sins give them eternal rest...

Thunder moved closer, a gust of wind brought the first drops of rain, spattering the ground around them.

....free us from eternal death; and in the light of Your world let us be cleansed in the fire of Your judgement; Dominn temper Your justice with the mercy of Your love for us Your Children....

"....e luchis etern donn nos, Dominn."

Rain plastered the hair to Sherath's head, ran down his cheeks. "Dominn, where were You when they needed you? Have You forgotten the Children?" he whispered.

***

The last dregs of the storm rumbled away into the distance; the earth smelt fresh, wet – renewed. Tarke watched from the edge of the clearing as Sherath climbed up the rocky outcropping away to the west. Shreds of red-edged dark cloud drifted across the sky.

Nemeth came quietly to where Tarke sat, and crouched beside her.

"Will the Detour hold? Does he have the strength to renew it if necessary?" he asked, concerned.

Tarke pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, tucked it behind one ear. "He has more strength than he realises," she answered. "And much more than you'd think."

Nemeth dropped to a sitting position, picking up small pebbles and skittering them across the gravel below.

"There are times when he gets my back up," he said with a grin.

Tarke smiled, still watching Sherath. "He knows," she said.

"Don't you ever find him just a bit too cautious?" Nemeth asked.

"As Guide, he has an example to set – it goes with the territory. You're our fighter – Sherath has to be our thinker. Between the pair of you we might have one good leader."

Nemeth pushed her playfully off balance. "Twit," he responded. "I'd find it easier to be less of a fighter if I didn't constantly feel that I had to be angry on his behalf as well as my own. He seems a cold fish – colder as he gets older. Never angers. Never loses control."

"Don't for one moment believe he's not angry," said Tarke. "But the control – certainly. He doesn't want to turn into another Shithri – and that's exactly what puts him at risk of doing so."

"All too deep for me," said Nemeth. "How so?"

"No proof positive – just strong hunches. It seems to me that he uses Power proper. Which he shouldn't, as you well know, be able to do. His use of control seems to be use of Control proper – not just will power. Not a wise thing to use against yourself."

"Does he know?" Nemeth stopped skittering rocks across the gravel.

"I doubt it," said Tarke.

"Maybe he should," said Nemeth.

"And who's going to tell him? You? Or me?"

***

Sherath gathered strength around him, felt the expansion of strength as a physical thing throughout him.

– I will NOT get angry. Dominn, this is unjust! Where is the justice in vengeance on Children whose forefathers sinned?

– I will not get angry.

He pulled in the anger, compacted it and drew it down within himself into a small cold knot which itself burned like ice.

– I will not anger. I will NOT lose control – no matter how far I'm pushed. I will NOT get angry. But I really don't need to be pushed any more like this. This was unnecessary.

He hunkered down, looking into the last fading red-purple stripe left by the vanished sun.

– I must go back.

"Dominn Luchi," he whispered. – LordLady of Light. Some couple of hundreds of years ago I swore to you that, whatever it was that my many-times-great grandsire left undone, I would do. All I need to know is what it was that You wanted done, and how to do it.

He sat silent for several minutes, opening his mind to anything that cared to occur to it.

The several minutes stretched into an hour or more. Eventually, but abruptly, a thought occurred to him, and a memory of a large and beloved cat, and he smiled.

– Okay, Ierreth, my old friend and Mentor, all I need to know is WHAT needs to be done. Knowing what, I can find a how.

He lay back, looking up at the stars; the Hunting Cat whose shoulders pointed to the Northern Star, just visible over the Northern horizon; the clouded glow of the StarStream spanning the sky.

– Okay again, he said. It's not vengeance, nor pushing. Simply the Evil One making the most of an opportunity – as always. But I am here. Waiting. And what I can do is – at present – limited by what I can be.

***

The foot of the rocky outcropping was in deep shadow when Sherath eventually reached it. He paused briefly, suddenly Aware that he wasn't alone.

"Tarke?"

"Only me," she answered, getting stiffly to her feet.

"You shouldn't have waited for me," he said, slipping an arm over her shoulders and steering her towards the camp, its fire barely visible, flickering through the trees. She shivered slightly. "Here, take this," said Sherath, pulling off his jerkin and handing it to her.

"You'll freeze," she said, taking it anyway.

Sherath laughed. "I won't get cold. Too insensitive to feel cold."

"I'll believe many things of you, but not that one."

"No. You were never easy to fool, were you?"

"You're right," she said eventually, walking beside him. "You're not cold. Warmth comes off your skin like the glow off a heatstack. All your coldness is inside you, I think. You gather in all the heat of your anger and turn it into coldness."

Sherath drew breath as if to speak, and she silenced him with an elbow to the ribs which made him cough.

"No, listen," she went on. "Your Task is as Dominn's Interpreter and our Guide; Nemeth's is as our Strength and Challenger. I am Tasked to be Counsellor – and not just for the little ones. My Tasking requires me to Counsel wherever needed – even if that means for the Guide or the Challenger – or both. You know that with Tasking, there are certain 'givens' – and one of mine is to see when and where my Task leads me. Given?"

Sherath grinned. "Lead on then, Little Sister. I follow."

– And you can drop the formality, for a start, Tarke added, laughing. "Stay close. There's something you need to watch. Nemeth, too." They sat down next to Nemeth, who was lying next to the fire and feeding it small branches. The rest of the camp was in silence except for the barely discernible breathing of the sleeping Children sheltered under hide covers in the largest roundhouse.

Nemeth looked up at them, and grinned. "I saved some food for you."

"Just as well," said Sherath, hooking a piece of steamed mutton on the end of his belt knife. "Tarke's about to do her Counsellor thing."

Tarke threatened him with a mug of cold water.

"Okay, pax!" he said, ducking away.

"One day," she said, "you are going to take me very seriously indeed. Remember that one."

– I will, said Sherath.

– Me, too, said Nemeth.

"Watch now," said Tarke, half filling three pots with fresh water and returning them to the heat of the centre of the fire. She pointed to the first pot, lidless. "This pot is Nemeth." The second pot she lidded tightly. "This is Shithri – and could also be Sherath." The third pot she covered with a holed lid. "This too could be Sherath. The choice is yours. Eat."

They ate in silence for a while. Eventually the 'Nemeth' pot began to simmer.

"Feel the heat above the pots," said Tarke indistinctly through a mouthful of honeyberry pudding.

Sherath and Nemeth glanced at each other.

"Humour her," suggested Nemeth.

– I'll catch you such a slap in a moment, said Tarke.

– You and whose army? asked Sherath. Okay, okay. Only joking. Call it reaction to the day, if you like. He held his hand over each pot in turn.

"What do you feel?" asked Tarke.

"The air above the first pot is hot. Above the second pot barely warm. Above the third hotter than the first – but only over the hole," said Sherath.

"I'd have to agree with that," said Nemeth, testing them.

"And within the pots?" asked Tarke. "Theorise."

"The first pot will be coolest, the second hottest," Sherath answered quickly.

"Yes. Keep watching," said Tarke.

"Shithri was a fool," said Sherath after a while. "He had the ability to use total Control, and couldn't even control his own temper."

"Shithri made one mistake," said Tarke.

"Quite some mistake," murmured Nemeth with a grin. "Flooding most of the fourth level."

Sherath laughed. – With a mistake like that, who needs more than one?

"That wasn't his mistake," said Tarke emphatically.

"He certainly didn't do it deliberately," said Sherath. "Some places you can rearrange the geography with impunity – but not on the fourth level."

"If that wasn't his mistake, what was?" said Nemeth.

"Shithri's mistake – if I read him right – was that he Controlled his temper too well." Tarke smiled. – Keep watching the pots, she added.

The first pot had started to boil rapidly, water frothing close to the top. A jet of steam spurted constantly through the hole in the lid of the third pot.

– Pass your hand over the pots again, Tarke suggested, looking at Sherath.

He reached a hand out swiftly over the pots. "Well? The air above the second pot is still cool."

"And where is the heat?" Tarke asked.

"Still in the pot?" suggested Nemeth.

"Right. And what happens next?" asked Tarke.

"You tell me," said Nemeth. Sherath had started to grin.

"You don't do enough cooking," said Tarke. "Sherath knows, don't you?"

"He doesn't cook much either," Nemeth replied.

Sherath reached over suddenly, pushing both Nemeth and Tarke flat to the ground a split second before the second pot exploded in a shower of scalding water. The iron lid flew through the air towards the three of them at enormous speed; Sherath lifted a hand towards it, felt the sudden strength flare through him as he whispered 'GO' – watched the lid, untouched, veer safely away from them; muffled the sound of the explosion with a second surge of strength and heard it fade into silence; looked down at Nemeth's startled and Tarke's grinning face.

"Yes, I know," he said. "I'd forgotten. And you think that was Shithri?"

"I'm sure of it," said Tarke, sitting up and brushing leaf-mould off her hair.

Sherath crouched beside her. "I won't be another Shithri," he said. "Your Task was well set, and I am in your debt, Counsellor," he added formally.

Nemeth sat up, rubbing his shoulder, and proffered a leaf smoke-roll. "One thing I feel the need to draw your attention to, there," he said.

"What?" they spoke in unison, turning towards him.

"I heard no request for Granted Power," said Nemeth thoughtfully. "The Power you used was Assumed."

"He's right, Sherath," said Tarke quietly. "And it's not the first time you've Assumed Power. Where did you think that Control you have been using on yourself came from, if not from that?"

– Like I said before, I'm not blind, said Nemeth. And neither is Tarke.

----