Pilgrim. Sara Douglass

at WingRidge, and the captain smiled at him, his eyes now soft.

      Still pondering the consequences of turning Tencendor into an uninhabitable wasteland, SpikeFeather had completely missed the exchange. “And Qeteb is to be allowed a resurrection,” he said. “How can this be?”

      WingRidge did not look away from Drago as he answered. “How can the StarSon defeat a memory? A ghost? Only when Qeteb’s scattered life parts unite in flesh and blood can they be destroyed. Eventually, the StarSon and Qeteb will face each other.”

      “And Caelum will defeat him,” Drago said.

      “The StarSon will defeat him,” WingRidge said. “Will you agree to that, Drago? That the StarSon shall defeat Qeteb?”

      SpikeFeather shifted, uncertain what to make of the conversation. He had the uncomfortable feeling that WingRidge and Drago were somehow weaving a hidden dialogue over and above their spoken words.

      “I can agree to that,” Drago said softly. “The StarSon shall defeat Qeteb.”

      “Then our purpose is as one,” WingRidge said. “We both serve the StarSon and we both serve Tencendor.”

      He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation Drago took it.

      “That is an interesting staff you hold,” WingRidge observed, not letting go of Drago’s hand.

      “You know what it is.”

      “Aye. I know what it is.” WingRidge clasped his other hand over Drago’s, holding it securely between both of his. “The Sceptre. Never let it go.”

      “But —” SpikeFeather said, remembering the entwined symbols of StarSon and Sceptre about the Maze Gate … and then suddenly the entire conversation between WingRidge and Drago fell into place.

      “Ah,” he breathed.

      WingRidge laughed again and let Drago’s hand go. “So you are to go north, my friend. Will Faraday go with you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Good. And your new friend?” WingRidge indicated the lizard, now leaning over the edge of the waterway and splashing at shadows with one of his claws, light glimmering in shining shards from his talons under and over the water.

      “His intentions are hidden from me,” Drago said.

      WingRidge cocked an eyebrow. “And you think I know? Not I. The beast is a mystery to me as well. What else?”

      “You do not know?”

      For the first time WingRidge looked uncomfortable. “If there is more, then, no, I do not know it.”

      “Remarkable,” Drago said, but grinned to take the sting out of the remark. “Well, there is actually a little palatable news. Noah spoke of a Sanctuary somewhere within the waterways.”

      “A Sanctuary?” SpikeFeather queried, and WingRidge narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Sanctuary. This was news!

      But Drago took no notice of WingRidge’s reaction.

      “Gods!” he whispered, and shuddered. His eyes lifted upwards, as if he could see through the tons of rock above them. “I can feel the Demons on the move. Every hour they are on the loose more souls are lost.”

      He dropped his gaze to the two birdmen before him. “I must go north, and I hardly know these waterways. Can I ask you to —”

      “You know I serve no-one but the StarSon,” WingRidge said carefully.

      Drago’s face worked. “Then in the StarSon’s name,” he said, grating the words out, “will you hunt for Sanctuary while I go north?”

      WingRidge grinned at Drago’s discomfiture. “You had but to ask, Drago.”

      SpikeFeather hesitated, not wanting to be the one to break the tension, but finally the words burst out of him:

      “Drago, these waterways spread not only under the complete landmass of Tencendor, but leagues out under the oceans, too. It might take a lifetime — three lifetimes! — to find this ‘Sanctuary’.”

      “Nevertheless,” Drago said, “you possibly have a few months. No more. It will not take the TimeKeepers long to travel between Lakes, and before then we … someone … must manage the evacuation of Tencendor.”

      “A few months!” SpikeFeather muttered.

      “I will help,” WingRidge said to him. “The Lake Guard will help. Won’t it be fun to keep company, SpikeFeather?” He threw an arm about SpikeFeather’s shoulders. “You and I. Brothers in quest.”

      SpikeFeather glared at the Captain. He’d never seen WingRidge full of such high humour before. WingRidge kept his arm about SpikeFeather, but again addressed Drago.

      “And once you have achieved your north and Gorkenfort, Drago? What then?”

      “I … I don’t know.”

      “Then I am sure your feet will find the right path,” WingRidge said softly. “Drago, there is something you must know. WolfStar haunts these waterways. With him he carries the corpse of a girl-child. I do not know why.”

      Drago frowned, not sure what to make of this. What was WolfStar up to?

      “Be careful,” he said. “If WolfStar has a hidden purpose, then he can hardly be trusted.”

      WingRidge grimaced. “You hardly need tell me that, Drago. But don’t worry, my friend and I shall find this Sanctuary. Won’t we, SpikeFeather?”

      SpikeFeather nodded, his mind full of the problems that conducting a search of the entire waterways would entail.

      He’d spent at least fifteen years wandering the tunnels and had never had a whiff of this secret place — and Orr had never mentioned it. Had the Ferryman even heard of its existence, let alone known its location?

      “Come,” WingRidge said, and took a step back along the tunnel. “We have a long —”

      “Wait!” Drago cried, and touched the Captain’s chest as he turned back to face him. “What’s that?”

      “This?” WingRidge looked down at the maze. “It represents the Maze, my friend. It represents my bond to the StarSon.”

      Drago stared at him, then he deftly picked out a golden thread from the embroidery and dropped it into his sack.

      Then he gave a smile, almost apologetic, turned and walked away.

      The lizard scampered after him.

       16 Destruction Accepted

      Drago retraced his steps through the craft and the crystal forest. When he finally entered the green shade of the live trees he stopped, hesitated, then turned and plucked one of the golden leaves from one of the crystal trees, and slipped that into his sack as well.

      He was not sure why he did so, as he was not sure why he’d plucked the thread from WingRidge’s emblem nor collected some of the dried blood, in each case yielding only to a sudden urge.

      “I am glad you do not ask questions!” Drago said to the lizard crouched beside him. It opened its mouth in a parody of a grin, and then bounded forward. Drago smiled to himself as he walked the final few paces into the Silent Woman Woods.

      Faraday emerged from behind one of the trees, her face relaxing in relief.

      “Drago!” She halted a pace away from him, her eyes searching his.

      “Well?” she asked softly.

      He stared at her, wondering what she knew. Did she also think …?

      “You cannot