“You contacted him once,” said Lief. “You told him our names.”
Soon …
Dain clawed at his chest in remembered pain. “I was — corrected, for that,” he said sullenly. “So then I made my own plans. And now my time has come.”
Without warning, he threw his head back.
“Master!” he screamed. “It is time!”
A clap of thunder shook the earth. Great red clouds began to roll across the sky from the north, blotting out the stars. Dain faced Lief, eyes gleaming.
“The armies of the Shadow Lord have risen!” he shrieked. “Those throughout the land who have dared defy him will be destroyed. And you have brought his wrath down on all their heads. You and your companions have done it all, Lief of Del!”
Doom!
With a cry, Doom leaped upon Dain, knocking him down, his sword plunging for the heart. But Dain twisted like a snake, his body dissolving, rising again in a column of sickly white. Icy mist coiled around him. He whirled around, his fingers reaching for Doom’s throat. Long, thin fingers, bringing with them the chill of death.
Lief staggered back, shuddering in a cold that was beyond imagining. The fire wavered, and went out.
Doom was on his knees. The Ol that had been Dain was laughing, laughing, pressing forward, intent on destruction. Shouts and groans rang from the square as Jasmine and Barda, torches blazing, held back a hundred crawling Ols, and the prisoners were dragged away. The sky was a mass of scarlet cloud.
Sobbing, Lief crawled to the fire. He scrambled among the dying embers, his fingers burning and freezing by turns. He found the Belt, staggered to his feet. The Belt was covered in white ash. But it was whole. The ash dropped from its gleaming length. The gems flashed under the red sky.
Now!
With the last of his strength, Lief threw the Belt around the Ol’s waist. With both hands he pulled it tight.
And the Ol screamed, throwing up its arms so that Doom fell heavily down the stone steps. Smoke rose from the place where the Belt gripped, and beneath the smoke the shuddering white flesh began to melt. The Ol twisted, trying to break free. But already it was dying. One face alone loomed from its melting white. The face of Dain, in all his moods: timid, beseeching, tearful, laughing, teasing, dignified, brave …
Lief bent, choking, as his stomach heaved. But he held tightly to the Belt, squeezing his eyes shut. And when at last he opened his eyes, there was only an ugly puddle of white dripping down the stone steps.
He clasped the Belt around his waist and threw himself down to the bottom of the pyramid, to where Doom lay. Doom was muttering, shuddering with cold. His lips were blue. Great red marks wound around his neck. There was a swelling bruise on his brow.
“Lief!”
Lief looked up wildly. Jasmine and Barda were racing towards him. The Ols in the square were not coming after them. They were wavering, aimlessly clustering together, as though they were confused. It was as though the source of their power had been struck a blow by the destruction of the great one among them.
But already some of them were starting to recover. And the red clouds were tumbling, boiling, as they raced towards the city.
Frantically hauling Doom to his feet, Lief tried to think. Where could they go? Where could they hide?
Then the answer came to him. Where he had always gone when he was in trouble.
Home.
The forge was dark, desolate. The Shadow Lord’s brand was on the gate. But there was shelter, heat, water. And, for the moment, there was safety.
They lit a fire and wrapped Doom in blankets. They gave him Queen Bee honey and bathed his wounds. At last he seemed to rouse. His eyelids flickered, opened. He stared blankly at the flames leaping in the fireplace.
“Where …?” he mumbled huskily. He put his hand to his throat, and then to the swelling on his forehead.
“Do not try to speak,” Lief whispered. Doom turned his head to look at him. His eyes were confused, without recognition.
“The blow on his head was severe,” said Jasmine, pacing the room restlessly. “He needs to recover.”
“Time is what we do not have.” Barda moved to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains. “When they realize we have escaped, they will look here, for certain. We must move very soon.”
But Lief was watching Doom. The man was staring around the room, his brow creased in a puzzled frown as his gaze lingered on tables, chairs, cushions. It was as though the place was somehow familiar to him. Then he caught sight of Jasmine. His face lightened. His lips moved.
“Jasmine!” Lief hissed. “Come, quickly.”
Jasmine hurried to the fire and crouched beside Doom. He raised a hand and touched her cheek. His lips moved again. The words were faint, so faint they could hardly be heard.
“Jasmine. Little one. You … have grown so like her. So like … your mother.”
Jasmine jerked away from him, shaking off his hand as if it was a spider. “How would you know this? My mother is dead!” she cried angrily.
“Yes. My dear love … dead.” Doom’s face creased with grief. His eyes filled with tears. Lief’s heart gave a great leap.
“Jasmine …” he whispered.
But Jasmine, half sobbing, had turned away.
Doom’s eyes had closed once more. But again he spoke. “They … refuse refuge, dear heart,” he mumbled, his fingers curling as though he were crumpling a note in his hand. “We … must turn back … go east of Del, instead of west …”
Lief held his breath, realizing that Doom was reliving a time long forgotten. The blow to his head had unlocked the door in which memory had lain.
“We must,” Doom murmured. “The news … Guards … waiting on the western road. All the women with child — killed. We will go east … to the Forests. They will not think of looking for us there.” He paused, and seemed to listen. His mouth curved into a tender smile as a beloved voice spoke to him in memory.
Jasmine had turned around. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Filli made tiny, worried sounds and Kree clucked unhappily. Absently, she put her hand up to her shoulder to soothe them, but her eyes were fixed on Doom.
“Danger?” Doom sighed. “Yes, dear heart. But all is danger now. We will take care. We … will survive. Our child will be safe. Grow strong, until it is time …”
Lief’s heart was hammering in his chest. He could scarcely breathe. He saw that Barda had turned from the window and was staring in wonder.
Doom’s head moved restlessly. “Little one … Jasmine …”
Jasmine put her hand in his. “I am here, Father,” she said softly.
Doom tried to open his eyes once more, but his lids were heavy. “Poor, brave little girl child,” he murmured. “No playmates but the birds and animals. No playthings but the ones the Forests could provide. No books, no comfort. And fear … always fear. So many times we wondered if we had done right. We did not regret our choices for ourselves. But for you …” His voice trailed off. He was slipping once more into sleep.
“I was happy, Father,” Jasmine brushed angrily at her tears. “I had you and Mamma. I had games, songs, rhymes.” She tugged at Doom’s sleeve, trying to rouse him. “One rhyme I loved especially, because it had pictures,” she babbled. “You gave it to me, Father. Remember?”
Doom made no reply. Desperately she released his hand and began rummaging in the pockets of her jacket. Her treasures spilled upon her lap — feathers and threads, a broken-toothed comb, a scrap of mirror, coins, stones, bark, scraps of paper … At last, she found what she was looking for. The oldest paper of all — grubby, and folded many times.