Upon hearing word that the old Aeonite had wakened in clarity, Cerenid went at once to his chamber. He found Kethu propped upright amid his linens, his frame thin as a winter branch, his skin the color of sheep’s wool.

  “Teacher,” said Cerenid softly, “thou art awake.”

  “Indeed,” Kethu whispered with some effort, his voice no more than heavy breath. “The last bright flare before the wick is spent.”

  “I am in need of thy counsel… if thou art yet able to give it.”

  “It is my charge,” said Kethu.

  “Gedain has rode out this morn for the High Gate and Varenthor. I want to know if you believe he will find Menek.”

  “I think he shall.”

  Cerenid clasped his teacher’s hand. “How am I to make Menek name his fellows?”

  Kethu coughed, a dry and rattling sound, then was still a long while. At last he spoke.

  “Pain will surely loosen his tongue, yet truth will not follow it. Torture breeds answers shaped to please the ear.” He groaned as he moved in his bed. “What Gedain brings back will speak truer than any rack or words.”

  “Explain, teacher.”

  Kethu caught his breath. “If he returns with his riders and no Menek, thou shalt learn little. But if he returns bearing Menek in chains, then Gedain clears himself of this design.”

  “Do you suspect Gedain?”

  “You must suspect all men, young rex. Such is the weight that leadens every crown. Yet I do not deem Gedain the mind that spun the web. There is a more subtle spider yet lurking.”

  “Who do you believe it is?”

  “Oh, the Fys, perchance. Or one nearer still.”

  “Olian?” Cerenid offered. “He knew of it firsthand.”

  “I will not seed thy thoughts with names. Once sown, they may blind thine eye that tends them.”

  “And what if Gedain returns alone?”

  Kethu’s gaze sharpened. “Then thou may believe his hand was in it. Yet if so, hide thy knowing. Keep him ever near. Men who believe themselves unseen grow careless, and in carelessness reveal their master.”

  Cerenid walked to the lone window, and gazed out upon the city walls, pale and bright beneath the midday Sol. “There is more,” Cerenid’s voice lowered. “Word has come from Dregrove. Mendo is dead.”

  Kethu inclined his head, as though greeting an expected guest.

  “I cannot let Una or mother depart to bury their father.”

  “Aye, Una’s road is sown with danger. The Fys— Kaldwin at least— will surely lie in ambush.”

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  “Word comes that they are intercepting the couriers,” Cerenid added. “They know who comes and goes…”

  …But woe filled the lad’s face.

  “What else troubles you?” Kethu asked. “Dost thou fearest for Una… or for thyself, also?”

  Cerenid’s mouth tightened, and for a breath he bristled. Then the fire passed from his face, and he bowed his head.

  “I will not lie to thee, teacher. I fear for my life. Most of all if Una is not beside me. Twice already she has stood between me and death.”

  “To fear is to be human,” said Kethu. “Yet fear hath a scent, and wolves will follow it. Fear drives men to haste, and haste to folly, and folly to ruin.”

  “Yet I fear, teacher.”

  “Try to think of thy danger as though it threatened another. Be not the rex in thine own mind but be another instead— be the keeper of the rex, rather than the rex. Thus, shalt thou see more clearly.”

  “Then Una must go home?”

  “Yes. Yet whether on the morrow, or with the turning of leaves, I cannot say.”

  “What meanest thou?”

  “The Prophet Azarius draweth nigh,” said Kethu, and at the utterance of that name the very air seemed to hush and listen. “He told me this in Golgon, in the far centuries gone, that He would come unto me once more upon the eve of my departing.”

  “And thou dost believe it still?” Cerenid asked.

  “I do,” replied Kethu, “though five hundred years have worn away since it was promised. His coming is writ both in thy chronicles and in ours… and in theirs. Why else would the southern spies be hunting for Him here? He is our uniter by prophecy made manifest. He comes, and His truth shall unite the men of Norland to march.”

  “Will Una then lead the men of Dregrove?”

  “No,” Kethu answered. “Madrot shall bear the host of Dregrove beneath thy banner; and for this cause must Una return thither, to rule in his stead, while the storm of Norland men is loosed.”

  “Then Azarius will lead the Norland host.”

  “No!” Kethu’s voice strengthened. “When prophets return, it is not as kings. He is not the leader of men. He is only the shepherd of their souls. You are the rex, Cerenid.”

  “But they will not follow me. I am not yet a man.”

  “Then you must become one, quickly. “If thou lead them not, they will slay one another in the field. And if thou remainest here, thou shalt be slain here. Then shall Bafomet come with his golden host, and Norland shall fall into ash and bondage without a blade raised in its defense.”

  Cerenid folded his arms, his gaze cast down, the weight of command pressing upon him like stone.

  “Step beyond thyself,” Kethu said, voice softening back into a murmur. “Thy charge is greater than breath or bone. All lives flicker but a handful of heartbeats. Most men pass their span never knowing why they were born. Thou hast been endowed with a purpose. Cherish it as a precious gift.”

  Cerenid breathed deeply, slowly, then nodded, though his hands trembled.

  “There is yet one more truth I must give thee,” Kethu said. “It concerns thy brother. He spoke to me of the cave, when ye were boys. He told me what he beheld there.”

  Cerenid looked up.

  “He saw thee,” Kethu continued. “He saw thee standing alone in single combat. And he saw thee fall upon the field.”

  “I know, teacher.”

  “That is why he offered himself in combat at Briganta. He thought to spare you. And in that choice, a choice of love, he found his meaning.”

  “But he died,” Cerenid whispered. “He should have been rex, not I.”

  “He did not go forth to die, Cerenid,” said Kethu gently. “He went forth to prevail. Yet Madrot unmade his measure with the brutish cunning of his blows.”

  A sorrow passed through Cerenid’s eyes, deep and unguarded.

  “You must forgive Madrot for this. He did not choose to duel your brother. Your brother chose his fate. Thou wilt need Madrot to lead his warriors.”

  Cerenid’s face hardened.

  “One cannot bargain with that which hath already come to pass,” Kethu said. “Ceryd took up his mantle, and the world turned as it must. Do not make light of his sacrifice by shrinking from thine own. To refuse thy burden is to lay it upon the dead.”