with—smaller and thinner-skinned to cope with the heat.’
‘I’ve struck a deal with some Gaelean breeders from Corsanon. It’s nearly the same climate in their deserts and those animals are superb.’
‘Desertwinds? They’re a little light for my taste but brilliant on endurance. Elegant too.’ He shifted his grip on the swords. ‘Good choice, as long as we begin with placid ones.’
‘It’s done. I’ll have more horses for you as soon as the paddocks are ready and the water system’s set up.’
His eyebrows creased. ‘How’d you manage those negotiations? Corsanons don’t part easily with their steeds.’
‘You know me, Rowan.’ She laughed. ‘I dance life’s dance. I get what I want.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve noticed.’
She pressed her body closer. He didn’t resist. ‘I want you to stay,’ she said.
‘Because?’
‘You’re the master who can unite everyone, the most skilled swordsman and equestrian. Your teaching abilities are genius and…’
‘Anything else?’
She gave his neck a kiss. ‘If you’re willing to work with the Lupins, it’ll…’
He cut her off. ‘I said I was. Not that they needed much tuition last time I checked.’
He turned his back and left.
‘Rowan?’
Her only answer was the sound of his boots clipping down the stairs. She returned to her work. He wasn’t embracing the Lupins with much enthusiasm yet, but it was progress, and that was exactly what she wanted—progress in the right direction.
La Makee stood outside the portal, checking her pack. The sun was setting, turning the redwoods to gold. A ground fog rolled in. It hovered knee-deep around her boots like a carpet of cloud. Jays and magpies scattered as her familiar, a Lemur raven, landed in the sacred oak beside her. He cawed, shuffling and reshuffling his dark wings before letting them settle against his back. His head cocked sideways, waiting.
‘Nearly ready, Woca. Are you?’
He answered with a burst of short raspy caws. Her golden warhorse breathed softly at her side, warm puffs of air coming from his nostrils. The animal sighed and rubbed his head on her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. Golden hairs clung to her black cloak.
‘Hold still, Amarillo. I’m thinking.’ As she checked the saddlebags, the raven cawed again.
Think fast, Mistress. Your apprentice comes.
‘Demons.’ She raised her hand and around them fell an invisible blanket, a glamour that hid the witch, herhorse and the raven. It rippled for a moment like a fine net made of dew, before vanishing and taking all traces of their presence with it. Quiet, my lovelies. Until the girl passes.
Her apprentice sang, a sweet lilting voice that rose to the canopy, sound waves seeking the sky above the treetops. She walked right by Makee and her companions, wandering deeper into the forest, gathering herbs and mushrooms, unaware and unconcerned.
And she calls herself a witch?
The point of the glamour, Mistress, was to make us undetectable.
She didn’t so much as twitch!
A testimony to your expertise in glamour weaving?
Perhaps. Makee didn’t know whether she felt relief or annoyance. The girl should have been more aware. But then, she hadn’t actually met her yet—it was before her time. She wasn’t completely to blame for her lack of attentiveness. Makee laughed to herself.
Relief, Mistress. It’s best we are not found by anyone from Treeon Temple, past, present or future, if this plan of yours is to work.
You’re right, my gorgeous one. Relief it is. Makee let the glamour down and disappeared into the portal, the warhorse and raven in tow. ‘Now it begins,’ she said, stroking Amarillo’s crest. ‘Kreshkali isn’t the only witch who can run between the worlds, and now we know hers is not the only time.’
The raven cawed, flapping his wings.
‘Take us back,’ she whispered, her hand brushing over the plasma. ‘Take us to old Corsanon. There’s a woman called Jaynan I have to find!’ She chanted a
‘I’ve struck a deal with some Gaelean breeders from Corsanon. It’s nearly the same climate in their deserts and those animals are superb.’
‘Desertwinds? They’re a little light for my taste but brilliant on endurance. Elegant too.’ He shifted his grip on the swords. ‘Good choice, as long as we begin with placid ones.’
‘It’s done. I’ll have more horses for you as soon as the paddocks are ready and the water system’s set up.’
His eyebrows creased. ‘How’d you manage those negotiations? Corsanons don’t part easily with their steeds.’
‘You know me, Rowan.’ She laughed. ‘I dance life’s dance. I get what I want.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve noticed.’
She pressed her body closer. He didn’t resist. ‘I want you to stay,’ she said.
‘Because?’
‘You’re the master who can unite everyone, the most skilled swordsman and equestrian. Your teaching abilities are genius and…’
‘Anything else?’
She gave his neck a kiss. ‘If you’re willing to work with the Lupins, it’ll…’
He cut her off. ‘I said I was. Not that they needed much tuition last time I checked.’
He turned his back and left.
‘Rowan?’
Her only answer was the sound of his boots clipping down the stairs. She returned to her work. He wasn’t embracing the Lupins with much enthusiasm yet, but it was progress, and that was exactly what she wanted—progress in the right direction.
La Makee stood outside the portal, checking her pack. The sun was setting, turning the redwoods to gold. A ground fog rolled in. It hovered knee-deep around her boots like a carpet of cloud. Jays and magpies scattered as her familiar, a Lemur raven, landed in the sacred oak beside her. He cawed, shuffling and reshuffling his dark wings before letting them settle against his back. His head cocked sideways, waiting.
‘Nearly ready, Woca. Are you?’
He answered with a burst of short raspy caws. Her golden warhorse breathed softly at her side, warm puffs of air coming from his nostrils. The animal sighed and rubbed his head on her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. Golden hairs clung to her black cloak.
‘Hold still, Amarillo. I’m thinking.’ As she checked the saddlebags, the raven cawed again.
Think fast, Mistress. Your apprentice comes.
‘Demons.’ She raised her hand and around them fell an invisible blanket, a glamour that hid the witch, herhorse and the raven. It rippled for a moment like a fine net made of dew, before vanishing and taking all traces of their presence with it. Quiet, my lovelies. Until the girl passes.
Her apprentice sang, a sweet lilting voice that rose to the canopy, sound waves seeking the sky above the treetops. She walked right by Makee and her companions, wandering deeper into the forest, gathering herbs and mushrooms, unaware and unconcerned.
And she calls herself a witch?
The point of the glamour, Mistress, was to make us undetectable.
She didn’t so much as twitch!
A testimony to your expertise in glamour weaving?
Perhaps. Makee didn’t know whether she felt relief or annoyance. The girl should have been more aware. But then, she hadn’t actually met her yet—it was before her time. She wasn’t completely to blame for her lack of attentiveness. Makee laughed to herself.
Relief, Mistress. It’s best we are not found by anyone from Treeon Temple, past, present or future, if this plan of yours is to work.
You’re right, my gorgeous one. Relief it is. Makee let the glamour down and disappeared into the portal, the warhorse and raven in tow. ‘Now it begins,’ she said, stroking Amarillo’s crest. ‘Kreshkali isn’t the only witch who can run between the worlds, and now we know hers is not the only time.’
The raven cawed, flapping his wings.
‘Take us back,’ she whispered, her hand brushing over the plasma. ‘Take us to old Corsanon. There’s a woman called Jaynan I have to find!’ She chanted a
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