Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 by Louise Cusack Page B

much honour towards his beloved, as did the gildings of gold and bronze on the supplicants’ clothing. They had dressed in their finest.
    ‘We must hold fast to our faith,’ she told them, ‘and we must not give up hope. Though our lord and king Mihale has ascended to Atheyre, and his dear son Lenid has followed him into death …’ She paused and Pagan saw her swallow several times, blinking rapidly. ‘We must trust that the Great Guardian will continue to protect and provide for us.’
    ‘Trust the Great Guardian,’ Pagan intoned with the others.
    ‘And know his peace,’ Lae finished the invocation, clearly with precious little peace in her own heart. Then she stared out at the assembly with empty eyes, the look of one lost in a memory. Was she remembering how she had saved the royal babe’s life when his servant mother had died in childbirth, then married Kert to seal the pretence that Lenid was their child, to save him from Lae’s own father, Djahr, who had coveted the throne?
    Or were her recollections of the games she and Kert had played with the child — happy times together, of which there had been many in the three years they had been a family. For surely, though she had never loved Kert, they had both adored Lenid, and when Pagan had returned from Magoria to claim her as his betrothed, she had not wished to leave her husband and son.
    Until cruel fate had decreed otherwise.
    Now, as The Dark, it was Lae’s responsibility to conduct the requiem for Lenid and Kert, both of whom had died the day The Catalyst had come to the Volcastle. Two days ago. Two of the longest days of Pagan’s life. And though it was selfish to think of the tragedy in such terms, he could not help but acknowledge that the only impediments to his love for Lae were now gone. Yet rather than taking solace in his arms, Lae had turned her grief into a solitary vigil. She would not speak to him.
    ‘We will remember them,’ she said, and Pagan saw her take several slow breaths. He felt his own throat tighten in sympathy. But when she spoke again her voice was clear. ‘And we will hold the faith.’
    She made no mention of The Catalyst’s death and, as per her written instructions, neither had Pagan. Their people needed time to come to terms with the death of a royal child they had not known existed. Lae believed it would lead to chaos if they were told that their world would be obliterated by the Maelstrom with none to survive. Pagan could not argue with that. In the dead dark of night, even he, a warrior who had been trained to face death every day, felt the cold fingers of desolation when he thought of their future. Those not trained to the sword would surely go mad with despair.
    Lae fell silent and her gaze swept the audience behind him. Pagan was unnerved by her power to read auras so he shifted his attention to the anchor, marvelling at what had been wrought by the young royal woman, Glimmer, and an aging Plainsman. The sparkling sky-mirror, as wide as spread arms, rose up from the glowing volcano mouth of the Volcastle and through the open ceiling of the great hall into the sky, further than the eye could follow. On clear days lookouts reported sighting similar sparkling pillars from the direction of the four winds — south at Castle Be’uccdha, west at Fortress Sh’hale and north at the Verdan Hold.
    But marvel though it was, this mirror had tricked the poor child Lenid into thinking he was running towards Lae, when instead he had run towards her reflection and into death in the Volcastle mouth. Not even the desperate actions of his Champion Kert had been quick enough to save him from a fiery fate; worse, Kert’s lunge to save the child had rolled The Catalyst with him over the edge, consigning the Four Worlds to sure destruction. Those left alive now faced a bleak future, and as their only remaining Guardian Pagan had nothing to offer them except the lie that The Catalyst still lived.
    Lucky Kert had been saved the