The donkey snorted irritably and yanked her head out of Zenith's grasp.

Just as Zenith again reached for the halter, something emerged from the gloom behind the nearest tree.

Zenith's heart lurched. She dropped her hand, stared about for a stick that she could defend Faraday and Drago 18 *.

with . . . and then breathed a sigh of relief, wiping trembling hands down her robe.

It was just one of the fey creatures of the forest, no doubt so disturbed by the presence of the Demons that it cared not that it wandered so close to Zenith and the donkeys.

It was a strange mixture of lizard and bird. About the size of a small dog, it had the body of a large iguana, covered with bright blue body feathers, and with a vivid emerald and scarlet crest. It had impossibly deep black eyes that absorbed the light about it. What it used the light for Zenith could not say, perhaps as food, but once absorbed, the lizard apparently channelled the light through some furnace within its body, for it re- emerged from its diamond-like talons in glinting shafts that shimmered about the forest.

Zenith smiled, for the feathered lizard was a thing of great beauty.

Watching Zenith carefully, the lizard crawled the distance between the tree and the cart, giving both donkeys and Zenith a wide berth. It sniffed briefly about the wheels of the cart, then, in an abrupt movement, jumped into the tray.

Zenith moved very slowly so she could see what the lizard was doing - and then stopped, stunned.

The lizard was sitting close to Drago's head, gently running its talons through his loose hair, almost. . .

almost as if it were combing it, or weaving a cradle of light about his head.

Zenith was vividly reminded of the way the courtyard cats in Sigholt had taken every opportunity they could to snuggle up to Drago.

Zenith's eyes widened, and suddenly the lizard decided to take exception to her presence. It narrowed its eyes and hissed at her, then leaped to the ground and scuttled away into the trees.

Zenith stared at the place where it had disappeared, then looked back to Drago. She smoothed the loose strands of his coppery hair (was it brighter now than it had been *19.

previously?) away from his face, studying him carefully. He looked the same - and yet different. His face was still thin and lined, but the lines were stronger, more clearly defined, as if they had been created through purpose rather than through resentment and bitterness. And even though he was asleep, there was a strange "quiet" about him. It was the only way Zenith could describe it to herself. A quiet that in itself gave purpose - and hope.

His eyelids flickered open at her touch, and his mouth moved as if to smile.

But he was clearly too exhausted even for that effort. "Zenith," he whispered. "Are you well?" Zenith's eyes filled with tears. Had he been worried for her all this time? The last time he'd seen her had been in Niah's Grove in the far north of the forest, battling the Niah-soul within her.

She smiled, and took his hand. "I am well," she said. "Go back to sleep."

Now his mouth did flicker in a faint smile, but his eyes were closed and he was asleep again even before it faded. Zenith stood and watched him for some time, cradling his hand gently in hers, then she looked at Faraday.

The woman was deeply asleep, peaceful and unmoving, and Zenith finally set down Drago's hand and moved away from the cart.

Unsure what to do, and unsettled by the continuing agitation she could feel from the trees, Zenith remembered the staff that Drago had dropped. She walked about until she found where it had rolled, and she picked it up, studying it curiously.

It was made of a beautiful deep red wood that felt warm in her hands. It was intricately carved in a pattern that Zenith could not understand. There was a line of characters that wound about the entire length of the staff, strange characters, made up of what appeared to be small black circles with short hooked lines attached to them.

20.

The top of the staff was curled over like a shepherd's crook, but the k.n.o.b was carved into the shape of a lily.

Zenith had never seen anything like it. She hefted the staff, and laid it down next to Drago.

Then she sighed and walked away, sitting down under a tree. She let her thoughts meander until they became loose and meaningless, and her head drooped in sleep.

She dreamed she was falling through the sky, but in the instant before she hit the ground StarDrifter was there, laughing, his arms held out for her.

/ will always be there to catch you, I'll always be there for you.

And Zenith smiled, and dreamed on.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Zenith awoke with a start.

It was Faraday, looking well and rested.

"Faraday?" Zenith said. "How are you? Is Drago still in the cart? What happened at -"

"Shush," Faraday said, and sat down beside Zenith. "I have slept the night through, and Drago still sleeps.

Now," she took a deep breath, and her body tensed, "let me tell you what happened in the Chamber of the Star Gate."

Zenith sat quietly, listening to the horror of the emergence of the children - but children no longer, more like birds - and of StarLaughter and the undead child she carried, and then of the appalling evil of the Demons.

"Oh, Zenith," Faraday said in a voice barely above a whisper. "They were more than dreadful. Anyone caught outside of shelter during the times when they hunt will suffer an appalling death - and a worse life if they are spared death."

She stopped, and took Zenith's hand, unable to look her in the face.

"Zenith, the Demons destroyed the Star Gate."

Zenith stared at Faraday, for a moment unable to comprehend the enormity of what she'd just heard.

"Destroyed the Star Gate?" she repeated, frowning. "But they can't. I mean ... that would mean ..."

Zenith trailed off. If the Star Gate was destroyed that would mean the sound of the Star Dance would never filter through Tencendor, even if the TimeKeeper Demons could be stopped.

"No," Zenith said. "I cannot believe that. The Star Gate can't be destroyed. It can't. It can'tl"

Faraday was weeping now. "I'm sorry, Zenith. I..."

Zenith grabbed at her, hugging her tight, and now both wept. Although Zenith had known that the approach of the Demons meant that the Star Dance would be blocked, she had not even imagined that the Demons would actually destroy the Star Gate on their way through.

There was not even a hope for the Dance to ever resume.

"Our entire lives without the Dance?" Zenith whispered. "Even if we can best these Demons, we will never again have the Star Dance?"

Faraday wiped her eyes and sat up straight. "I don't know, Zenith. I just don't."

"Faraday ... did you see StarDrifter at the Star Gate?"

"No. I am sorry, Zenith. I don't know where he is ... but I am sure he is safe."

"Oh." Zenith's face went expressionless for a moment. "And the Sceptre?" she finally said.

"That, at least, is safe." Faraday looked back to the cart. "But transformed, as is everything that comes through the Star Gate. Come. It is time to wake Drago up. There are some clothes for him in the box under the seat of the cart, and we all need to eat."

"And then?"

"Then we go find Zared, make sure he is well."

"And then?" Faraday smiled, and stood, holding out her hand for Zenith. "And then we begin to search for a hope.

Come."

22.

Despair and then, as night settled upon the land, terror swept over Tencendor, but it left him unscathed. He was lost in his dreams, and the Demons could not touch him. He shuffled from leg to leg, trying to ease his arthritic weight, but none of it helped. He wished death would come back and take him once more.

His head drooped. He'd thought to have escaped both the sadnesses of life and the crippling pains of the body. If he hoped hard enough, would death come back?

* 23 .

What To Do?

The might of Tencendor's once proud army now stood in groups of five or six under the trees of the northern Silent Woman Woods, eyes shifting nervously. Some members of the Icarii Strike Force preferred to huddle in the lower branches of the trees, as if that way they could be slightly closer to the stars they had lost contact with. Thirty thousand men and Icarii adrift in a world they no longer understood.

Their leader, StarSon Caelum, walked slowly about, the fingers of one hand rubbing at his chin and cheek, his eyes sliding away from the fear in his men's faces, thinking that now he knew how Drago must have felt when his Icarii powers had been quashed.

There was nothing left. No Star Dance. No enchantment. Nothing. Just an emptiness. And a sense of uselessness so profound that Caelum thought he would go mad if he had to live beyond a day with it.

"Faraday said she would join us here," Zared said, watching Caelum pace to and fro. He sat on a log, his hands dangling down between his knees, his face impa.s.sive.

"And you think she can help us against this .. . this ...?" Caelum drifted to a halt, not sure quite what to call this calamity that had enveloped them.

"Can your 24.Caelum spun about on his heel and walked a few paces away.

"We can do little, Caelum, until we hear from Faraday."

"Or my parents."

"Or your parents," Zared agreed. He paused, watching Caelum pace about. He did not care for the loss that Caelum - and every other Enchanter - had suffered. They relied so deeply on their powers and their beloved Star Dance, that Zared did not know if they could continue to function effectively without it.

Caelum was StarSon, the man who must pull them through this crisis - but could he do it if he was essentially not the same man he had been a few weeks ago? How could anyone who had previously relied on the Star Dance remain effective?

Maybe Axis. Axis had been BattleAxe, and a good BattleAxe, for years before he'd known anything about the Star Dance.

And yet hadn't Axis said that even when he'd thought himself human, mortal, he'd still subconsciously drawn on the Star Dance? Still used its power and aid?

Well, time would tell if Icarii blood was worth anything without the music of the Star Dance.

At the moment, Zared had his doubts. He would gladly trade Tencendor's entire stock of useless Enchanters and SunSoars for the hope Faraday offered.

Suddenly sick of watching Caelum pacing uselessly to and fro, Zared stood and walked over to where Herme, Theod, Dare Wing FullHeart and Leagh were engaged in a lackl.u.s.tre game of ghemt.

Leagh looked up and smiled for him as he approached, and Zared squatted down by her, a hand on her shoulder.

"How goes it, Leagh?"

"She wins," Herme replied, "for how can we," his hand indicated his two companions, "allow such a beautiful woman to lose?"

Leagh grinned. "My 'beauty' has nothing to do with the '25.fact, my good Earl Herme, that I am far more skilled than you."

All the men laughed, and threw their gaming sticks into the centre of the circle scratched into the dirt before them.

Zared touched Leagh's cheek softly, then looked to Dare Wing. "My friend, I wonder if I might ask something of you?"

The Strike Leader inclined his head. "Speak." "Faraday told us that there were certain times of the day when it would be dangerous to go outside, times when the Demons would spread their evil. Dare Wing, I need to know when exactly these times are."

"Dawn, dusk, mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and night," Theod said. "This we know."

"Yes, but we need to know more specifically. If we know exactly when it is safe for us to roam abroad, then we will have a better idea of how to counter these Demons ... or at least, when we can try to do so. Besides, somehow we will have to rebuild life around," he paused, his mouth working as if he chewed something distasteful, "our new-found restrictions. We need to know when it is safe to live."

Dare Wing nodded. "I agree ... but how?" "Can you station members of your Strike Force, perhaps twenty at any one time, along the south-west borders of the Silent Woman Woods? They will be safe enough if they remain among the trees, and perhaps they can observe ... observe the behaviour of those still trapped in the open."

Dare Wing nodded, agreeing with the location. The southwest border of the Woods would be close to Tare, an area more highly populated than the northern or southern borders of the Woods. If they needed to observe, that would give them their best possible chance.

"The more we learn," he said, "the more hope we have." "You do not want any of our men stationed there?"

Herme asked quietly.

26>.

"My friend," Zared said. "I ask only the Icarii because they can move between the border and back to our placement faster than can human or horse legs." He stood up. "I profess myself sick at not knowing how to react, or what to do next. Until Faraday returns we must do what we can."

DareWing rose to his feet, nodded at Zared, and faded into the gloom of the forest.

Fifteen paces away Askam sat with his back against a small sapling, his eyes narrow and unreadable as he watched Zared move to talk quietly with Caelum.

His mouth thinned as he saw Caelum nod at Zared's words and place a hand briefly on the King's shoulder.

After three days of observation, they had a better idea of the span of the Demonic Hours. From dusk to the time when the sun was well above the horizon was a time of horror, the time when first Raspu, then Rox and finally Mot ruled the land. Pestilence, terror and hunger roamed, and those few who were caught outside succ.u.mbed to the infection of whichever Demon had caught them. After the dawn hour there were three hours of peace, a time of recovery, before Barzula, tempest, struck at mid-morning.

Although the occasional storm rolled across the landscape during Barzula's time - whirlwinds of ice or of fire - the scouts reported that the primary influence of the tempest appeared to occur within the minds of those caught outside. Once Barzula's hour had pa.s.sed and he had fed, there was again a time of peace (or, rather, a time of frightful antic.i.p.ation) for some four hours until Sheol struck at mid-afternoon. Again, an interval of three hours when it was safe to venture outside, then the long hours of pestilence and terror through dusk and night.

The precise time span of the Demonic Hours were marked by a thin grey haze that slid over the land from a point to the east, probably the location of the Demons themselves. It was a sickening miasma that carried the demonic contagion with 27-.

it, lying over the land in a drifting curtain of madness until it dissipated at the end of the appointed time.

"And those caught outside?" Zared asked softly of the first group of scouts to report back.

"Some die," one of the scouts said, "but most live, although their horror is dreadful to watch." "Live?"

The scout took a moment to answer. "They live," he finally said, "but in a state of madness. Sometimes they eat dirt, or chew on their own excrement. I have seen some try to couple with boulders, and others stuff pebbles into every orifice they can find until their bodies burst. But many who live past their first infection - and those dangerous few hours post-infection when they might kill themselves in their madness - wander westwards, sometimes north-west."