replacing it in the deck. With a quivering foreknowledge that she would see a
part of her own fate in the cards, Illyra opened her mind to receive the answer.
And closed it almost at once.
Falling stones, curses, murder, a journey without return. None of the cards was
particularly auspicious, but together they created an image of malice and death
that was normally hidden from the living. The S’danzo never foretold death when
they saw it, and though she was but half-S’darizo and shunned by them, Illyra
abided by their codes and superstitions.
‘It would be best to remain at home, especially tomorrow night. Stand back from
walls which might have loose stones in them. Safety lies within yourself. Do not
seek other advice – especially from the priests of the temples.’
Her visitor’s reserve crumbled. She gasped, sobbed, and shook with unmistakable
terror. But before Illyra could speak the words to calm her, the black-clad
woman dashed away, pulling the frayed rope from its anchorage.
‘Come back!’ Illyra called.
The woman turned while still under the canopy. Her shawl fell back to reveal a
fair-skinned blonde woman of a youthful and delicate beauty. A victim of a
spurned lover? Or a jealous wife?
‘If you had already seen your fate – then you should have asked a different
question, such as whether it can be changed,’ she chided softly, guiding the
woman back into the incense-filled chamber.
‘I thought if you saw differently … But Molin Torchholder will
have his way. Even you have seen it.’
Molin Torchholder. Illyra recognized the name. He was the priestly temple