Nightchild

She pulled away to look at Lya

'What is it darling?' she said, tracing a finger down the outline of her jaw. 'What's wrong?'

Lya

Erie

Lya

Erie

'I hurt Ana.' Lya

'Of course I'm not angry.' Erie

the truth, it presumably meant that her Night wasn't actually over. That her acceptance and control of the mana would not be complete. And that she could relapse any time, unshielded, wreaking untold damage to herself and Balaia.

She steeled herself and tried to keep her voice light and friendly. She couldn't afford Lya

'And how do you feel, darling?' she asked.

Lya

Erie

'Shall we go and see where the Al-Drechar are?'

'I don't think they like me,' said Lya

'Oh I'm sure that's not true,' admonished Erie

'Then can we go and watch for Daddy?' asked Lya

'Thank you, darling,' said Erie

Reluctandy, Lya

She slowed as they approached the Al-Drechar's rooms. Already anxious that the only sound in the house was the wind whisding through the empty frames and holes in the roof, Erie

Erie

staring at the great chandeliers lying like ancient, whitened animal skeletons on the cracked floor.

'Who's that man, Mummy?'

Erie

'Ilkar, thank the Gods. Lya

Lya

'Never mind,' said Ilkar as he jogged up. 'Gods falling, Erie

Erie

Ilkar smiled. 'Which way?'

In answer, Erie

She grasped the handle with her free hand and pushed the door inwards.

'Oh no,' she said, stumbling to a stop and putting a hand to her nose and mouth. In her arms, Lya

Ilkar came to her shoulder and Erie

'Erie

Erie

'Please don't let them all be dead,' she said. 'Please.'

'I'll do everything I can,' said Ilkar softly. 'Now go. Get outside and get some fresh air.'

Erie

Ilkar looked into the dining room and could see what had driven them to come here. It was dry. Probably the only room in the house that was. There was a fireplace opposite which still put out residual heat and the windows had been battened shut, shutters over fractured glass.

The dining room table had been pushed most of the way to the left and in the centre of the room, four beds, all occupied; at least one of which had to contain a corpse. He walked into the room, the stench almost overpowering. His eyes watered and he gagged suddenly.

He had to get some air through. Hurrying to a door to his right, he pushed it open and found another bedroom, its single small window torn from its frame. He took in a huge deep breath, wedged the door open with a sofa and walked quickly over to another door which swung on creaky hinges, letting him into some kitchens. He was halfway back with a chair to wedge open the swing door when he stopped, straightening and frowning.

He put down the wooden kitchen chair and walked back to the ovens. They were hot, flames flickering inside the grills. There was no food ready for preparation and no water ready to place on the hot plates but unless he was mistaken the ovens had been fired up recently, the flames were bright, and the grates looked full.

'Hello?' he called, walking across the kitchen towards a pair of doors opposite the entrance to the dining room. 'Hello?'

He drew his sword and put a hand on the leftmost door, pushing it open. A cold store. Empty of life. He let the door swing back and paced right, turning the handle of the other door which swung in. He took half a pace back.

'What, by all the Gods, do you think you're doing?' he asked in low, plain elvish, not believing what he was seeing.

A male voice came out of the mass of huddled bodies; he could count six and there might be more.

'Waiting for the end. Praying for deliverance.'

'From who?'

'Lya