She had, indeed, been stabbed -- the front of her shirt was covered in blood. There was so much blood, in fact, that Arai couldn't even see where the blade had slipped in. He was horrified. This was a serious wound, perhaps a mortal one.

"Arai..." Lillandra said weakly, reaching for him.

"We have to try to stop the bleeding," Sir Estil said, taking off his desert scarf and pressing it into the wound. "Shell! Do you have that healing potion?"

Shell was as shocked at the situation as any of them, but she reacted quickly, digging into her leather backpack and pulling out a blue vial. She knelt down by Lillandra and forced her to drink a few drops of the healing potion.

"Will that do anything?" Arai asked worriedly.

"It should speed up the healing process," Shell said. "But if the wound is fatal--"

"No," Arai broke in. "She won't die. I won't let her."

"We should get her back to the caravan," Sir Estil said.

Nessa, the assassin who had stabbed Lillandra, was lying on the ground nearby. "Is she dead?" Shell inquired.

"Unconscious, I think," Sir Estil said. "I hit her pretty hard."

"What are we going to do with her?" Shell asked.

Arai started for the woman, sword in hand. "I'll finish her."

Sir Estil staggered to his feet to stop him. "You can't."

"Why not? She would've killed us all. Look what she's done to Lillandra!"

"Even so," Sir Estil said. "You can't kill her. Not like this, not while she's defenseless. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be chivalrous."

"I'm not a knight," Arai snarled. "I don't follow your code of chivalry. Get out of my way."

But Sir Estil, in spite of his bad leg, would not back down. "I won't let you do this. I will fight you if I have to."

"You'll fight for the life of this woman who tried to kill us, who may have already killed Lillandra? The woman who assassinated Princess Nattali and a dozen young women?"

"I will not abandon my principles."

Arai looked the man in the eye. What he saw there was a stern, unyielding sort of determination; Sir Estil was absolutely not going to back down. Arai wondered if he could outfight the man. The knight was without doubt the greatest fighter he had ever seen, but in his injured state...

But in the end he sighed and lowered his blade. He had no desire to fight Sir Estil, and he wasn't certain he could win in any case. Besides, there were more important matters at hand. "What do you suggest we do with her, then?"

"We'll take her prisoner," Sir Estil said. "We'll take her to Lady Melei."

Arai didn't like it, but he accepted it. He sheathed his sword, scooped up Lillandra in his arms -- by now she had passed out -- and started carrying her to the camp. Sir Estil, meanwhile, threw Nessa over his back and limped along after them, staggering and stumbling at times but never quite losing his footing.

They arrived at the outskirts of the camp about twenty minutes later. It was morning by now, the sun beginning to glare bright on the edge of the horizon, but there was no sign of any bandits here; evidently they had postponed or perhaps called off the attack. Perhaps some number of them had imbibed the contaminated water, and fallen into a stupor, or perhaps they were waiting for Roth and Nessa to return before they set out. In any case, Arai immediately warned Sir Farrow and the other guards as soon as he saw them: "The bandits may be getting ready to attack," he told them. "Where's Lady Melei?"

Fortunately Melei was already awake; she ran to them as soon as she saw them. "You found Shell, I see," she said. "But..." Her eyes widened when she saw the blood on Lillandra's shirt. "What happened? And who is that woman, Sir Estil? Isn't that one of the outlaws?"

"She's our prisoner," he said. "She's also extremely dangerous. She should be guarded at all times."

Melei nodded and ordered one of the knights to take Nessa away. Lillandra was brought to Lady Melei's own wagon and laid out on her bed, where Gramewold, the expedition's physician, examined her. He gave her a sleeping draught, then closed the wound with a cauter and made a poultice. "That's all I can do for now," he told a worried Arai, after he had finished his work. "The wound was deep; I'm not sure how damage might have been done. But the bleeding has stopped, and her heartbeat is steady, at least."

"Should I give her more of my healing potion?" Shell asked.

"In a few hours, perhaps. Healing potions like yours are helpful, and that dose you gave her earlier might have saved her life, but they can actually interfere with healing if the patient is given too much, too quickly. They force the body to work harder."

"You've used healing potions before?" Shell asked.

"On occasion. They work well for healing minor injuries and speeding the recovery process, for instance when a bone is broken, but a wound like this..." He glanced at Lillandra's sleeping form. "We'll see. Now, let's see about that leg, Sir Estil."

While the physician tended to Sir Estil, Arai and Shell sat down next to Lillandra. "Is she going to be all right?" Shell asked. Her green eyes were rimmed with tears.

"Yes," Arai said firmly. He found Lillandra's hand, and held it. It was warm.

"How do you know?"

He didn't answer that, because he didn't know how to answer it. He sighed instead, and whispered a prayer to the distant God of the Monuments. He wondered if it would reach the God; he was, after all, half a world away from the Frozen Mountains, where the ancient monuments stood.

After a moment, Shell reached into her backpack and pulled out a long, curved dagger -- Nessa's dagger, the dagger that she had used to stab Lillandra. "I don't know why I took it," she said, looking at the blade curiously.

"Is it a zemi? Is there magic in it?"

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Shell squinted at the dagger. "I think it's just an ordinary dagger. But I've never seen one like this before."

"It's from Elent."

"The country on the other side of the mountains?"

"Yes."

She frowned and put the blade away. "Maybe I can sell it for a few silvers. Oh, that reminds me." She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small silver coin. "We found this in the assassin's pocket."

She handed it to Arai, who examined it. His eyes widened. "This is a Salosi rallmark," he said.

"A what?"

"A coin minted in the Holy Empire." He pointed to the design on the front of the coin, which showed the head a jowly man wearing a crown of interwoven snakes. "This is Xanderfast, the Mad Marquis. He ruled Salos about forty years ago. Where would she have gotten a coin like this?"

"Is it worth anything?"

"It might buy us a room in a Salosi inn," he said, handing it back to her. "Strange."

Shell slipped the coin back into her pocket. Her eyes fell on Lillandra again. "She's my best friend," she whispered. "Except for my sister, she's the only one who ever cared about me. And she taught me how to do magic. What will I do without her?"

"She's not going to die."

"How do you know?" Shell asked him again, more quietly this time.

But he still didn't have an answer. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and said another prayer to the God of the Monuments.

* * *

The bandit attack never materialized -- perhaps because they had lost their leader, perhaps because they had been drugged -- but Lady Melei was anxious to leave the area, anyway, and she started them out very early that morning. Slowly but surely, the wagon train began rolling again, over the hills and declines of Desperation Pass. They made very good time, and by noon they had reached the highest point within the Pass; beyond this point, the land sloped steadily downward, which made their journey much easier. A day and a half later, they emerged from the mountains and found themselves looking down at the great western desert -- the Catoplean Desert, it was called. It was dangerous country, of course, and as full of monsters as the rest of the Scarred Lands, but for Arai, this was at least somewhat familiar territory -- his father had visited these lands in his youth.

And Elent, which lay beyond the desert, was even more familiar. He had only ever visited the eastern edge of the queendom, but Elent was one of the great powers of the west and its history and customs were well known to him. He knew the names of her cities; he understood her politics; he had even met a few Elentish mercenaries when he was traveling with the Steelmen. He had known nothing of Addis, Grand Skir, or Galleus, but he knew Elent.

He had been looking forward to this day for most of a year now, and he might have wept with joy when they finally crossed the mountains into the western side of the Scarred Lands, but he was so preoccupied with Lillandra and her condition that he barely noticed it when they departed the mountains. He spent every day with her, watching and worrying over her. He even slept in her wagon. He helped Gramewold change her poultices; he wet her lips with honey-water; he made sure that she received a few doses of Shell's healing potion every day. To his great relief, her condition gradually began to improve -- Gramewold was certain now that she would live -- but she spent almost all of her time sleeping, or in a lazy, forgetful stupor, and he began to worry that she would never fully wake.

One evening, however, after the caravan had stopped for the night, and just as Arai was starting to drift off -- he had been sitting at her bedside -- he suddenly felt a tug on his sleeve. He snapped awake, and saw, to his surprise, that Lillandra was sitting up. Her eyes no longer had the glassy look; she seemed to have finally come back to herself.

"Lillandra?"

"Arai," she said. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She frowned. "The bandit woman stabbed me with her dagger. You carried me back to the wagons. After that..." Her frown deepened. "It's a fog."

He told her that she had been asleep, more or less, for the last several days, and that they had finally crossed over the Riven Mountains. He told her about the steps they had taken to save her life: Shell's healing potions, Gramewold's sleeping draughts and beef broth and poultices. He told her that Nessa, her attacker, was currently locked up in another one of the wagons.

"I thought Sir Estil had killed her," she said, surprised.

"It was Sir Estil who saved her life. I wanted to kill her. He wouldn't let me."

"I thought I could help him fight her off, with the sword-tricks you taught me," she muttered. "I guess I still have a lot to learn."

"We're taking her with us to Elent," Arai said. "If she really is this assassin...well, maybe Queen Alfaze will give us some kind of reward for capturing her." He shook his head. "Forget her. How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. Sore." She tried to sit up a little further, and winced.

He eased her back down. "Careful," he said. "You're still healing."

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Arai was so relieved to see her awake and alert that for several moments he simply sat there, saying nothing, but studying the curve of her face.

She opened one eye and fixed it on him. "You've been here all along, haven't you? You haven't left my side."

He nodded.

"I'm sorry for making you worry."

"It was the least I could do."

Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I had a dream."

"A dream?"

"Maybe more than a dream. A vision, perhaps. It was just before I woke up. I was standing in a meadow, beneath the Frozen Mountains. I saw a great river -- the Tuv, I suppose -- and a small cottage, with a thatched roof. And you were there. You were sitting on a tree stump, speaking to a small boy. He had dark hair, and eyes that seemed to swallow up the sunlight."

Arai started. A cottage with a thatched roof, built upon the banks of the Tuv? A dark-haired boy? This dream of hers sounded eerily similar to the vision he had on the island of Tapil. What did it mean? Where were these dreams coming from? And who was the mysterious little boy? He wondered if these visions were related to the rediscovery of Silus and Helene -- was it the shade of Illu Matté who was sending these dreams? Or was it Maximine? And if so, what were they trying to communicate?

He wanted to ask Lillandra more questions, but he didn't want to upset or disturb her in her weakened state, so he held off. He didn't have a good explanation for any of these things anyway; he was as confused as she was.

"It was strange. The meadow, the cottage, the river...I felt as though I belonged there; I felt as though I'd finally come home. I can hardly remember the last time I felt like that. I haven't had a real home in over a hundred years."

"How did it make you feel?"

"I liked it," she said. "I liked it a lot." She paused, then added, "But I think, more than anything, it was because you were there."

"Ah." He didn't know quite what to say to that.

"I saw Julien, too, in my dream. I talked to him." Her eyes acquired that faraway look again. "Do you think it was really him?"

"I don't know. What did he say?"

"He was sad. He said I've been living for his sake for too long, and that I ought to start living for myself again." She shook her head in amazement. "I can never remember my dreams, but I remember every word he said. Maybe it really was him."

"You spoke with Maximine's ghost at Urumkesh," Arai said uncertainly. "It's...not impossible."

She looked away from him, and then said, almost absently, "I love you."

She spoke so casually that for a moment Arai wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. "W-what?"

"I love you."

She didn't follow that up with anything; she simply sat there, looking away from him, still wearing that distant expression. It was a very strange way to declare her love, and he wasn't sure how to respond to it. "Oh."

"I'm tired," she sighed. "I think I'll go back to sleep now."

"I'll stay with you."

"No. You should get some sleep yourself. But before you go..."

She reached out to him, touching him lightly on the cheek, and drew him close. Then she kissed him.

It was a brief kiss, their lips only brushing together for a moment. When it was over, she pulled away from him, looked into his eyes for another second or two, and lay back on the bed. "Good night," she said, pulling the covers over her face.

The conversation was apparently over. Arai, sort of pleasantly perplexed, rose to his feet and headed for the door, but before he could get there he heard Lillandra say, from under the covers, "Don't you have something to say?"

"Good night?"

"Not that. The other thing."

"Ah." He smiled. "I love you, too. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "I just...wanted to hear it again."

They parted there, and he stepped out of the wagon, into the cool of the evening. The sky was alive with sunset colors -- oranges, reds, pinks -- spread across the whole of the horizon, and the desert was lovely: a vast, red-shadowed country, full of stratified, multicolored boulder remnants, and where, in the distance, huge sandstone pillars, hundreds of feet high, rose up out of the earth. It was one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen.

He turned his eyes to the horizon. He thought about that kiss.