Thealos turned over and saw the sea, zipping across the eddies of water that separated them. He was ashore immediately. Groves of trees stretched all the way to the sea, but he saw the moors and a lone hill. In the moors, he saw a citadel, a watchpost that huddled in the midst of the trees. It was Silvan with the banners of House Silverborne flapping on the poles. It was a different crest, though similar to the one he remembered. The rising sun of Silverborne was garnished with green oak leaves and settled on a field of black – the color of war. Cradled in the arms of the magic, Thealos could see the details clearly, burning in his mind. He swooped low before he saw the Mages.
There were three, tall Silvan men with green cloaks and tassels. Each one was flanked by a Sleepwalker bearing a medallion on their chest and a long sword at their hip. Thealos watched intently. The Mages were speaking to a remnant of Shae around the watchpost. He watched the Mages raise their hands and one tilted his head back, singing. The earth opened beneath them, unfolding like a rose. There was a light in the sky, stabbing down like the sun and then a shadow smothered them. Looking up, Thealos saw a city emerge from the clouds, wider than the watchpost, nearly as wide as Avisahn itself. It descended from the heavens and hovered there, an obelisk in the sky. Thealos waited, watching in amazement. The city was enormous, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. He had heard of the city of Safehome. He was certain Keasorn himself belonged there.
A rotunda gradually descended from the floating city, carved out of living rock. It went into the open earth where the Mages waited. The low rumble of thunder sounded and the huge city was gone. It was happening so quickly, Thealos longed to learn more. Who were the Mages? Why did only one of them sing? Where did the Sleepwalkers come from? Why were they speaking to the Shae near the watchpost and not in it? The magic pulled him again, drifting across the forest a short way. In the darkest, thickest portion of the forest, he watched another set of Mages at a pond planting clumps of Everoot at the base of a beautiful, secluded waterfall. Justin was there, his arms folded imperiously. One of the Mages touched the Warder Shae’s forehead and there was a flash of light.
Darkness washed over Thealos. He was back in the rotunda, his legs wobbling. Then the magic swept him up again, easing him back into the sky. He looked down across and saw that the forest had receded to a tangle of crooked cedar and vine maple. He watched as scores and scores of Bandit soldiers scraped the last of the Everoot from the trees and boulders, tossing the clumps into barrows and baskets. They were destroying the peaceful glen, turning the pond and forest into a filthy network of sluices and gutters. This was not the past. It was happening at that moment. Thealos could hear their grunts, he could see the flexing muscles of their shoulders as they worked. The Sorian who had faced Jaerod stood nearby, her dark eyes smiling. She wanted the Everoot used, she wanted the Deathbane to murder. To cause havoc in the valley. To destroy what she could not control. Yes, she wanted to see Ballinaire destroyed too, waiting quietly to place another in his stead. Slowly, Thealos felt himself drawn away from the glen, away from the harvesting. He wanted to know more. He had to learn more!
The magic took him to the road that sliced through the forest where the Bandit army waited just beyond the screen of trees. In the morning, it would come into the city as the fog shielded it from the eyes of the bastion walkers. The doors would be opened to let them in, and the war with Dos-Aralon would begin. There would be no siege. It would fall in a day, just as Jaerod had said. Again the magic was pulling him back, drawing him across the moors to the fortress. He fought against it, tried to stop himself, but the magic tethered him. There was so much to learn! The intents and thoughts of the Bandits were made plain to him. He saw everything, if but for a moment. He turned and saw Landmoor rising up from the mist. He watched Allavin Devers and Ticastasy scramble out of the mouth of the ruined shrine, followed by Bandits and Kiran Thall. They were worried about him. Allavin was praying Thealos would make it through, but the woodsman felt his duty to protect Ticastasy. She was worrying even more and grieving for Flent. Her heart was breaking. Tears stung his eyes and he yearned to reach out to her, to let her know he was safe and to comfort her because of Flent’s death. But the magic would not let him. It whisked Thealos down the halls, past a screaming Secrist who thrashed against the blue light, trying to shove himself through the Otsquare. The man’s thoughts were all madness, placed there by the Sorian woman. With one intent – to kill Thealos. The blue light snared Thealos, bringing him back inside with a violent jerk.