him down.
âI
am
the witch-queen of Aglarond and youâve made your very last mistake.â
A force like the kick of the mightiest horse knocked Bro sideways. He struck his head on the doorpost. Like Shali, he thought â¦Â like Mother â¦Â and then he thought nothing at all.
âBro! Wake up, Bro! Hurry!â
Bro woke up; he hadnât been asleep. He didnât know what heâd been doing, or where he was, or who the little girl tugging on his sleeve was, not until he took a deep breath. The little girl was his sister. He was on the packed dirt ground outside Dancerâs stall. What heâd been doingâhow heâd fallenâthat remained a mystery that Bro tried to solve by raising his head. Pain threatened to blast his skull from the inside out. When it subsided, Bro was sitting and the mystery was solved. He remembered everything from the moment he put his feet on the floor this morning to the strangerâs milky eyes and the words sheâd left in his head.
âHurry, Bro!â
Tay-Fay retreated a step and, with her hands braced adultlike on her hips, stamped her foot impatiently. A manâs body sprawled behind her, made visible by her retreat. At least Bro thought the mangled corpse had once been a man; it didnât belong to the pale-haired woman whoâd struck him down.
âHurry,â Tay-Fay repeated. Her voice was faint, but clear. âSheâs getting away. Sheâs taking your horse.â
Sheâthe pale-haired woman,
the witch-queen of Aglarond
âBro gasped as the morningâs events formed a pattern in his thoughts. The Simbul had come to Sulalk because she knew everything that happened in Aglarond and because everything in Aglarond belonged to her, if she wanted it. The Red Wizards had followed the queen, because they were her sworn enemies and thatâs what enemies did: follow each other and fight whenever, wherever they could.
Wizards didnât care if a handful of Aglarondan farmers got in their way. Maybe the Simbul had cared. She hadnât killed him when sheâd had the chance. He could almost wish she had.
âBro-o-o!â Tay-Fay persisted, turning his name into a melody. âSheâs getting away!â
With Zandilarâs Dancer. Bro had no real hope of separating the Simbul and her prize. As a loyal Aglarondan, he shouldnât even try, but broken pride and a broken heart would destroy him as surely as her magic if he didnât. The half-elf rose with his human sisterâs help. He wasnât quite himself; the barn spun dimly before he was ready to follow Tay-Fay toward the light.
The Simbul had cast a spell on Zandilarâs Dancer. There was no other way the colt would have stayed inside the wide and glowing circle sheâd made in the center of the fenced-in yard. But magic wasnât enough to keep Dancer calm or convince him that the Simbul was trustworthy. He reared when she tried to reclaim his dangling halter rope.
Bro watched the colt heâd raised from birth straighten his neck and sink onto his haunches. He knew as surely as he knew his own name that Dancer was going to bolt and that breaking a wizardâs circle was certain death or worse. With waving arms and a banshee wail, Bro raced toward the colt.
He felt his hair rise like catâs fur as he leapt over the glowing line. It seemed as if countless hot thorns had pierced his skin, but Bro kept his balance when his feet touched down inside the circle. He lunged for the halter rope then hung on for dear life when the Simbul shouted his name and Zandilarâs Dancer reared for the sun.
Alassra spread her arms in a desperate attempt to control the spell the boyâs sudden appearance within her circle had disrupted. She almost had the magic in balance when his sister followed him across the line. The spell was ripe. Either it carried them away or it killed them. She seized the boy with her left hand and the