Each woman before her had been selected, not only for her ruthlessness, but also for the least sign of Geomantic power. Each had been trained in the use of her inner magic, but always at a lower level than that of her Prioress. Lizaveta had no intention of raising a witch capable of mounting any serious challenge to her.

"Sisters,” she intoned, leaning back in her gold-and-mahogany throne and scanning the eager eyes arrayed before her. “A great threat lies before us."

As ever, the women stood in silence, none daring to interrupt her. Each knew the depth of her wrath only too well, and was unwilling to risk angering her.

"The younger Afelnor has come into his full power, and he is coming to avenge his grandfather. I am to be his target, but I know he will be catholic in his rage; harbour no dreams that he will spare any of you. Should he be allowed to vent his anger upon us, this Priory may well lie in ruins by the time he is finished. At this time, he is leaving Yoren, having destroyed the Mansion House there, and he will be making his way here as I speak.

"I had hoped that the Mansion would have posed more of an obstacle for the boy, but it was not to be."

A hard-faced woman of riper years raised a hand.

"Sister Arissa, you may speak."

"Reverend Mother, he is just a boy, and he must contend with Brianston and Merrydeath Road long before he reaches us. Is he really such a threat?"

Lizaveta laughed; a dry, hacking sound. “You are right, Sister. He is only a male, and a young one at that; nonetheless, I have taken a particular fancy to this immature youth, and I would like to have him under my control. He and his party may be too wary to take the direct route and, even if they do, the trials of Brianston and Merrydeath Road may not stop them. If Afelnor survives, and I almost hope he does, I wish to be sure that we have the proper reception for him when he arrives here."