Chapter One

Against the tawdry velvet the dolls were things of enchantment: bright shapes of tinsel and glitter with hair of various hues formed into elaborate coiffures, eyes like gems, limbs and bodies traced with glowing colors, sparkling with sequins, stuffed with aromatic herbs.

"Mummy!" The voice was thin, high, crackling with childish longing. "Look, Mummyl Please may I have one?"

"No, child."

"Please, Mummy! Please!"

"No, Lavinia! Don't ask again!"

Dumarest turned, seeing the small figure at his side, the mane of hair which formed an ebon waterfall over the narrow shoulders-a frame for the rounded, piquant face, the widely spaced eyes now filled with a hopeless yearning. One which matched that of the woman who blinked as she forced herself to be harsh.

She said, as if conscious of his presence, "You know we can't afford to buy such things, child. Later, when we get back home, I'll make you one. I promise."

A promise she would keep at the cost of lost sleep and small comforts, but it wouldn't be the same. She lacked the skill to produce such false beauty and nothing could ever replace the magic of this special moment. Behind her a man, thick-set, dressed in rough and patched clothing, coughed and fumbled in a pocket.

"Maybe we could manage, Fiona, if-"

"No, Roy!" The need to refuse accentuated her sharpness. "Bran needs all we can give him." She looked at the robed figure standing at the man's side. "He must be given his chance."

Determination must have driven them for years and Dumarest could guess at the sacrifices they had made. The man, a farmer he guessed, was decades younger than he looked, the woman the same. The youth, shapeless in his dun-colored robe, stood with a listless detachment, the face masked by the raised cowl pale, the eyes bruised with chronic fatigue. A family cursed by endless study and endless economies so that one of them, at least, would gain the chance to better himself.