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. "Who's there?" she
demanded.
"Put your weapon away, Knight's Daughter," said
the voice meekly. "I mean you no harm."
A middle-aged woman dad in threadbare clothing
sat at the foot of the stairs. She sat very still; the dark
shadow of a broken column had hidden her from view.
Perhaps that was why neither Michael nor Nikol had
noticed her until now. Nikol sheathed her sword but
kept her hand on the hilt. The Cataclysm had not
destroyed magic-users, or so rumor had it. This
seemingly harmless woman might be a wizardess in
disguise.
They both descended the stairs, walking slowly, warily.
Nearing her, Nikol saw the woman's face more clearly.
The sorrow etched on the aged and wrinkled skin was
heartbreaking. Nikol's hand slipped from her sword's
hilt. Tears came to her eyes, though she had not cried in all
the long months of weary journeying.
"Who are you, Mistress?" Michael asked gently,
kneeling beside the woman, who had not moved from
where she sat. "What is your name?"
"I have no name," said the woman quietly. "I am a
mother, that is all"
Her clothes were thin. She had no cloak and was
shivering in the chill twilight. Michael took his own cloak
from his shoulders, wrapped it around the woman.
"You cannot stay here, Mistress," he said. "Night is
coming."
"Oh, but I must stay here." She did not seem to notice
the cloak. "Otherwise, how will my children know where to
find me?"
Nikol knelt. Her voice, which had been so strident
when she was arguing with Michael, was now soft and low
and filled with compassion
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