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SUN IN GLORY

by Mercedes Lackey

Mercedes Lackey is a full-time writer and has published numerous novels, including the best-selling Heralds of Valdemar series. She is also a professional lyricist and a licensed wild bird rehabilitator.

Sunset was long past; the light in his study came from the lanterns high on the wall behind him. The floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window on the other side of the room was a dark panel spiderwebbed with lead channels. It formed a somber backdrop behind the two men seated across from Herald Alberich. The Weaponmaster to the Trainees of all three Collegia at Haven in the Kingdom of Valdemar coughed to punctuate the silence in his quarters. He regarded his second visitor, who was ensconced in one of his austere, but comfortable, wooden chairs, with a skeptical gaze.

His first visitor he knew very well, dressed in his robes of office, saffron and cream; mild-mannered, balding Gerichen, the chief Priest of Vkandis Sunlord here in Haven. Not that anyone knew Gerichen's temple, prudently called only "the Temple of the Lord of Light" was of Vkandis Sunlord, at least not unless you were a Karsite exile...

Of which there were a surprising number in Valdemar—surprising, at least, to Alberich even now.

Gerichen had been born here, but most of his fellowship had not been, and Karse did not easily let loose its children, even if all it wanted of them was to reduce them to ashes. Yet, year by year, season by season, for decades it seemed, Karse's children had been, slipping over the Border into Valdemar, beating down their fear of the "Demon-lovers" because real death bayed hot at their heels and the possibility of demons seemed preferable to the certainty of the Fires of Purification. Some couldn't bear the fear of the things that the Priest-Mages (in the name of the god, of course) sent to howl about their doors of a night. Some came because the Red-robes had taken, or had threatened to take, a child or spouse—either to absorb into the priesthood or to burn as a proto-witch. And amazingly enough to Alberich, some of them came because he had dared to, so many years ago.

Alberich had met Gerichen longer ago than he cared to think about, when he was first a Herald-Trainee and Gerichen a mere Novice. Both of them were older than they liked to admit, except over a drink, in front of a cozy fire, late of an evening. Gerichen was one of a very small company of folk who had supported Alberich's presence in Valdemar from the very beginning.

The other visitor, sitting beneath the left eye of the stained-glass image of Vkandis as a Sun In Glory that formed the outer wall of Alberich's study, was someone that Alberich knew not at all, though he knew far more about this fellow than the man probably suspected. He was here at Gerichen's request. He was also here, if not illegally, certainly covertly, for he was a Priest-Mage of Vkandis Sunlord in Karse. There had not been one of those on Valdemaran soil in centuries.

There had not been one on Valdemaran soil as anything other than an invader in far longer.

Karse—sworn enemy of Valdemar for so long that very few even knew it had once been a peaceful neighbor, had been Alberich's home. Karse was ruled, in fact if not in name, by a theocracy who called the Heralds "Demons" and were pledged to eradicate them. And of that theocracy, the ruling priests, the Priest-Mages and the priests who had clawed their way up through the ranks, were the true aristocracy of Karse, answerable only to one authority, the Son of the Sun.

Who—until very recently, at least—had called Alberich himself "The Great Traitor" for not only deserting his post as captain of a company of Vkandis' Holy Army, but for turning witch and joining the ranks of the Demon-Riders of Valdemar. And worse; rising to a position of such trust that Witch-Queen Selenay counted him among her most valued advisers.

The Priest-Mages were not only the Voices of Vkandis; they had the power to summon and control demons themselves—not that they called such creatures "demons," not even among themselves, preferring to refer to them as the "Dark Servants" or "Vkandis' Furies." All in Vkandis' name, of course, or so they said. All at the behest of Vkandis Himself, or so they claimed.

One of those Voices had condemned Alberich to death by burning, and all because he'd had the temerity to make use of a "witch-power" and save the inhabitants of a Karsite Border village from certain slaughter by a band of outlaws. Never mind that he'd had no more control over that so-called "witch-power" than he had over a raging storm, had never asked for that power, and would have given it up without a moment of hesitation.

But the current Son of the Sun—the newly chosen Son of the Sun—was not of the same stamp as all of those who had preceded her. And the Voice that sat beneath Vkandis' left eye was not at all like the arrogant, cold priest who had pronounced sentence on Alberich that day. He was young, surprisingly so. It would hardly be politic for him to be clad in the red robes of his office here in the heart of a land that was his enemy's, but in ordinary clothing that would not disgrace a moderately prosperous merchant, he had an aura of calm authority that set him apart, even from Gerichen. He was short, stocky, clean-shaven; his white-blond hair was as close-cropped as that of all Sun-priests, with keen eyes as blue as those of any Companion set in a face whose planes might have been cut by a chisel. And yet—not cold, that face; alive and curiously accepting. Beside Alberich, on the other side of the fireplace, sat Herald-Chronicler Myste. She regarded the two priests with a gaze as penetrating as that of the visitors, and perhaps more uncanny, at least to the stranger, since her hazel eyes looked at him through a pair of round glass lenses that magnified what was behind them, giving her an owllike stare. Myste was the official historian of Herald's Collegium, the Herald-Chronicler, and had been since she finished her internship. She had a facility with words that would have suited her to the job had she not had other handicaps that kept her out of the Field.

Myste had been as odd a Herald, in her way, as Alberich. She had always, from the moment she arrived, been shockingly short-sighted, and had never been assigned to Field work on account of it—not the best notion to put someone in the Field whose precious glass goggles could be lost or broken, rendering her the next thing to blind. Perhaps that was why she had always been Alberich's friend. "When you can't see what people are like on the outside," she'd once said in her blunt manner, "you stop even considering appearances and concentrate on everything else."

That was, among other reasons, why Myste was here tonight.

Alberich coughed again. "And exactly it is to what that I owe the honor of your presence?" he asked, stressing the word "honor" in such a way that implied it was anything but. He spoke Valdemaran, not Karsite.

The stranger cast a mild glance at Myste. "Could one ask why the lady is present?" he replied—in Karsite, not Valdemaran.

"I am the Herald-Chronicler, and I am here to record this meeting, at the request of Herald Alberich," Myste said for herself—in flawless Karsite, not Valdemaran. She'd learned it from Alberich, of course, but she owed her accent to her own exacting ear for languages.

To Alberich's surprise, the stranger smiled. "Excellent," he said, with every appearance of approval, "Would it be too much to ask for a copy for myself—and to conduct this discussion in my own tongue? My command of yours is in nowise as good as yours clearly is of mine."

His smile was sudden, charming, dazzling even—and apparently genuine. Alberich and Myste exchanged more than a glance.

:I don't sense any falsehood,: Myste Mindspoke. Her unique Gift was a strictly limited ability to Truth-Sense without the use of a spell. She could only concentrate on one person at a time, and had to be within an arm's-length or two of him, though, which (again) rendered it less than useful in the Field.

:But their so-called Priestly Attributes are no more nor less than our Gifts,: he reminded her. :What if he can block you?:

A purely mental shrug. :Then what I sense is meaningless. On the other hand, how many people know my Gift—and of those, how many are outside the Heraldic Circle or would guess I'd be here at your request?:

Not many; he had to admit that. Surely no matter how good the Karsite spies were, they didn't know that about Myste, or would think to warn this man against her. "I think, if only for the purposes of clarity, we should conduct our discussion in Karsite," he replied.

"And I will be pleased to provide a copy," Myste added smoothly.

The visitor smiled again. "Before we begin, then, will you introduce me to the lady, Herald Alberich?"

The word "Herald" sounded strange in the middle of a Karsite sentence. They didn't have a word for "Herald." It sounded even stranger spoken without a curse appended.

"Herald-Chronicler Myste, this is Mage-Priest Hierophant Karchanek," Alberich said solemnly. He couldn't resist a slight smile of his own as Karchanek started just a little, while poor Gerichen's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "I assume I have given your title correctly?"

"Quite correctly," Karchanek replied, recovering. Since he hadn't given Alberich his title, and Gerichen didn't know it, he must be wondering how Alberich got it—and from whom.

Your borders are not as secure as you think, Alberich told the man silently.

But of course, one single Karsite priest would not have come here, unescorted, into the heart of the enemy's capital, if he was not the equivalent of a one-man army. Karchanek probably could fight his way out of this room using his own deadly skills, wreaking considerable havoc as he did so, and might even escape if he could outrun the alarm. He definitely could slip out of his quarters at Gerichen's temple, be they ever so closely guarded, and make his way past just about anything Alberich could throw at him to get home. Karchanek commanded magic—real magic—the magic that Valdemar hadn't seen for centuries until this current war with Hardorn. He might be the most powerful Priest-Mage that Karse had seen in centuries, save only the Son of the Sun.

And the Son of the Sun had sent him here. To speak with Alberich. The Great Traitor.

Karchanek pursed his lips. "I find myself wondering if I can tell you anything that you do not already know," he said at last.

Alberich leaned back in his chair. "I am a man of great patience," he replied. "I have no particular objection to hearing something more than once. Begin at the beginning."

"The beginning..." mused Karchanek, then smiled again. "Ah, then you will have to have great patience, for the beginning, the true beginning, lies with the Son of the Sun, may Vkandis hold her at zenith. Solaris. Who has been and is my friend as well as my superior."

Alberich was very glad of his ability to don an inscrutable card-sharper's face, for he surely needed that mask to hide his eagerness. Solaris! Now there was a person no one knew much about here in Valdemar—and someone whom they all desperately needed to know everything about.

But he kept his mask in place. "The new Son of the Sun," he observed dryly. "The female Son of the Sun." Just to pair "female" with "Son of the Sun" would have been a blasphemy so profound a few years ago that the speaker would not only have been burned, but his ashes mixed with salt, his lands plowed under, his wife and children sacrificed, his ancestors dug up and reburied in a potter's field, and every trace that he had ever lived at all utterly eradicated.

Karchanek's smile broadened, and he spread his hands wide. "Even so. And so crowned by Vkandis Sunlord—" he made the sign of the Holy Disk, "—himself, with His Own hands. Perhaps you had heard of this?"

"Some," Alberich admitted. "Rumors, tales that seemed particularly wild."

"Not so. This, I witnessed along with thousands of others, and do believe me, Herald Alberich, it was no delusion, no trick of magic or mind, no clever artifice with a moving statue. Though the statue did move, it was no mere trumpery with a cleverly hinged arm. The Image arose from His throne, walked lithe and manlike, and took the crown from His Own head to place it upon that of Solaris. Which shrank as He put it there to fit her—exactly. I saw it. I have held that very crown in my two hands, and—" he paused again. "There is a thing not many would know about, save the handful of novices sent to polish the Image entire, one of which I was, and the only one among them to polish the crown. Which task I owe to my habit of squirreling up the cloister walls, into the cloister orchard, round about when the plums were ripe." His eyes twinkled, and Myste hid a grin. "At the back of the crown upon the Image there was a lozenge, no bigger than my palm and quite invisible from below, where the sculptor, the gilder, and the jewel smith set their marks. That lozenge and those marks are upon the back of the crown that Solaris now wears."

"Interesting," Alberich began, still skeptical, for a truly clever fraud would have taken that into account and made sure to replicate every oddity and imperfection in the crown worn by the Great Image. And someone who was Solaris' friend as well as her supporter would probably swear that the Sun had stood still in the heavens for a day in order to lend more strength to her claim to the Sun Throne. But Karchanek was not finished.

"Nay, there is more, for has the Sunlord in His wisdom not granted her direct counsel in the form of—a Firecat?" Karchanek's brows arched, and well they might.

"A Firecat?" The words were almost forced from him. Alberich had not been a scholarly man, but even children knew all the tales of the miraculous avatars of Vkandis, and most Karsite children played at Reulan and the Firecat the way Valdemaran children played at Heralds and Companions. "But—Firecats are legend, merely—"

Karchanek shook his head emphatically. "No more. One walks by her side and sits at her Council table, and, when he chooses (which is seldom) lets his thoughts be known to those around Solaris as well as to the Son of the Sun herself." Karchanek sat back just a little, a smile of satisfaction playing on his lips. "He has, in fact, deigned to address a word or two to me. It was a remarkable experience, hearing someone speak inside one's head. Although I imagine that you, Heralds, are so used to such a thing from your own Companions by now that you take it as commonplace."

That was a shrewd shot—telling them that he knew not only that Companions weren't horses (or demons), but that they Mindspoke to their Heralds.

:Is he saying this—Firecat—Mindspeaks?: Myste asked incredulously.

Well, if it was a real Firecat, that would be the least of its talents. If? There was no reason to doubt it. Without a Firecat, the living, breathing, and very present symbol of Vkandis' favor, Solaris could not have lasted a month. :Like a Companion, yes. And, presumably, gets its wisdom from the same source.:

"There have been reforms of late, in the ranks of the Sun-priests," Alberich ventured. "Solaris' reforms, it is said."

Now Karchanek actually laughed. "Reforms—yes. One could call them 'reforms'—in the same way that one could refer to the razing of a robber's stronghold as 'a little housecleaning.' Not even Solaris can root out all the corruption of centuries, but the cleansing has begun." Then he sobered. "The Fires, the summoning of demons, the terrorizing of our own people, all these are no more. And there is something that should die with them. The enmity between Karse and Valdemar."

Well, there it was, the offer that Alberich had been hoping for, but was still not certain he should trust. "We seem to be facing the same enemy," he pointed out. "Ancar of Hardorn—"

"Hardorn can devour us separately: United, we will be too tough a morsel to swallow," agreed the other. "And there is no surety on your part that once he is disposed of, we will not turn back to our old ways and warfares."

"But—"

"But hear the words of the Son of the Sun." Karchanek brought out a thin metal tube from within his sleeve, in diameter no larger than an arrow shaft. He opened it, and removed a sheet of paper so thin that Alberich could see the writing on it from the opposite side.

"Greetings to Captain Alberich, now Herald of Valdemar, loyal son of two warring lands," Karchanek read aloud. "I, Solaris, Son of the Sun by the grace of Vkandis Sunlord, send these words to you and not to the Queen who holds your allegiance because the counsel of the Sunlord is that one with a heart divided will be more like to lend heed to that which promises division will be healed than one who is single-hearted. To you I say this: without Karse, Valdemar may fall, and without Valdemar, Karse may perish. Yet to unite our peoples, more than words on a treaty are needed All overtures were like to come to naught, or be concluded too late. So I brought my prayers to the Sunlord, and the Sunlord has said this unto me. 'Bring Me a Herald of Valdemar, that I may make of her a Priest of My Order in the sight of all, that none may doubt or dare to prosecute a war which is abomination in My sight.'"

Alberich suddenly found it hard to breathe, and Myste gasped openly. With Karchanek's eyes on him, he forced himself to take a breath, forced himself to think, think about this offer, so strange, and so unexpected.

And when he managed to get his mind focused, one thing leaped out at him.

"You read Solaris' words exactly?" he demanded, his voice harsher than he intended.

"Exactly." Karchanek averred. "And there is just a little more." He cleared his throat, and went on. "And when the Sunlord had said this to me, I bowed before His will. 'I shall send my trusted envoy with all speed,' I pledged, but He had not finished. 'Not any Herald for so great a trust, not any Herald can bridge this gap between our peoples,' He said unto me. 'Send thou to the one they call the Great Traitor, for only his tongue will be trusted, and say that I require they send the one who stands at the Queen's right hand. Say that I call upon the Queen's Own to join My service, and be a bridge between Our peoples.' And so He left me, and so I have done. By my hand and seal, Solaris, Son of the Sun."

The last words fell like pebbles into an abyss of silence as Alberich gave over any effort to keep his face expressionless. His mind was a total blank. If anyone had told him that these words would ever be spoken between Karsite and Valdemaran, he'd have sent for the Mind-Healers. Insane. Impossible.

"Gods don't ask for much," Myste said into the silence. "Do they?"

"I will leave this with you," Karchanek said solemnly, rerolling the near-transparent paper and inserting it in its metal tube, handing it to Alberich who took it numbly. "There are other sureties I have that I will bring to you later. I understand that you have a kind of magic that can determine if one is telling the truth, and I beg that you will tell your Queen that I submit to such willingly. This is no trivial thing we ask of you." He stood up, and Gerichen belatedly did the same. "You will know where to find me when you are ready."

Without asking leave—not that Alberich could have given it at the moment—he and Gerichen walked out. Alberich stared at the metal cylinder in his hands.

"ForeSight—" Myste said firmly. "We need someone with ForeSight." She started to get to her feet, but Alberich shook his head at her.

"Eldan and Kero, these are who we need first of all," he countered. His own ForeSight, limited as it was, hadn't even warned him that this was coming.

Then again, would it? It only tells me about disaster looming, not if something good is going to happen...

Small wonder he was a pessimist by nature. "I shall get them—if they are where I think, none other would be paid heed to," he continued, handing the cylinder to Myste. "If you so kind would be, would you with a scholar's eye look this over for tampering."

"I can try," Myste said dubiously. "But I don't exactly have a lot of Karsite documents to compare to it—or anything in Solaris' hand either."

But she unrolled the document and bent her lenses over it, much to Alberich's relief. He didn't want her haring off to the Collegium in search of someone with ForeSight and letting fall any hints of this evening's revelations. At least, not until she had gotten over her own shock and regained a Chronicler's necessary dispassion for the situation.

Herald-Captain Kerowyn was the logical choice to be informed, since she was practically in the Lord Marshal's back pocket. And as for Herald Eldan—well, that worthy was Alberich's source of information on Karse and the goings-on there. Not to put too fine a point upon it, Eldan was a spy, and but for a single slip, had never once alerted even the Priest-Mages to his true identity.

Kero wasn't in her quarters; neither she nor Eldan were particularly pleased when Alberich interrupted them by pounding insistently in a coded knock on Eldan's door.

"I don't smell smoke and the Collegium isn't on fire, so this had better be at least that important, Alberich," Kero growled, cracking the door only enough so that Alberich caught a glimpse of tousled hair and an angry blue eye in the light of a hall candle.

"It is," he said. "A friendly visit I have had, from—Gerich's outKingdom visitor."

Kero blinked. "Friendly?" she said dubiously.

"Very friendly. Unbelievably friendly. This cannot wait until morning. I think it should not wait a candlemark."

"Right. I heard that," said Eldan's voice from deeper in the room. "Give us a little; we'll be right on your heels and meet you in your rooms at the salle. Outside of the Queen's suite, you've got the most secure quarters in the complex."

Alberich nodded and left them to put themselves back together in peace. Poor Kero! Eldan was only just back from his latest covert foray into Karse—which was how Alberich had known just who Karchanek really was—and already business had interrupted their time together.

But when had that not been the case with a Herald? Add to which, Kerowyn had been the Captain of her own Guild Mercenary Company, so she should be used to being interrupted by now. She might not like it, but she should be used to it. She's been a mercenary for twice as long as she's been a Herald; Business always comes first for them, he told himself. In fact, when they arrived at his door, he doubted there would be a single word said about what he'd just interrupted.

Nor was there, and the pair were, as Eldan had said, just about on his heels; he wasn't more than half of the way back to the salle when he looked back and saw the two white-clad figures emerging from Heralds' Wing. He'd barely gotten inside his own door and heard from Myste that if there had been any tampering with the missive she couldn't find it, when they arrived at his door, as neatly turned-out as if they'd just come from standing guard at a Court ceremony.

Alberich explained the situation to them in a few terse sentences and handed over the letter and its tube. Kero examined the tube; Eldan, who was second only to Alberich and Myste in his mastery of Karsite, scanned it quickly and whistled.

"Well, that explains something—" he said, "—why on this last time, even the most reactionary of the old-guard were being v-e-r-y careful to be good little boys, and if they had any complaints about the new Son of the Sun, keeping them behind their own teeth."

Alberich shook his head. "Understand, I do not," he confessed.

"It's quite simple, and a bit scary, old man," Eldan replied, handing the letter on to Kero as they both took the seats so recently vacated by the visitors from Karse. "I'd heard all the stories about Solaris, but I hadn't talked to any eyewitnesses—not that it would be likely I could, since my contacts don't reside in such lofty circles. Still, the stories were all of a piece, and the Sun-priests were suddenly all acting like they'd put heart and soul into the reform movement. Karchanek's eyewitness account just clinches it." He glanced over at Kero. "Doesn't it, love?"

Kerowyn nodded. "No doubt in my mind. Wherever He's been for the last couple of hundred years, Vkandis is back now in Karse, and He's cracking heads and taking names. Just like the Star-Eyed. Remember, I've seen this before, in my grandmother's Shin'a'in clan." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Mind, the Star-Eyed usually operates through Her spirit-riders and Avatars, but maybe that's what this Firecat is, a spirit-rider equivalent."

Alberich went very, very still. Of all the things he had hoped for to happen in Karse, this, if true, was the best and the least likely. It might be frightening for Valdemarans, who had no history of direct intervention by their gods, but for a Karsite this would be the return of things to their proper ways, ways long since lost beneath the centuries of rule by a corrupt and cruel priesthood. "You are certain?" he asked carefully.

"I've heard all of Kero's stories, and factoring in the atmosphere down there right now—well, I'm as certain as I can be without walking into the Temple there and demanding Solaris conjure up a miracle to prove it to me," Eldan said firmly. "Not that I'd give that approach a try. From what I've heard of the lady, she's got a pretty dry sense of humor, and might decide to ask Vkandis to teach me a little proper humility."

Alberich closed his eyes for a moment. What, exactly, is one supposed to do when the prayers of a lifetime are so fully answered?

:Be properly grateful,: said his Companion Kantor. :And don't question why it has taken the God so long to act. That wouldn't be a good idea.:

Kantor's reply startled him further. This statement, from a Companion, had a weight that went far beyond the simple words.

:There was probably something about Free Will involved,: Alberich replied, voicing the thoughts that had occurred to him in the dark of the night. :And making our own mistakes.: Free Will figured largely in the theology of the older texts—the ones dating from before the Son of the Sun became the tacit ruler of all Karse and the priesthood began conjuring demons to enforce their will.

:And, just possibly, there was something about waiting to be properly asked to step in, prayers of the faithful and all that,: Kantor amended. :Gods don't go where they aren't invited, not the ones we'd call "good," anyway. After all, as long as people seemed to be content to putting up with things as they were, there would be no reason for Vkandis to intervene.:

:That would be the "Free Will" part,: Alberich reminded his Companion.

Kantor ignored the interruption. :Vkandis, I suspect, has been dealing with wrongdoers on an individual basis once they died and were in His hands and in no position to dispute the error of their ways. I suppose even a God who intervenes regularly in the lives of His people cannot build a paradise in the world, since everyone would have a different idea of what paradise should be. But then again, I could be wrong.:

Alberich found that last statement difficult to believe. Oh, perhaps another Companion could be wrong, but Kantor had never so much as missed a single hoof-step in all the time Alberich had known him. Kantor never spoke unless he had something of import to say.

And Companions were not unlike Firecats...

Could they, as it was said of the Firecats, be able to pass the sincere prayer directly into the ear of a God?

His prayer? His God? What was it that Kantor had said—"the prayers of the faithful?" Was this, in part, due to him?

No. He would not even think that. Coincidence, merely, and he would confine himself to rejoicing that things had changed in his lifetime. Events had turned to the redemption of his land. A new Son of the Sun, more like in spirit to those of the old days, sat on the Sun Throne. And if he could trust this overture, then perhaps there would be peace between Valdemar and Karse as there had been, in the old days, the times he had read about in long-forgotten histories in the Queen's library.

If it wasn't all a cunning trap. If he could somehow convince Herald Talia, who had already been through more than anyone should have to endure, to walk into the wolf's mouth a second time.

:It isn't Talia you'll have to convince,: observed Kantor shrewdly, :but her husband. And the Queen.:

Oh, yes. There was Dirk to convince as well. And Selenay. Neither of whom were going to be as ready to agree to this as Talia.

"If you and Kantor are quite finished," Kerowyn said, with heavy irony, interrupting his thoughts, "the rest of us would like to actually discuss this."

"Out loud," Eldan added.

Alberich leveled a glance at them that would have made any of his pupils quiver where they stood. But of course, Eldan wasn't a Trainee anymore, and he'd faced worse than Alberich over his breakfast fire, day in and day out, for the past five years. And of course, Kerowyn never had been his pupil, so there went that particular hold out the window.

With a sigh, he sat down, and the discussion began in earnest. It as going to be more than a "discussion," when it finally got to the Queen—it was going to be a battle, and Alberich was not going to go to that battle less than fully armed.

* * *

In the end, it was Karchanek who won the battle, which was shorter than Alberich would have been willing to believe. Perhaps things were more desperate than he had thought, where Hardorn was concerned; he made his case to Selenay to hear Karchanek out, supported by Kero and Eldan, then didn't learn anything more until Karchanek himself came to tell him that Selenay had agreed. Alberich didn't hear as much of what went on in Council sessions anymore, now that Kerowyn (with young Herald Jeri as her assistant) was taking over many of the duties he had performed, but for Selenay and for her father.

That had only meant he hadn't needed to sit through the candlemarks of arguments, for and against the invitation. Rightly or wrongly, this had been one session that Selenay had decided he especially should not participate in.

No matter: Karchanek had been his own best advocate, once Selenay actually heard him out. Perhaps his two most persuasive points had been that he himself would remain in Selenay's hands as a hostage, and that Alberich himself and one other Herald should go with her. Kero had objected to that, putting herself up as Alberich's substitute. But this was one duty he had no intention of giving over to Kero—well, for one thing, as she assumed his role, he became more expendable and she, less so. For another, there was no one living in Valdemar who could read his fellow countrymen as well as he could.

He stood now beside Karchanek, who was arrayed in one of Gerichen's borrowed robes, beneath a slightly overcast summer sky, in, of all places, Companion's Field beside a hastily erected archway of brickwork. It lacked only two days to Midsummer, the longest day of the year and so the most auspicious for Vkandis, the day appointed for—

Well, Alberich didn't quite know what. Solaris hadn't given anyone any indication of just what was going to happen, other than Talia being invested into the ranks of the Sun-priests. Maybe Solaris herself didn't know. But Midsummer was when it was going to happen, and somehow Karchanek was going to get them there for it. Talia had been here for a candlemark, Rolan beside her, both of them arrayed and packed for traveling. Kantor stood beside Rolan, calm and serene as usual, and in nowise intimidated by the presence of the King Stallion of the Companion herd. Beside him was Dirk's Companion, with Dirk fiddling nervously with girth and stirrups. There was also a crowd of Heralds, Companions, and interested parties surrounding them in a rough circle that was a prudent distance from the innocuous brick arch. No one knew what Karchanek was going to do. They only knew that it would be the first real demonstration of magic within the city of Haven for—centuries.

"—and when the Holy Firecat senses that I am reaching with my signature power toward him." Karchanek was explaining to Jeri, as he had already explained to Talia, Dirk, Selenay, and everyone else who was involved in making this decision, "he will open the Gate between us, exactly as if he was burning a tunnel through a mountain to avoid having to climb and descend to reach the other side."

"And you can't do that alone?" Jeri asked.

He shook his head. "Only one of Adept power can open a Gate alone, and then, well, it is better that it be done by two or more such Adepts, and then only to a place that has been prepared as I have prepared this archway. One cannot simply make a Gate into nothing, or into a place where one has never been. And the farther one is from the place where one wishes to Gate to, the more power it takes to make the Gate. I cannot do that, no ten Adepts in Karse—if we had ten, and not merely myself and Solaris—could do it. I provide only an anchoring point. It will be the Firecat who creates this Gate."

"I suppose," Jeri brooded, "that's the only reason why you've never Gated in behind our lines with an army."

Karchanek shrugged. "Power, lack of familiarity with the place, and that there are very, very few Adepts. The Order as it was distrusted mages, and the more power they had, the less they were trusted. Those who manifested great power and demonstrated an ability to think for themselves often met with unfortunate accidents, or fell victim to the White Demons. So it was said."

"And Ancar?" Jeri asked soberly.

"Could learn this, has he those who will teach him," Karchenek replied grimly. "Never doubt it. He, as were some of the worst of the Sun-priests of the past, is not limited in power by what he can channel naturally—he can, and has, and will, channel blood-magic, which has no limits other than the number of people that one can kill. Yet another reason why this alliance is so vital. Vital enough that I will remain here, whatever it costs me, hostage to the Son of the Sun's good behavior, although..."

He didn't have to finish that statement; Karchanek looked like a man haunted by his own personal set of demons. In a way, apparently he was. According to Kerowyn, who'd had mages in her Skybolts company that hadn't been able to bear what happened to them when they crossed into Valdemar, the reason why there were no real mages in this land was because they couldn't stand being here. The moment anyone worked real magic here—something happened. Something—a lot of somethings, evidently—swarmed over the mage and gathered around him, night and day. And stared at him.

Now that didn't sound too dreadful to Alberich until he'd had a chance to see what the experience was doing to Karchanek's nerves and thought about it himself. What would it be like to have dozens, perhaps hundreds of people around you all the time, never taking their eyes off you, glaring at you by light and dark, sleeping or waking? Nerve-racking, that was what it was. And when the creatures were invisible to everyone else?

There was no equivalent to the Queen's Own in Solaris' "court," but Karchanek was close—lifelong friend and supporter, powerful mage, on whom she depended for able advice. That he pledged to remain as hostage was probably the only reason why, in the end, this plan had been agreed to. "And what do we do to keep you from spiriting yourself away?" Selenay had asked sharply when he first made the proposition himself.

He had shrugged. "Whatever you please. Bind me, blindfold me, keep in me a darkened room, drug me if no other solution presents itself. Whatever makes you certain of me."

Selenay had taken him at his word. There was a small cup of some drug or other waiting in a page's hands for the moment when the Gate came down again. Karchanek would be drugged until the morning of the ceremony, then watched like a hawk until the moment when the Firecat would call him and use him reopen the Gate to Valdemar, this time in the full presence of every important person in Karse at the High Temple itself, and send Talia and her escort home. He didn't seem at all unhappy about that—

"—the truth?" he said to Jeri, when she asked him about that herself. "I will welcome it. To sleep, oblivious to all the vrondi-eyes upon me! I could ask no greater boon, at this moment. They do not just watch, you know. They talk, at me sometimes, but mostly among themselves. It is not just the eyes upon me, it is the chatter, the droning babble that never stills and never ends, that I cannot understand." He shuddered, and Alberich saw with an easing of his worries that a faint expression of sympathy flitted over Selenay's face.

Sympathy—for a Karsite other than Alberich. A good omen, but one he didn't have time to contemplate. Already Karchanek approached the brickwork archway, and he had warned Alberich that not even a Firecat could maintain a Gate at this distance for too long. They would barely have time to get through it.

As a lowly Captain of the Border Guard, he had never actually seen any priestly magic being performed, other than the simple act of kindling fire on Vkandis' altar; he'd only heard the howls of the spectral creatures conjured to harry "witches and evildoers" through the night. He couldn't bear to watch it now. Perhaps one day, when he'd had a chance to become accustomed to the idea of magic being used for anything other than harm, but not now. Not when his nerves were singing with the need to act, and he feared that if he watched Karchanek, a man he would like to think of as a friend one day, he might see the Priest-Mage calling a demon...

So he busied himself with Kantor's tack, and when the signal came, he mounted in a rush, and drove through the Gate with his eyes closed, hard on Rolan's heels.

There was a long, long moment then of terrible cold, then bone-shaking nausea, and the horrible sensation that he was falling through a starless, endless, bottomless night. It seemed to last forever, but Kantor's steady presence in his mind held him, as it had held him during the long, slow agony of healing from his terrible burns, when Kantor had rescued him and brought him here, to safety and a new life

Then he was not here, anymore, but there—in Karse.

Sun blazed down upon him and the others, a sun fierce and kind at the same time. They stood, their Companions' bridle bells chiming softly as they fidgeted, in the middle of a bone-white courtyard surrounded on all four sides by enclosing walls. Before them waited a cat, and a woman.

The cat was the size of a large dog, with a brick-red mask, ears, paws, and tail shading to a handsome cream on the body, and piercing blue eyes. A Firecat—

:Indeed I am,: said a voice in his mind with a touch of satisfied purr behind it. :My name is Hansa, and this, of course, is Solaris. Welcome home, Herald Alberich.:

"I second that sentiment," echoed the woman.

She had presence that entirely eclipsed her appearance. If Alberich had not already known that her eyes were a golden-brown subject to changing as her mood changed, and her hair a darker golden-brown, he would not have been able to tell anyone that if he turned around and took his eyes off her. Yes, the Firecat was impressive—any feline that came up to his knee would be impressive, much less one like Hansa. And the faint golden glow that surrounded each hair certainly didn't hurt.

But Solaris had that same golden glow about her. And a great deal more. Measuring by eye, she was certainly no taller than Selenay and much shorter than Alberich—but she somehow loomed larger than that.

"You, I do hope, Herald Talia are," she said in slow and deliberate Valdemaran to Talia, who had dismounted. She held out her hand, and Talia stepped forward and took it. And both of them smiled identical, warm smiles that managed to humanize Solaris without diminishing her impressiveness by a whit. "And this the formidable Herald Dirk would be?" she inquired with a slight lift of one eyebrow that somehow had the effect of making Dirk flush.

There were no servants, no lesser priests, there was no one but Solaris and Hansa—Hansa, who Solaris scooped up with an effort and held draped over her arms, for despite the Firecat's aplomb, he seemed exhausted. It was Solaris who escorted them to their rooms, indicating with a simple nod of her head that the Companions should come also. She brought them down quiet, white corridors lit from above by skylights and ornamented at intervals with great Sun-In-Glory Disks on walls and inlaid in the floors.

The rooms were simple, probably priests' quarters; Dirk and Talia shared one, with Alberich in the next—and most interesting, a kind of rough box-stall hock-deep in fresh straw took up about half of each of the rooms. Kantor went directly to his with a shake of his head; after a long and searching look at their Chosen, Rolan and Dirk's little mare went to theirs.

"And here my own suite is," said Solaris, throwing open the next door, which differed not at all from theirs. "Some changes I made when they were mine..."

Alberich could well imagine. Solaris' predecessor had been one of the worst in the long line of corrupt and venial leaders. He could see that the plain door was very new, and could only imagine the sort of gilded monstrosity that had once stood in its place. Something had certainly been scoured and sanded from the wall now painted a plain pale wheat color. Furnishings were just as simple as those in the rooms he and the others had been given; two long couches, three lounging chairs, and a desk and working chair. Solaris put Hansa down on a low couch and straightened up again.

"We in the heart of our great Temple are," Solaris said gravely. "My hand-picked servants, a brace of trusted Priests, these all that know of your presence are. Come here, none else shall."

"But—isn't there some preparation we should make?" Talia asked. "What are we—am I—supposed to be doing?"

"That, I know not myself," Solaris said ruefully, surprising all of them. "The Sunlord has not told me. Here—come and sit, and tell you what I know, I shall."

She took a seat on the couch beside Hansa, leaving them to choose seats for themselves. Now, no longer quite so dazzled by her presence, Alberich noted that her robes were as simple as her rooms...

And just as deceptive. For the chair he chose was carved of tigerwood, comfortably cushioned with soft doeskin tanned to a golden hue. And Solaris' robes might be simple in cut, but they were a heavy golden silk-twill, subtlety embroidered with the Sun In Glory in a slightly darker shade. No matter what else she was, Solaris was not ascetic.

"This much, I know," Solaris told them, one hand on Hansa's back, stroking as she spoke. "At the Solstice ceremony, some few chosen Novices made Priests are, here in the High Temple." She made a face. "Those with families of wealth and influence, most generally. Some times, of outstanding ability, one or two. Among them, you are to be. Last, you will be announced and made Priest. A simple ceremony, it is—repetition of vows, which I will show you, so that you know I do not bind you to more than I claim. More than that, I know not."

"But there will be more than that," Alberich stated, as Talia bit her lip.

Solaris traded a glance with Hansa. :Of a complete certainty there will be more, much more than that,: the Firecat said. :But the Sunlord does not choose to impart to us precisely what He has in mind.:

"Trust you must, to Him and to me," Solaris said.

It could be a trap. It could be something really horrible. Alberich knew without bothering to try and read his expression that all manner of grim possibilities were running through Dirk's mind. Whether Talia suffered the same concerns he couldn't say, but he rather thought not. Talia couldn't read thoughts, but she could, as an Empath, read emotions, and those often spoke more clearly and unambiguously than thoughts. Her expression showed no sign of worry; on the contrary, she seemed as comfortable as she could be with the news that a God had decided to spring some sort of surprise, not only on His own people and chiefest Priest, but on her. Whatever she read from Solaris, it gave her no concerns on that score.

Solaris sighed. "Inscrutable, the Sunlord is, and unknowable His mind...but a wish I have, in my weakness, that He be somewhat less so."

Hansa made a sound between a purr and a cough that sounded like a laugh, and Solaris bent her golden gaze upon her Firecat. "And you, also," she added, with a touch, a bare touch, of sharpness.

:I am a cat,: Hansa reminded her with supreme dignity. :And a cat is nothing if not mysterious. It is our charm.:

To Alberich's surprise it was Dirk who chuckled weakly. "Well, Radiance," he said, having learned the proper forms of address from Alberich and Karchanek, "we're used to this sort of behavior out of our Companions. They seem to have a proper mania about keeping secrets from us mere mortals."

That relaxed Solaris; Alberich read it in the lessening of the tension of her shoulders. "When divine intervention requested is, and received it is, then churlish is must be to cavil at how it comes, one supposes," she offered.

Talia uttered a ladylike snort, and Solaris hid a smile behind her hand. "If God understandable becomes, need Him we no longer should," Solaris observed after a moment. "For we would be as He..."

:An interesting observation, and an intelligent one,: Kantor said with approval, but no surprise.

Alberich could only wonder how this woman had managed to survive in the cutthroat world of Temple politics with a mind like that.

"Well, tell us about this ceremony," Talia said after a moment of silence, in lieu of any other comments, and Solaris hastened to tell them what she could.

* * *

When Talia and Dirk retired, Solaris motioned to Alberich to stay. "I would like to introduce you to my chief friends and supporters, aside from Karchanek," she said, switching to Karsite with obvious relief.

"And I wish to learn to know you, Alberich, and through you, the land I wish to make our ally."

He resumed his seat warily as she continued, after summoning a silent servant with a double clap of her hands and issuing orders for food and drink.

"You have been a Herald of Valdemar for longer now than you ever lived in Karse," she observed shrewdly. "Would you return to dwell here permanently—if you could?"

He shook his head. He had already considered this from the moment that he was convinced Karchanek could be trusted. "No, Holiness," he replied with all respect. "Even if I were to be accepted by those who called me traitor. I am a Herald."

He half expected her to be insulted, but she smiled as if she understood. "Then from time to time, Karse will come to you," she said, and at that moment the servant entered with another, both bearing trays.

Now, scent—as Alberich well knew, since he had now and again used it as a weapon—is the sense that strikes the deepest and at the most primitive parts of a man. And he had not realized just how much he missed his homeland, until the scents of the foods of his childhood arose from the dishes that the servants uncovered, and briefly—briefly—he regretted giving the answer he had.

She must have read that in his expression, for she laughed. "Now you see how fair I am with you," she told him, and at that moment she showed her true age, which was less than this, and perhaps less than Selenay's. "For had I wished to have my will of you, I should have asked you that question with the scent of spiced sausage, dumplings and gravy, and apple cake in your nostrils!"

The servant handed him a filled plate, which he took eagerly. "This is not the fare I would have expected in the Palace of the Sun, Holiness," he said, prevaricating, for she had come far too close to the truth with that comment.

"Hmm. Larks' tongues and sturgeon roe, braised quail, and newborn calf stewed in milk?" She gave him a sardonic look. "My cook is appalled by my tastes, but my people know that I eat what they eat, and I have made it certain that they have heard this from the Palace servants. There has been far too much of larks' tongues on golden plates, while babies wail and children have the pinched faces of hunger on the other side of the Temple wall." She took the plate that the servant offered her; Alberich observed that both plates were of honest ceramic. "The golden plates went to replenish granaries; the furnishings and precious objects I found in these rooms bought new herd-beasts to strengthen bloodlines. Oh, I hardly gave all away," she admitted, and paused for a hungry mouthful herself. "Much has gone into the decoration of the Temple and I will not strip the Sunlord's sanctuary of its glory. But the wealth that I did was the loot of centuries come straight out of storehouses, and has restored, if not plenty, then at least sufficiency to my land. Plenty will come in time, Sunlord willing, and with the work of the people."

"And the border?" Alberich dared to ask. "There are still bandits there that prey on Karse and Valdemar alike."

She smiled grimly. "I have recalled the corrupt troops, put Guild mercenaries in their place until I can train young fighters who will serve and not exploit, and—" she paused significantly, "—I have distributed arms to the Border villages."

Alberich was in significant shock over the news that Karse had hired Guild mercenaries. He wondered how she had managed to convince the Guild that Karse was to be trusted, and had winced at the thought of the size of the bond she would have had to post. But to hear that she had distributed arms to the common people—

"I doubt that they will be effective; it is more a matter of improving their morale and bolstering their courage," she continued. "They'll likely be frightened of the Guild fighters until they realize that they are trustworthy, and being armed will make them feel more secure. Still, one never knows. They might surprise me, and take over their own defense."

Arming the villagers— If nothing else, this was the clearest indication that the Fires of Cleansing had been extinguished. No Red-robe Priest would dare to enter a village on a mission of Cleansing where the villagers were armed.

She ate in silence until she had cleaned her plate, then set it aside, accepted a cup of good—but common—wine from the servant and sat back. "Let me tell you the rest of my reforms, in brief. The village priests have been reassigned to new villages, unless all, or almost all, the villagers themselves protested and demanded that their priest remain with them. It might surprise you to learn that a good two thirds did just that."

Alberich shrugged; he hadn't seen that much widespread corruption among the village priests when he'd been a Captain. Those who abused their authority were attracted to the real seat of power in Sunhame.

"There are no more forays by troops and priests into the villages to Cleanse or to test and gather up children. If a parent wants a child tested, they must take the child to the village priest, who will call in a Black-robe Priest-Mage." She sipped her wine. "I surmise you already know that there are no more Red-robes, and no more demon-summoning."

"And you suppose these changes will endure past your lifetime?" Which may be a short one, he added mentally.

"Change is generational, but I intend to outlive all those who oppose me until there are no Sun-priests in Karse that I have not overseen the training of," she retorted. "I am young enough: Sunlord permitting, there should be no reason why I cannot do this."

If you survive assassins—he thought, when Hansa coughed politely, and he met the Firecat's sardonic gaze.

:That is why I am here,: the Firecat replied, with casual arrogance.

:I believe that the Sunlord plans to ensure that the Son of the Sun survives assassins—and everything else,: Kantor observed.

Since he had quite left that consideration out of his calculations, he felt a wave of chagrin, which he covered by handing the servant his empty plate and cup. The servant left with the dishes and her orders to see that Talia and Dirk were also offered a meal.

With her attention no longer on her meal, Solaris proceeded to— "interrogate" him was too strong a word for what she did, since she was polite, interested, and deceptively offhand in her questions and remarks, but "interrogation" was what it amounted to. He had been prepared for it, and answered with all due caution, wondering if she, Hansa, or both might not consider putting the equivalent of a Truth-Spell on him.

They didn't, though, or at least not that he could tell, and Kantor didn't say anything about it.

She only broke it off when the servant returned with three more Sun-priests, one older than Alberich, two young, all male. "Ah, good, you managed to get away," she said genially, as the three bowed to her before taking seats at her wave of invitation. 'This is Herald Alberich; I wanted you to meet him without the other two in attendance. Alberich, this is my dear friend and mentor Ulrich, and my fellows in the novitiate, Larschen and Grevenor."

The older man, Ulrich, smiled broadly and nodded; the one that Solaris had called Larschen widened his eyes and said, so seriously that it could only have been a joke, "I expected someone taller. With horns. And hooves."

Grevenor tsked. "What a disappointment! His teeth aren't even pointed!"

"And after I spent all that time filing them flat so I wouldn't alarm you!" Alberich replied, with the same mock-seriousness, and was rewarded by a smile from Solaris and a withering glance from Hansa.

:A typical feline,: Kantor observed. :He only appreciates jokes when he makes them.:

The atmosphere relaxed considerably now that Solaris' friends were here, and even though more questions came at him, he was able to ask as many as he answered, and within a candlemark or so, he had a very vivid picture in his mind of the first days when Solaris had come to power. It seemed that many of those in the temples outside of Sunhame had rallied to her after the miracle of her coronation. But before the miracle she had spent years in garnering the support of her contemporaries; Solaris was no Reulan, to come to the Sunthrone without opposition.

And that was intensely interesting. She had been prepared for this miracle, and when it came, she had everything in place to ensure that she simply wasn't escorted off and quietly done away with so that the running of Karse could go back to "business as usual."

Yes, that was interesting. Very interesting. So she had known, for years, that she was going to be the Chosen One, but instead of biding her time quietly, she had created a support base that ensured she could not be gotten quietly out of the way, and which gave encouragement to others to fall in with them.

She was remarkably quiet about how she had known, however, and Alberich could only wonder. For all that she was amazingly down-to-earth among her supporters, there was still something about her, a sense that she probably did spend the hours in meditation and prayer that the Son of the Sun was popularly supposed to do. And that she probably always had...that here was a person for whom the service of Vkandis truly was a vocation.

Alberich was not overly familiar with the aura of sanctity, but he thought that it surrounded Solaris.

And therein lay her greatest difference from Selenay, although in many, many ways the two were very much alike. Selenay was warmly and completely feminine; Solaris was warmly and completely—neuter. It was very much as if some cloak of power lay lightly on her shoulders, and sent out a wordless message: I am for no man.

In that, she was not unlike the Shin'a'in Sword-sworn; Alberich had met one, some distant relative or other of Kerowyn. Whether that was by choice, natural inclination, or necessity mattered not. That Solaris would have cut her own breasts off if Vkandis had required it of her was something that no one who sat in the same room with her for a candlemark would doubt.

And perhaps, after all, this was why she now sat in the Sunthrone. Perhaps this was why Vkandis had taken so long to manifest Himself to His people. Someone like Solaris was rarer than someone with the special Gift that qualified her as Queen's Own.

Someone who had that much raw faith and still remained human and humane was rarer still.

Only a God would have the patience to wait for such a servant to be born—but a God could afford to take a very long view indeed.

* * *

Alberich and Dirk sat silently, side by side, high above the crowded sanctuary, in a concealed alcove that no one below would guess existed. The cunningly pierced carving gave them an excellent view without revealing that there was anything behind it. The air in here was cool and a little dank, enclosed entirely in stone as they were. Even the cunningly-pivoted door was stone. It was also dark; any light would show through the stone lacework of the panel behind which they sat. The Temple sanctuary beyond that screen was a blaze of white, red, yellow, and precious gold. Sun gems winked from the centers of carved Sun-flowers, gilding was everywhere, and there were so many windows (besides the great skylight over the altar) that the place seemed as open as a meadow.

Down there, arrayed in a semicircle in front of the altar, were the Novices about to be made Priests. Only a few were ever endowed with their holy office standing before the Sun Throne. Fewer still were granted the honor of one of the major Festivals. And of hose few, only the highest took their vows on the Summer Solstice, the day when the sun-disk reigned longest in the sky. Four and twenty of those stood down there today; Talia was the last, and the others—who knew each other by sight at least—must surely be wondering who she was and why she was among them. Censers fuming incense—perfectly harmless, undrugged incense of a pleasant spice scent—stood at either end of their semicircle. The incense drifted up to Alberich's hiding place, relieving the slightly stale scent of the air.

One and all, the Novices wore simple robes of black, without ornamentation. One by one by they were summoned before Solaris, who administered their vows—surprisingly simple vows—and arrayed them in their black-and-gold vestments. Solaris herself was a glory in her robes of office and crown, covered with bullion, medallions, even plaques of gold, and what wasn't sewn with gold was embroidered with Sun gems. Alberich couldn't imagine how she could stand under the weight of it, yet she moved effortlessly, calling each Priestly candidate forward, taking his—or her, for half of the candidates were women—vows, and with the aid of two acolytes, arraying them in their new vestments. So far there was no sign that Solaris had made any special announcement about Talia—her core group of supporters knew, of course, but no one else seemed to. Why was she keeping it all so secret, if this was supposed to be the start of a new alliance?

:Perhaps she's had—advice,: Kantor suggested. His tone suggested that the advice might have come from a higher authority.

Well, that was certainly possible, but Alberich worried that she had been left to her own devices to orchestrate this, and was playing her game too close.

Or perhaps she didn't intend to announce Talia's origin at all.

That actually made him feel a lot less nervous about this.

Perhaps she just intended to invest Talia without making any fuss about where she was from, and only after they'd gone home would she announce it. There would be no prospect of enraging anyone while the Heralds were still in Karse that way.

That plan would make Alberich a great deal happier than facing the possibility of a riot in the Temple when Solaris announced just what Talia was.

Dirk was equally edgy, actually fidgeting, peering through first one then another of the pierced holes in the stone screen that covered their hiding place. Alberich wished he could fidget, but discipline was habit now, and there was nothing he could do to relieve the tension that made him feel as if he vibrated in place. The narrow stone bench on which they sat bit into his thighs, and he wished devoutly that this was all over...

One by one, the candidates approached, said their few words—and he was grateful that nothing in that vow interfered with Talia's pledges to Valdemar and its throne—were bedecked with their heavy trappings, and departed again.

And now, at last, it was Talia's turn.

The sun was at its zenith, and the rays poured down through the skylight above the altar. This was the holiest moment of the holiest day of the calendar and now

"I summon the last candidate," Solaris called, in that peculiar, carrying voice of hers that sounded no louder than a simple conversation and yet could be heard in the last rank of worshipers at the rear of the Temple, even though there was a steady murmur of praying and talking. "I call Herald Talia of Valdemar."

Reaction rippled over the crowd like a wave. Dirk went rigid, and Alberich gripped the stone with both hands. A silence fell that was as heavy as a blanket of lead. Hundreds of heads suddenly swiveled up and forward. Hundreds, thousands of wide, shocked eyes stared at Solaris, at Talia, as the latter bent her head calmly and accepted the vestments of a Priestess of Vkandis. Shock still held them, as Solaris took Talia's hand and turned her to face the crowd so that all of them could hear her take her vows—and could see the Firecat pace slowly down from behind the altar and place himself protectively at Talia's feet, purring, the sound being the only thing other than the two voices that pierced that silence. It did not escape Alberich that Hansa was between Talia and the crowd of worshipers.

Then Solaris spoke, and Hansa muted his purrs. Up until this moment, there had not been real silence in the Temple. Now there was, an empty, hollow silence, waiting to be filled. The few words of the vows, spoken in a tone hardly louder than a whisper, echoed at the farthest corners of the Temple.

Then, as the last of Talia's words died away in the awful silence, Solaris spoke again before the silence could be filled by any other.

"The time has come," Solaris said, in a voice like a clear, silvery trumpet call, addressing Talia, but also the crowd. "The time has come for the ancient enmity between our land and Valdemar to be burned away. It is time for hatred, death, and the taint of spilled blood to be burned away. Will you come with me, and trust to me and to the God to whom you made your vows, Herald Talia?"

"I will," Talia replied, in a voice as firm, if not with the same clarion sound. And she put her hand in the one Solaris stretched out to her. Together they turned to face the altar.

As they turned to the altar, flames sprang up upon it all in an eyeblink with a roaring sound; golden flames as high as a man and seemingly born of the rays of the sun falling on the white marble.

The crowd gasped, then stilled again.

No one had been there to kindle those flames. There was nothing there to feed it: no wood, no coal, no oil, and yet the flames leaped and danced and even from here Alberich could feel the heat of them, hear the crackle and roar. Solaris and Talia approached the altar, hand in hand, as Dirk shook like an aspen leaf.

There were stairs built onto the side of the altar. Had they always been there? Alberich hadn't noticed them before, but now Solaris led Talia toward them—toward the flames—

They were climbing the stairs.

They were standing in the flames!

The golden flames lapped around them, and Alberich stared, waiting for Talia to start screaming, waiting for their robes to burst into flame, waiting, with his throat closed with horror—

The flames enclosed them gently, like loving hands, or a shower of flower petals. The flames caressed them but did not consume them.

Talia was smiling.

Solaris was not smiling, but on her face was an expression that Alberich could not put a name to. Some-thing ineffable—something beyond his understanding.

And the same stillness that filled the Temple entered Alberich's heart.

Wait. Watch. All will be well.

Feelings, not words; a peace deeper than anything he had ever felt before, even when in profound communion with Kantor. From Talia? Perhaps; she was a projective Empath, and strong enough to have sent this out to the entire Temple if she thought it needful.

Or Talia might be the channel for something else.

His tension vanished, and something else took its place. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dirk's hands drop from the stone screen, and knew that his fellow Herald felt it, too.

Cradled lovingly in the heart of the flames, Solaris remained unchanged in her golden robes, but something was happening to Talia.

No, not to Talia, but to her robes, he vestments. They were changing.

He couldn't say they were bleaching, because there was nothing in the transition to suggest the process of bleaching. There was no fading to gray—no, Talia's robes were lightening, not fading, they were becoming full of light, growing lighter and lighter until they glowed with a white intensity that outshone the flames.

Then, all at once, the flames were gone.

Solaris and Talia stood atop the altar, Talia looking a little embarrassed, as if she had been given some incredible honor all unlooked-for that she felt unworthy of.

Talia's priestly vestments, the robes of a Sun-priest, were no longer black and gold.

They were white and silver.

Heraldic colors.

"In the long ago," Solaris said, her voice floating above the crowd like a subtle melody, "There was a third order of Sun-priests. These were the White-robes, whose duty was to serve as Healers, to solve dissension, to keep the peace."

:Whose duty was also to serve the Goddess—but she won't mention that at the moment,: said Kantor absently.

Goddess? What Goddess? When had there ever been a Goddess in Karse? :What are you talking about?: he demanded, but Kantor wasn't answering, and more than half of his attention was on the two women anyway...

"Vkandis has chosen this woman to be the first of the new White-robes," Solaris continued, her voice stronger, as in a call to arms. "Vkandis has burned away all the hatred, all the death, all the evil that has passed between our lands! Vkandis has sent His purifying fire to show us the way, to give us this new, living bridge, of understanding between His land and Valdemar! I, Son of the Sun, now charge you—cry welcome to Talia, White-robe Priest of Vkandis!"

The cheering that erupted vibrated the very stone beneath Alberich's feet and left him momentarily deafened. But that was all right, for the cheers went on so long that no one would have been able to hear anything anyway.

* * *

The three Heralds and their Companions stood in front of the arched doorway into Solaris' private courtyard that would serve as the framework for the Gate. Hansa stared fixedly at the arch— presumably, in the little clearing in Companion's Field, Karchanek was doing likewise. Alberich was as tired as if he'd been running training exercises for a day and a night without a rest. Dirk looked stunned, as if all of this still hadn't quite sunk in yet. Well, Alberich didn't blame him. He didn't feel as if it had all quite sunk in yet either.

Talia's new vestments and robes were packed up into a saddlebag on Rolan's back; on the whole, given all of the bad blood between Karse and Valdemar, Solaris deemed it wise for them to leave now, before this first flush of good feeling faded and people began looking for the Demon-riders and their Hellhorses to have a few choice words with them. Few even among the Priest-Mages knew that a Gate was even possible, and those few were in Solaris' ranks; the arrival and departure. of the Queen's Own would seem miraculous, as miraculous as the transformation of Talia's robes from black to white.

Was it magic—or a miracle? Alberich knew which his heart wanted it to be. And he wished he could recapture a little of that wonderful stillness, that peace, that had come over him. But that was, after all, the nature of miracles. They were evanescent, and left little or nothing behind to prove where they had come from. It all could have been magic—illusory flames, and Talia projecting that stillness under Solaris' guidance. It could have been a well-orchestrated series of magic spells, set up by Priest-Mages in hiding just as Alberich had been. Who knew how many of those little niches overlooking the sanctuary there were.

Alberich didn't want to question it, though. His rational side said he should, and when he got home, Myste almost certainly would want to know why he hadn't. And he didn't have a good answer for her—:And you will continue to believe in the face of her questions, even though at times doubt overcomes that belief,: Kantor said. :That, after all, is the nature of faith. And perhaps that is as it is intended to be, and the reason why miracles so seldom leave tangible evidence of their origin behind.:

:What—: Alberich replied. :So that we have nothing to rely on but belief?:

:That would be the "free will" part, I think.: Kantor replied, with just a touch of impishness.

There was no time for further discussion. The Gate sprang into uncanny life. The stones of the archway began to glow; the brightness increased, and suddenly, instead of the room beyond the door, there was an empty blackness within the arch that made Alberich's eyes ache.

Then crawling tendrils like animate lightning crept across the blackness, tendrils that crisscrossed the darkness and multiplied with every heartbeat.

Then, with a jolt he felt somewhere in his chest, the blackness vanished, and the arch opened up on Companion's Field on the twilight, and his waiting friends, and Karchanek in front of them all.

"Time to go," said Dirk, and suited his action to his words, riding straight through without a backward glance. Poor Dirk! This had not been easy for him....

"Thank you for your trust," Solaris said to Talia, and held her in a momentary embrace that Talia bent down from her saddle to share.

"And you for yours, Radiance," Talia replied, smiling, some of the peace that Alberich wistfully wished for still lingering in her gaze. Then it was her turn, and she rode through to the welcoming committee on the other side.

Alberich would have followed, but a restraining hand on his stirrup made him pause.

"Here—" Solaris said, handing him a basket that smelled of home. "I told you that Karse would come to you."

All of this—and she remembers sausages and herb-bread for me?

She smiled up at him—once again, the ordinary-extraordinary woman that she was when she was not encased in the Sunlord's gold. "This could not have been done without your trust as well."

He coughed. "It was little enough, for so great a result, Radiance," he replied, shifting the basket uneasily.

"It was greater than you will admit," she retorted. "And I think you had better not say anything more that would indicate you disagree with your spiritual lord. I might arrest you for heresy."

"The day you arrest anyone for heresy will be the day that the sun turns black, Radiance," he responded, earning another smile from her. He hesitated a moment, poised on the brink of asking all those questions that quivered on the tip of his tongue.

But she was having none of it.

"Go!" she said, with a playful slap to Kantor's rump. "Hansa wearies and Karchanek cannot wait to quit your soil and its plague of eyes!"

Kantor leaped forward without any urging from Alberich, and as he fell through the arch in that moment of eternal darkness, he felt something brush past his leg—Karchanek, taking advantage of the fact that the Gate would not close immediately to escape back into his own land and place.

Then Kantor's four hooves thudded on solid turf, and he was surrounded by friends and fellow Heralds, and he realized that the basket he held did not smell of home after all. It smelled of childhood memories, yes, and of things he thought of as comforts that he had not enjoyed in a very long time. But not of home.

Home was here, in a land whose language had become his in dreams, among people who were dearer than blood-kin, who would gladly give him anything they had, including their lives.

As he would, for them.

And as for his God—well, Vkandis had shown more clearly than in words that a border was nothing more than an artificial boundary, and names were just as artificial. Vkandis had been here all along, cloaked in the hundred names for Deity that the Valdemarans had for Him; Alberich just hadn't known it in his heart until now.

"Welcome back!" said Eldan, relieving him of the basket so that he could dismount. The relief on his face said all that he would not say aloud—that despite all of the assurances, the guarantees, the others had been wound as tight with worry as he had been in the Temple. "I hope it all went all right?"

"Better, much, than all right," Alberich replied, the cadences of Valdemaran coming strangely—for just a moment—to his tongue. He looked around, and saw that all of the Council as well as Selenay and the Prince-Consort had surrounded Talia and Dirk to get their version of the story. His own friends, including Myste, surrounded him. "Many tales, have I to tell," he continued. "And tell them I shall, when we settled are, with good wine in hand."

"How are you feeling?" Myste asked, taking his hand and looking into his eyes—perhaps looking for a sign that he regretted leaving.

"Well. More than well." He smiled down at her. "It is good to be home."

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